#just seemed like a good place to end it >:)

[pucksandpower]

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.

He’s 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 — no, more than just young — 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, she’d crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.

He’d seen talent before, of course. It’s part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. There’s a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose that’s rare. He wonders where you’ve 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. You’re standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. There’s 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 who’s just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesn’t make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.

He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone he’s vaguely familiar with — 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.

“Who’s the girl?” Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesn’t really need to. You’re the only one who fits the description.

The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. “Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been turning heads all season.”

“Not enough, apparently.” Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear he’s talking about the lack of sponsorship. “What’s going on there?”

The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. “She’s good, real good. But, you know … she’s a girl.”

Fernando’s eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. “So?”

“So,” the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, “sponsors and academies, they’re … cautious. Not sure if she’s got the staying power. And you know how it is, they’re more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.”

“The mold,” Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. It’s 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldn’t surprise him, but somehow, it does.

His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. There’s 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 — it’s the same one he’s carried in himself for years.

But there’s more than just frustration in your eyes. There’s something else — determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something that’s been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. It’s the one you get when you’re tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because there’s no other choice.

Fernando’s decision is made in an instant. He doesn’t overthink it; he never has. That’s not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence that’s defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until he’s close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.

“... could’ve pushed harder into turn four,” you’re saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. “But the grip just wasn’t there.”

Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.

“Grip’s one thing,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, “but timing’s everything.”

You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize who’s standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.

“Fernando Alonso,” you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.

“In the flesh,” he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. “Nice drive today.”

“Thanks.” The word comes out clipped, like you’re not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell you’re used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernando’s not here to judge.

“Third place,” he continues, as if he’s thinking out loud. “But you had the pace for second.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. “Yeah, I did. But things don’t always go as planned.”

“No,” he agrees, “they don’t. But you’ve got talent. Real talent.”

You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. “Thanks,” you say again, but this time it’s softer, more genuine.

There’s 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 — advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But he’s never been one to do things by the book.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Do you like ice cream?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“Ice cream,” he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. “Do you like it?”

“Uh … yeah?” You sound more confused than anything, but there’s a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“Great,” Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. “Let’s go get some. My treat.”

You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if he’s serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Okay,” you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. “Why not?”

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 that’s hosting the weekend’s race. It’s 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.

“Can I help you?” She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though it’s clear she’s a little starstruck.

Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ladies first.”

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.

“Two scoops of that, please,” you say, and then, after a beat, “with as many toppings as will fit.”

Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesn’t 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 — 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, it’s practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence that’s almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.

“I can pay for mine,” you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.

“It’s on me,” he insists, his tone making it clear there’s no room for argument.

You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. There’s 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.

“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. “But I’m getting you back for this.”

Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Once he’s paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. It’s 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, it’s easy to forget about everything else — the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. There’s 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 doesn’t rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “tell me about your situation.”

You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. There’s something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isn’t just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.

“It’s … complicated,” 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. “I mean, I’m doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But it’s like … it’s like none of that matters.”

Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.

“Every race, I’m out there giving it everything I’ve got,” you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. ��I’m right up there with the best of them — sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and they’ve got major sponsors backing them. They’re signed to F1 teams’ academies, they’ve got a clear path to the top. And me? I’ve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.”

You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. “It’s not like I haven’t tried. My team’s tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing — ‘You’re good, but we’re just not sure if you’re what we’re looking for.’ Which is just code for ‘You’re a girl, and we’re not willing to bet on you.’”

Fernando doesn’t interrupt, letting you vent. He’s 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 you’re facing are still all too real.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. “It’s so frustrating, you know? I’m out there proving myself every single weekend, but it’s like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, it’s not enough. My parents — they believe in me, but they’re 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 don’t get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, it’s like … it’s like I’m letting them down.”

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.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I know the sport is tough, but it feels like I’m fighting a battle that’s rigged from the start.”

Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not fair,” he says, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isn’t just about winning on the track. It’s about changing the game entirely.”

You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. There’s something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than he’s letting on.

“Changing the game?” You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.

Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah. Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, it’s you. You’ve got the talent, you’ve got the drive, and you’ve got something most people don’t — resilience. You’re still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.”

You bite your lip, absorbing his words. There’s a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but there’s also a part that’s tired — so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

Fernando’s 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 you’ve been denied.

“You are enough,” he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “The problem isn’t with you. It’s with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesn’t mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what they’re missing. And if they can’t see it, then we’ll make them see it.”

You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. There’s a conviction there that’s hard to ignore, a belief in you that you’ve been struggling to find in yourself.

“We?” You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.

Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. “We. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what it’s like to have to fight for everything. And I know what it’s like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.”

You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what he’s offering. There’s a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.

“So what now?” 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."

***

It’s been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasn’t been able to shake the conversation from his mind. He’s 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. It’s 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 it’s 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.

“Hey,” you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. “So … what’s this all about?”

Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. “You’ll see,” he says, cryptic as ever. “Come on, the car’s this way.”

You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what he’s up to. Fernando’s only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until you’re 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.

“You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.

Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’m trusting you, you know,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.

“And you won’t regret it,” 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. It’s 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.

“This can’t be …” you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. “Is this-”

“Mercedes HQ,” 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.

You’re silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. It’s 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.

“Nervous?” He asks, though he already knows the answer.

“A little,” you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Okay, a lot.”

He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. “Don’t be. You belong here.”

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 — 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 couldn’t 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.

“Fernando,” Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. “And you must be the young driver I’ve been hearing so much about.”

You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. It’s 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. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. “I … It’s an honor,” you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.

Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. “Welcome to Brackley,” he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity that’s made him such a formidable figure in the sport. “Fernando’s told us a lot about you.”

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. “When Fernando reached out to me,” Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, “and told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldn’t be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.”

You’re still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that he’s gone out of his way to help you. “I … I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice soft with emotion.

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” Toto says from behind you, his tone light. “Let’s get you settled in first.”

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. There’s a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination that’s 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. “Go on,” he says softly. “This is for you.”

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. “This,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “is an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard him. “The … Mercedes Junior Team?”

Lewis smiles, nodding. “We believe in your potential,” he says simply. “And we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance you’ve 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. It’s all real — your name, the terms, everything.

“We know it’s a big decision,” Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. “Take your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that we’re serious about this. We want you on our team.”

You’re overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but it’s a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing you’re on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, who’s been watching you quietly, and there’s a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.

“I don’t … I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. “Start by believing that you deserve this,” he says. “Because you do. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

There’s a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything you’ve been working toward, everything you’ve sacrificed for, and now that it’s here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.

But as you look around the table — at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando — you realize that this isn’t just a dream. It’s real. They’re 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. “I … I don’t know how to thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

“There’s no need for thanks,” Toto says with a small smile. “Just show us what you can do.”

Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. “You’ve already done the hard part. Now, it’s just time to make it official.”

You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. “I’m ready,” you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.

Lewis grins. “Welcome to the team.”

***

The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new — testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions — but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. He’s there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when he’s not by your side, he’s 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 you’ve 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 café on the outskirts of town, there’s a certain energy in his voice that you can’t 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.

“Morning,” you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. “You’re up to something, I can tell.”

Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. “Maybe I am,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “How are you feeling about next season?”

The question catches you off guard. “Next season? I mean, I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. There’s still so much to do now.”

He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. “Well, it’s time to start thinking about it,” 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. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” 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 — Formula 2 Contract Offer.

Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. “Is this … real?”

“Very real,” he confirms, his smile widening. “They want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.”

You’re 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. It’s everything you’ve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.

“This is …” you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. “You’ve earned this,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve worked hard, proven yourself, and now it’s time to take the next step.”

You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. “But how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there …”

Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Because you’re one of the best,” he says simply. “They see it, just like I do. And they know you’re going places.”

You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. “Carlin … Formula 2 … It’s really happening.”

“It is,” Fernando confirms with a smile. “And you’re ready for it.”

There’s 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 there’s something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. “What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’m planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.”

The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. “You’re … coming back? To F1?”

Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.”

You’re stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what he’s just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 … it’s huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. “That’s incredible,” you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. “But what does that mean for … us? For everything we’ve been working on?”

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. “It means that while I’ll still be around to support you, I won’t be able to be as hands-on as I’ve been. I won’t be able to be your full-time manager anymore.”

The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernando’s been your rock, the one who’s guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.

“But,” he continues, his tone reassuring, “I’m not leaving you in the lurch. I’ve already started talking to some people, and I’m going to make sure you get a manager who’s the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.”

You nod slowly, trying to process everything he’s telling you. It’s a lot to take in— the offer from Carlin, Fernando’s return to F1, the changes that will come with it — but there’s a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.

“I’m happy for you,” you finally say, your voice sincere. “Really, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.”

Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Thank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernando’s smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.

“But don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll still be watching, making sure you’re giving it your all.”

You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. “Good. Because the hard work isn’t over yet. If anything, it’s just beginning.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernando’s right — this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but you’re ready for it. And with his support, even if it’s from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.

“Thank you,” you say again, your voice full of gratitude. “For everything.”

Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”

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. It’s 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 — calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando you’re ready for this.

He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. He’s seen you grow over these past months, watched as you’ve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. He’s grinning, but there’s a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. “I still can’t believe it,” Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. “Fernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. It’s surreal.”

You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. “Believe it. He’s stuck with me now.”

Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. “Yuki, how are you feeling about today?” He asks, his tone friendly but professional.

Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. “I’m ready. I’ve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.”

“Good,” Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. “Remember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.”

Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. “And you?” He asks, turning back to you. “First F2 race … How are you feeling?”

You shrug, but there’s a determined glint in your eyes. “Excited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.”

Fernando can’t help but smile at that. He’s seen that look in countless drivers — right before they go on to do something special. “You’ve got this,” he says, his voice low but full of conviction. “Just do what you do best.”

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. He’s invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now he’s 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. “Remember, it’s just another race. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve done this a hundred times before.”

You nod, your expression set with determination. “I know. I just need to stay focused.”

“Exactly,” Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “And remember, I’m here. You’re not doing this alone.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. It’s 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 it’s 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.

“Trust your instincts,” he says. “You know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.”

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. There’s a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you.

He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. “Remember why you’re here. Show them what you’re made of.”

You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. “I will.”

And with that, the crew steps back, and it’s 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. He’s been in this position countless times, but it’s different when it’s someone you’ve invested so much in.

As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernando’s 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 you’re ready. He’s seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way you’ve handled every challenge thrown at you.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernando’s eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. It’s 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 — close calls, tight overtakes — but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. You’re 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 you’re pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way you’re sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. It’s a daring pass, squeezing through a gap that’s barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re doing it,” 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 Fernando’s nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, you’re 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. Fernando’s heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. It’s a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything you’ve got.

“Come on, come on,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. “You’ve got this.”

The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but you’re 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. It’s a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.

Fernando’s heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but he’s 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.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. “Absolutely incredible.”

You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He shakes his head, his smile wide. “You did this. You took everything you’ve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.”

Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. “Third place in your first race? You’re making the rest of us look bad!”

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, Fernando’s 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, he’s content to stand here with you, knowing that you’ve 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. He’s seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he can’t 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. It’s the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch — just a few minutes before you’re 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.

He’s 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 Fernando’s right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a who’s 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. She’s 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. It’s clear you’ve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but there’s still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.

“Good to see you,” Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “Let me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,” he says, gesturing to the man on his left. “Carlos is one of the top managers in the business. He’s going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.”

Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice. “Fernando has told me a lot about you, and I’ve been following your progress. You’ve got a bright future ahead, and I’m here to make sure you reach your full potential.”

You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. “And 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 clients’ personal brands. She’s here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.”

Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and confident. “I’ve 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.”

You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of what’s happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.

“Here’s the thing,” Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. “You’ve been fighting against the odds, and that’s what’s made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but we’re turning it into an asset. You’ve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, we’re going to show the world that you’re not just a great driver — you’re a game-changer.”

Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. “Exactly. 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. You’re in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.”

Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. “But it’s not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. It’s about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. That’s where I come in. I’ve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.”

You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. “It sounds … amazing,” you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. “But I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, they’re the right ones. I don’t want to just be a face on an ad — I want to represent something real.”

Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. “That’s the right approach. And that’s exactly why we’re here — to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. You’ve got the talent and the story, and now it’s about building the brand that reflects that.”

Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. “We’ve already secured two deals that I think you’re going to be very happy with,” she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. “The first is with Cartier. They’re looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand — strong, elegant, and determined.”

Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. “Cartier?” You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.

Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. “That’s right. They want to work with you on a campaign that’s going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. It’s not just about jewelry — it’s about the story you tell when you wear it.”

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.

“And the second deal?” You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Sophie’s smile widens. “That would be with Chanel. They’re launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. It’s a bold move for them, branching out into a market that’s traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.”

You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of what’s being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration you’re giving to each opportunity.

“I … I didn’t expect anything like this,” you admit, looking around the table. “It’s incredible, but it’s also a lot to take in.”

Carlos nods, his expression understanding. “It is. But you’re not in this alone. We’re here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.”

Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, we’re going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. We’re not rushing into anything. We’re building something that’s going to last.”

You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. It’s a trust he’s 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.

“These are just the first steps,” Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. “There’s so much more we can do. But it’s all going to be on your terms. You’re in control of your image, your brand. We’re just here to help you shape it.”

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. “I want to do this right,” you say finally, your voice strong. “I want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.”

Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. We’re just getting started.”

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. It’s clear you’re taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of what’s being presented.

By the time the meeting wraps up, there’s 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, it’s about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for what’s to come.

As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. “We’ll be in touch with the final details,” Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”

Carlos nods in agreement. “You’ve got a bright future ahead. Let’s make the most of it.”

You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldn’t have done this without you," you say softly.

Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "You’ve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what you’re 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. You’re surrounded by familiar faces — family, childhood friends, and the newer ones you’ve 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. He’s been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though he’s always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. He’s wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if he’s deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.

You catch his eye, and he raises his glass — a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. They’re reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. It’s nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this — 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 they’ve thrown. Your mom’s voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that you’ve 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 you’ve had since stepping into a race car.

Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your mom’s words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and he’s 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.

“Enjoying your birthday?” 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. “Yeah, it’s been really great. I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”

“People care about you,” Fernando says simply. “You’ve made quite an impact.”

You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. “I’m just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. It’s been a whirlwind.”

Fernando’s smile deepens. He knows how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. “You deserve it. You’ve earned it.”

There’s a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. “I, uh, have something for you.”

You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Fernando, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done so much.”

“I know,” he says, his tone a little softer now, as if he’s stepping into more vulnerable territory. “But I wanted to.”

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. It’s not overly flashy, but it’s beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.

You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper — something like awe. “Fernando … this is …”

He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I just … wanted you to have something that reminds you of where you’re headed. You’ve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. You’re not sure what to say — how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?

Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, “I’ve come to see you as … well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far you’ve come, it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

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 Fernando’s heart against your ear.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. “For everything.”

Fernando’s arms come around you, holding you close in a way that’s both protective and comforting. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. That’s all the thanks I need.”

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 there’s a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protégé — it’s something familial, something lasting.

He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you want some help putting that on?”

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 he’s done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.

“Perfect,” Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. “Just like you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re too kind.”

“No,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “Just honest.”

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 — 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, you’ll always have this — this connection, this bond, this family you’ve found in the most unexpected place.

***

The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but it’s 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. It’s just you and the knowledge that you’ve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that you’ve 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, you’re 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 — your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but there’s only one voice you really want to hear.

“You did it,” Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. “I knew you could do it.”

A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. “We did it,” you correct him, because it’s true. You’ve always been a team, even when he wasn’t 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. You’re immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.

But even in the chaos, you’re searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesn’t rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. That’s 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, there’s a thousand words unspoken.

“Not bad for a rookie,” he finally says, his smile widening.

You laugh, still breathless from the race. “Not bad at all.”

He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you don’t hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. “Thank you,” 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. It’s Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but there’s a warmth in his expression that’s almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile that’s equally as proud.

“Toto?” You ask, surprised. It’s not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.

He steps forward, offering his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice steady. “That was an incredible race.”

You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that he’s here. “Thank you,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. “You’ve had an outstanding season. You’ve shown everyone what you’re capable of.”

There’s 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, “We’ve been following your progress closely, and we believe you’re ready for the next step.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. It’s what every F2 driver dreams of, but it’s never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. “The next step?” You echo, almost afraid to hope.

Jost steps in, his smile widening. “We want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.”

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.

“Next season?” You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. “Yes. We’ve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe you’re the perfect fit for their team. You’ve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now it’s time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.”

You feel like you’re 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. He’s smiling, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he’s known about this for a while. He’s always known.

“You’ll be racing in F1,” Fernando says, his voice steady. “You deserve it.”

It’s then that the full weight of what’s happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. You’ll be on the grid with drivers you’ve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And …

Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. He’s going to be on that grid, too.

“I’ll be racing … with you,” you say, the words barely escaping your lips.

Fernando’s smile is knowing, almost amused. “Yes, you will.”

The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but you’ll 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. “I don’t know what to say.”

Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what you’re capable of. We’ll handle the rest.”

Jost nods in agreement. “We believe in you. You’ve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.”

You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along — 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.

“I’ll be ready,” you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination that’s carried you this far.

Fernando nods, satisfied. “I know you will.”

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.

“You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” You ask, giving him a sideways glance.

Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins. “And you’re an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future that’s unfolding right before your eyes. It’s been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but you’ve made it. And now, you’re 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 can’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando — the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.

“Thank you, Fernando,” you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. “For everything.”

He simply nods, his expression softening. “You’ve earned it.”

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 Fernando’s private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. It’s 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 what’s to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, it’s different. There’s no time to lose — 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 you’re not alone on this journey. He’s been here before, countless times, and now he’s passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isn’t just about physical training; it’s about mastering the mental side of the sport — 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.

“You know the driving part,” Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but there’s an intensity to it that commands attention. “You’ve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. It’s a mental game. It’s about being the predator, not the prey.”

You nod, knowing he’s 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 — it’s all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.

“Today, we start with the basics,” Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. “How to be a track terror.”

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 — that’s what Fernando is talking about. It’s not just about being fast; it’s about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.

“You don’t have to be the fastest in every session,” Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “You just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.”

He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. “Every driver has a breaking point,” he says. “You need to learn how to find it. Sometimes it’s in their driving — how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes it’s off the track — 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.”

You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. It’s not just about talent; it’s about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.

“And once you find that breaking point?” You ask, wanting to hear it from him.

Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. “You exploit it,” he says simply. “You push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. There’s a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.”

His words are blunt, but you know there’s truth in them. F1 isn’t just a sport, it’s a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.

“Take the first corner,” Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. “It’s where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that you’re not afraid to fight for position, but also that you’re in control. That’s key — being aggressive, but controlled.”

You nod, envisioning the scenarios he’s describing. You’ve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. There’s no room for error, but there’s also no room for hesitation.

“How do you know when to cross the line?” 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 doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You learn,” he says. “Sometimes 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. It’s about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.”

He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. “And sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you don’t 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.”

There’s a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what you’ve needed, what you’ve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.

“What about mind games?” You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.

Fernando chuckles, a sound that’s both amused and knowing. “Mind games are everything,” he says. “They start long before you even get in the car. It’s 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.”

He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. “The media is a powerful tool,” he continues. “You can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitors’ minds, but not enough to give anything away.”

You think back to the countless press conferences you’ve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. It’s a game within a game, and you’re starting to see how deep it goes.

“Never let them see you sweat,” Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. “Even when things aren’t going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you don’t. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.”

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. It’s 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 what’s to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.

“Let’s talk about racecraft,” he says, leaning forward. “You need to understand that F1 isn’t just about speed. It’s 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.”

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. It’s a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.

“You’ll have a team behind you,” Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. “But you’re the one in the car. You’re 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 you’ll be to handle whatever comes your way.”

He turns back to you, his expression serious. “And remember, F1 is a long game. It’s not just about one race, or even one season. It’s 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. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

You nod, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. This isn’t just about your rookie season; it’s about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know you’re 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 doesn’t sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges you’ll face, the sacrifices you’ll 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. It’s been an intense day, but you know it’s exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but he’s 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. There’s 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. “You know,” he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’ve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend … war criminal.”

You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. “War criminal?”

He chuckles, shrugging casually. “Not literally, of course. But some of my tactics, let’s say, weren’t always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win — sometimes crossing lines that others wouldn’t dare touch.”

You smile, catching on to his meaning. “And you think I’m ready to follow in your footsteps?”

Fernando’s smirk widens. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. F1 isn’t a game for the faint-hearted. It’s for those who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember … there’s no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.”

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. “Just don’t forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.”

***

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 that’s 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. It’s 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. “Hey,” he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. “Nervous?”

You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes — excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. “A little,” you admit. “It’s different from F2. Bigger.”

Fernando nods, understanding all too well. “It is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressure’s heavier. But you’ve got this.”

You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. “I know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.”

Fernando’s eyes narrow, the glint of the night’s floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember what we talked about in Spain. You’re not here to play nice. You’re here to win. You’re here to make them regret ever doubting you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando you’ve come to know so well — the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. He’s drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.

“You’re not just a driver,” he continues, his tone growing more intense. “You’re 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-”

“I intimidate them back,” you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.

Fernando’s lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. “Exactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.”

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 Fernando’s words.

“… If you see an opening, take it. Don’t give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when they’re scrambling, that’s when you strike. Hard.”

Latifi’s 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 Latifi’s reaction and can’t help but laugh. “I think you might’ve scared him off.”

Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. “Good. Less competition for you.” Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, “He’s not your concern. You’re here for the big players. And don’t forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what you’re made of. Especially the ones who think you don’t deserve to be here.”

You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernando’s 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 — all of it fades away until there’s only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.

Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. “Tonight, you’re going to prove that you’re not just another rookie. You’re a force to be reckoned with. And you’re going to do it with style.”

You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. “With style?”

“Absolutely,” Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. “Remember, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And you’re going to walk it like it’s a tightrope.”

You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernando’s words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, it’s a sanctuary — 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. He’s seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows you’re ready for this.

“Now go out there,” he says, voice clear and commanding, “and make them remember your name.”

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.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Terrorize everyone out there … except me.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. “No promises.”

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 what’s 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 you’re ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.

He’s proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor you’ve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernando’s 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 night’s 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. He’s barely listening to the reporter in front of him, who’s rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesn’t bother him much. Tonight, his focus isn’t on his own performance but on yours.

You’re animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth — 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, there’s a confidence there that wasn’t present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.

“Fernando,” the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. “Can you tell us about your strategy today?”

Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. You’re laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes — the same one he’s seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell you’re about to say something memorable, and he doesn’t want to miss it.

“Fernando?” the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.

“Hmm?” Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. “What was that?”

“Your strategy today — what was the thinking behind it?”

“Strategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,” Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. “You know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.” 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, Fernando’s attention is fully captured by what you’re saying.

A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, “Can 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.”

You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.

“I knew he would hit the brakes,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernando’s direction, you continue, “Because he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernando’s famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and it’s 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 what’s just been said. “Looks like she’s learned a thing or two from you,” he comments.

Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, she has. More than she knows.”

He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive — calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. You’re not just a racer; you’re 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. “Seb’s 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.”

“And what was going through your mind when you made the move?” Another journalist asks.

You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, “I was thinking, ‘What would Fernando do?’ And then I went for it.”

Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not because you’ve imitated him, but because you’ve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. That’s what separates the good drivers from the great ones — 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, who’s still trying to get something meaningful out of him.

“Fernando, about your race …” the reporter begins again.

But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. “Excuse me,” he says, cutting the interview short. There’s 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.

“Hey,” you say as he reaches you. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “You’ve got quite the sense of humor.”

“Learned from the best,” you quip, giving him a playful nudge.

Fernando laughs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually use that line, but I’m glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.”

You shrug, your smile widening. “Figured I’d give them something to talk about. Plus, it’s not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.”

“And you did it with style,” Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. “You handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. You’re making your mark.”

The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernando’s presence. “Great job out there today,” he says, offering a handshake.

“Thanks,” Fernando replies, shaking the man’s hand. “But today’s all about her,” 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 it’s just the two of you.

“You know,” Fernando says after a beat, “I’ve never been prouder.”

You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “Seeing 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.”

Your smile softens, touched by his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You did it because you’re a damn good driver,” Fernando corrects, though there’s a warmth in his tone. “But I’m glad I could be a part of your journey.”

You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what you’ve 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 you’ve proven them wrong, and you’ve done it in a way that’s uniquely your own.

“Next time, though,” Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “let’s aim for top five.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No pressure, right?”

“Never,” he replies with a grin. “Just a challenge.”

***

Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next season’s first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. He’s 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.

“Ah, there you are,” Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

You tilt your head slightly, curious. “Who?”

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 there’s an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.

“Oscar,” Fernando calls out, “this is her.”

Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. He’s calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but there’s a warmth there, something genuine. You can’t 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. “Likewise. I’ve heard good things.”

Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. “Hopefully, I can live up to them.”

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 there’s a softness to him that you hadn’t expected. It’s like he’s 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 — 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.

“Polite cat vibes,” you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

“What was that?” He asks, although there’s a knowing look in his eyes. He’s been around long enough to pick up on these things.

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a lightness in your expression that wasn’t there before. “I said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know there’s something more going on behind those eyes?”

Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. “So, you think Oscar is a cat?”

“Well, not literally,” you reply, grinning. “It’s just … he’s got this thing, you know? Like he’s really nice, but you can tell he’s got claws if he needs them. And he’s so … calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.”

Fernando’s laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re smitten, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. “But it’s just … he’s different. Not in a bad way, just-”

“Different,” Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get it. But don’t let that cloud your judgment on track.”

You shoot him a look. “Please. I’m not a rookie, and besides, I’m at Mercedes now. I’ve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.”

Fernando smiles, but there’s a serious undertone to his next words. “Just remember, this is Formula 1. There’s no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.”

You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but there’s still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Good,” Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. “Because I’m not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” you retort, smirking. There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.

But Fernando can’t resist one last jab. “Don’t go soft on him, okay? I’ve got my eye on you.”

You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course,” Fernando grins. “It’s part of my charm.”

You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando can’t help but feel a swell of pride. You’ve come so far, and he’s been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. There’s a part of him that’s protective, sure, but there’s also a part that’s thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your wa— even if it’s an Australian polite cat.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. “We’ve got a race to win this weekend, and I don’t want any distractions.”

You follow him, but there’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before, and Fernando notices. He doesn’t say anything, though, just smiles to himself. You’re going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.

As you walk together, side by side, you can’t 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, he’s 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 you’ve 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. There’s a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.

As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Mark’s eye. “I guess this makes us in-laws,” he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Mark chuckles softly, nodding. “Seems like it. Didn’t see this coming back when we were racing, did we?”

“Not at all,” Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. “But I’m glad it did.”

The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“From the moment I met you,” Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, “I 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 you’re down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.”

There’s 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 it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Oscar,” you begin, your voice clear and strong, “You were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. You’ve 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.”

Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. He’s never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he can’t 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 it’s time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscar’s 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 Oscar’s finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” you both say, sliding the rings onto each other’s fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant finally announces, and there’s a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s 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. There’s 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 Fernando’s eye across the room. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Nando,” you say softly as you reach him, “would you join me for a dance?”

For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. He’s always seen you as a strong, independent force — someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much you’ve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. “You’ve been like a father to me. I couldn’t imagine today without sharing this moment with you.”

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, there’s a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.

“I’ve watched you grow,” Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, “into one of the best drivers I’ve ever known, but more than that … into an incredible person. I’m so proud of you, more than I can ever say.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. “Thank you. For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would’ve found your way,” he replies, his tone firm. “You always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.”

“A little?” 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. “Remember, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “And I’ll always be here for you too.”

***

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. It’s a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. He’s used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing — but this, this is something entirely different. He’s 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 that’s 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.

It’s not that he’s nervous — Fernando Alonso doesn’t get nervous — but there’s something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didn’t 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. It’s quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.

You’re 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, there’s a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.

“Fernando,” you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. “Come meet him.”

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. Fernando’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way that’s both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.

“He’s perfect,” Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “We think so too.”

You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. “Would you like to hold him?”

For a moment, Fernando hesitates. He’s 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 he’s 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 — featherlight, almost — but it’s 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.

“What’s his name?” Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.

You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. “His name is Theodore,” you say softly, “Theodore Fernando Piastri.”

Fernando’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he’s speechless, his mind struggling to process what he’s just heard.

“Fernando?” He repeats, his voice barely audible.

You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We wanted to honor you. You’ve been like a father to me, and now … now you’re going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.”

Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else — something deeper, something he’s 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.

“You … you didn’t have to do that,” he says, his voice choked with emotion.

“But we wanted to,” Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. “You’ve done so much for us, for Y/N. It’s our way of saying thank you.”

Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. He’s always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this — this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasn’t prepared for.

“Thank you,” he finally says, his voice thick. “It means … it means more to me than you can ever know.”

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 didn’t realize he was holding.

“Grandpa Nando,” you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. “That’s what we’re going to call you. How do you feel about that?”

Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. “I think I can get used to that,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “Grandpa Nando. I like it.”

You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. “I’m glad. You’ve been a father figure to me, and now … now you get to be a grandfather to him.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando can’t stop staring at Theodore, can’t stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. He’s held many titles in his life — champion, driver, mentor — but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role he’s 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 he’s meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. He’s not just a mentor anymore; he’s family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory he’s 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.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for … for being a part of our lives.”

Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You — you and Oscar, and now Theodore — you’re my family. And there’s nothing more important to me than that.”

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.

[affableramen]

what they sound like when they finish first time, early + established relationship headcanons mature content, 18+ only

Wriothesley

First time with him: he’s quite nervous but on top of it he’s 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 he’s leading the way and focusing on pleasuring you first and utmost, it’s difficult for him to think of his own pleasure, so he doesn’t moan on the early times with you, and when you come he enjoys your voice, not mixing it with his.

Established relationship/marriage: it’s 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 he’s inexperienced, he gives in to the feelings of passion and groans his lungs out.

Early relationship: there’s lots of pleasing you and only you, and tartaglia doesn’t 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, he’s 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.

Neuvillette 

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. 

Early relationship: he only lets out soft moans precisely when he cums, and he especially lets those escape his lips when you’re giving him an oral pleasure (let’s mention that Neuvillette is generally shocked that you’d 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. 

Early relationship: doesn't make sound at all when cumming. he’s 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 he’s balls deep inside your gummy heat, ready to squirt his release anytime soon. 

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 doesn’t 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. that’s 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: it’s 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 doesn’t 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, he’ll 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 he’d 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.

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[ciceroprofacto]

Few additions as someone who struggled with this in undergrad because I was disorganized:

Yes, start with your bibliography. if you see a good source and wanna jump right into it- either because you're already focused or you're not sure if you'll use it and don't wanna waste time, it's enough to get the author's name or a key word of the title down. Just slap it at the end in parenthesis and highlight it to fix later. You don't need to do a perfect citation on the first draft, but you need something that will trigger your memory to where you found it.

In academia, you need a source for every idea, even if you had it on your own. Even if it seems really obvious. (I know- this one got me too). Think about it this way- sources aren't just a demonstration of where you found info, they're also a demonstration that the info is coming from multiple reputable places. It's either "I got this from here" or "these people think so too". Never these are my thoughts. That's not a thing. Your thesis might be the one thing you claim, and even then, it shouldn't seem like it's coming from you. It should be the conclusion your reader draws from the arguments you're presenting. If you're doing it right, you might not even have to say it. Erase the idea of 'State your thesis' and think about it as 'Argue your thesis' because you're not saying what you think, you're presenting evidence of why you think it.

ALWAYS always always make it as easy as possible to find your sources even if you think you're done using them. Use bookmarks and folders in your browser or download and drop them somewhere contained on your desktop as soon as you find them. If you can afford a writing software like Scrivner, those can be used to organize your schoolwork too. Different software have different advantages and disadvantages, but some of these programs even let you highlight and write on pdfs now.

It's always better to fuck up your format than it is to not cite something. If you end up in a time crunch and aren't able to make your citations perfect, STILL DO THEM. An academic review board that's checking for plagiarism is going to regard an attempt to cite with incorrect formatting a lot more kindly than no attempt at all.

in re plagiarism and citation and people not knowing how to do it

in the capstone class of my MASTER's degree, I had to do a group paper with fellow students who had all done 6+ years of collegiate study to get there

we shared drafts of our portions and they had no citations and i was like???? and they were like "it's a draft i'll put the citations in at the end" and i was like ???????

because by the time you're done writing the thing you're not going to remember what you got where and whether you synthesized information together! this is how "i thought i thought of it" plagiarism cases occur!!!!

anyway i told them at the bare minimum any time they referenced a numerical figure they needed to cite it, and since it was a paper on accounting fraud that mostly worked out. but i could tell they were citing stuff simply because i'd told them to cite where numbers came from, because they didn't bother to cite some non-numerical things that definitely needed it.

anyway this is why when you have classes that have multiple assignments for a paper to teach you how to write it, annotated bibliography comes before drafting. because you're supposed to have your sources and know what's in them when you start writing.

to current college students: PLEASE put the citations in as you're writing not as you're editing. i know it seems like a pita especially if you don't know the formatting well, but that's what tools like Purdue Owl are for. Tell it what citation format you're supposed to use, what kind of source you have, fill in the fields and it will format the citation for you.

[redroomreflections]

At The End of The Night

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

The Loud House Universe

Warnings: Smut Inside - Minors DNI (18+)

Note: I hope y'all enjoy

Summary: Wanda has always been a third in Reader and Nat's relationship. Why not take it to the next level?

W/c: 5k

It felt strange, in a good way, for the house to be this quiet. You were seated on the couch, sandwiched between Wanda and Natasha, as the soft TV light bathed the room in dim, darting light. Cara was away at a sleepover with friends, leaving you and Natasha with the rare opportunity for a quiet night. Of course, inviting Wanda over for a movie night was a given.

People always joked that Wanda was the third in your marriage, and while that was only half true, the three of you shared a bond unlike any other. When Wanda joined the team, you were the first person to make her feel welcome, and she was someone who quickly found her place in your lives. You and Wanda immediately hit it off, bonding over a few common interests and quickly building a friendship that became as easy as family. Wanda was a person you trusted with pretty much everything. She's someone you both cared about deeply.

Now, nestled together under a heavy blanket, Wanda gave an exaggerated sigh as she leaned her head against the pillows. “I’m just saying, if he wanted her back, he could have tried a little harder than just showing up at her work with a bouquet,” she scoffed, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Natasha smirked on your other side. “It’s a rom-com. If it made sense, it wouldn’t be half as entertaining,” she said, sipping her wine. She draped an arm casually over the back of the couch, stroking the back of your neck with the tip of her fingers.

You sighed softly at the sensation, the wine, and the heat of their bodies, making you feel content and comfortable. Wanda shifted, and her thigh pressed against yours. The movie was coming to an end, and you were buzzed. It was a good feeling.

"I need more wine," You announced.

"Oh no, you don't," Natasha gripped your glass out of arms' reach. "You get too frisky when you're drunk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," You scoffed.

"It is when we have guests," Natasha gestured to Wanda. "You've been rubbing my leg this entire movie."

You hadn't even noticed. "Sorry, Wands," You apologized.

"No, I'm used to it," Wanda waved her hand, dismissing your concerns.

"Used to it?" You frowned.

Wanda nodded. "You're not subtle. You always do the same things when you're drunk, which isn't often. You guys are very touchy-feely." She teased, laughing a little as she looked between you and Natasha. "Not that it's a bad thing."

"Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable," Natasha apologized.

"It's fine," Wanda promised. "It's a nice change, actually. Everyone is so formal, and everyone always wants something from me. You guys are the only ones who make me feel... Normal. It's nice."

"We'll always be here for you," You smiled. "You're sweet."

She smiled back at you.

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with us. And if you ever feel uncomfortable, just say the word.” You told her.

Wanda smiled, glancing down. “You guys are the best,” she said, looking up with a hint of bashfulness. “I guess I’ve always wondered what that would feel like—to have someone you could just be yourself around all the time.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before gently nudging Wanda with your shoulder. “It’ll happen for you, too, you know. Some lucky person out there will love you for exactly who you are.”

Wanda chuckled, her cheeks turning a little pink. “You both make it look so easy, though. How do you even start with all of this… relationship stuff?”

"Have you not been in one?" Natasha raised a brow.

"No, not really. There was a guy back home, but he was a jerk. And I was so busy, and then there was Ultron and Sokovia, and..." Wanda trailed off, shaking her head. "It's always seemed like a luxury."

"It's not. It's an incredible experience." You said, smiling to yourself as you glanced at your wife.

"And the sex is a bonus," Natasha grinned.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

"What?" You frowned, a little confused. "Are you a virgin?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head. "I've slept with a man before, but..."

"But what?" Natasha frowned.

"I've never slept with a woman," Wanda explained.

"Would you like to?" You tilted your head.

"With whom?" Wanda's eyes widened.

"Well, not necessarily now," You shook your head. You licked your lips and thought it over. "But we could help you practice if you'd like."

"Practice?"

"Sure," Natasha nodded. "There's no reason for you to have a bad first time."

"I'm not asking for a pity-fuck," Wanda rolled her eyes. She sighed. "I should probably get home."

"Or you could stay?" You suggested, looking over to Natasha for backup. "If you want."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "It's a big bed, and you could have the spare room if you'd rather have privacy. But, no pressure."

"Yeah," You agreed. "It doesn't have to be anything weird. I mean, not unless you want it to be."

Wanda stared at you both briefly, her brow creasing a little. "So, what, I'll come to sleep with you guys, and you'll make me feel good?"

"If that's what you want, yes," You nodded. "And if not, we'll still be here for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're your friends and care about you," Natasha shrugged. "We're offering because we'd like to, but if you're not interested, that's fine, too."

Wanda looked at the both of you for a moment, a little taken aback. You felt a little guilty. You hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable.

"What would we do?" She finally asked.

"Whatever you'd like. Whatever makes you feel good," Natasha assured her.

"I'm sorry," Wanda shook her head. She brushed a hand over her face to collect her thoughts. "Maybe I've had too much to drink. Are you guys being serious?"

"Yes," You nodded.

"Okay, hold on. Let me process," Wanda put up her hands.

You and Natasha exchanged another glance, not wanting to make the younger woman feel awkward.

"I'm going to grab more wine," Natasha announced, standing up. "Be right back."

"You can ask questions," You said, reaching over and squeezing her hand.

"I-I'm not sure what to ask," She admitted.

"How do you feel about it?"

"A little embarrassed," Wanda chuckled nervously. "But also a little curious."

"What's embarrassing about it?"

"It's not something that's normally talked about, is it? People don't go around bragging about how much they want to fuck their friends." She explained, dropping her hands to her lap. "You two are generous for the offer, but I don't want to be someone intruding on your marriage."

"It's only intruding if we say no and you push," You reminded her. "Which is the same for you. If you say no, we won't push."

There was a long pause from her. She hadn't said no yet.

Wanda sighed softly, running a hand through her hair. "I'm afraid I won't be good. What if I fumble, or what if it's awkward and..."

"Then we'll have a laugh and call it a day. I promise." You reassured her.

Wanda bit her lip, and you watched her eyes dart from the door to you and back to the door. Finally, she turned to look at you again.

"What would you want to do with me?" She asked, her voice a little softer. Instead of telling her, you decided to show her. You scooted closer to her on the couch, raising your hands to her face before leaning in to press your lips against hers. Her lips were soft, and her skin was warm. She melted into the kiss, her shoulders relaxing as she brought a hand up to touch your face. You pulled away for a moment, gauging her reaction. Her lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed, but she said nothing.

"Come here," You whispered. This kiss was more sensual. Mainly for her benefit and partly because you'd wanted to taste her for a while. You sucked on her bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan from the young woman.

"I can see why you're a married woman," Wanda whispered.

"I've got some moves," You smirked.

"So do I," Wanda replied, suddenly pulling you back in. Her lips were hungry and insistent, and her tongue flicked against yours, drawing another soft moan from the depths of your throat.

"I leave for two minutes," Natasha sighed. She had three filled wine glasses balancing in her hands. "I take it you're up for the offer."

"I'm still considering," Wanda replied, though her eyes were glued to your lips. "We should discuss this over wine."

Natasha grinned. "Good plan. Here's your glass." She handed Wanda the red wine before sitting next to you. She reached for the remote, flicked the TV off, and plunged the room into semi-darkness. Only the soft glow from the kitchen light illuminated the living room.

Wanda gulped down her glass of wine as you looked at her amusedly. When her glass was empty, she softly set it on the table. "Are you guys in an open marriage?"

"No," Natasha answered. "Not open. We just like you."

"I'm not a homewrecker," Wanda insisted.

"It's not a wreck if we want to share," You said.

Wanda took a deep breath, looking between you and Natasha. She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated your proposition. You could tell she was nervous but also intrigued.

"If it's too much, we can stop whenever you want," Natasha reminded her.

"Can I kiss you?" Wanda asked her.

"I'd be upset if you didn't."

Wanda's lips crashed against Natasha's. Their lips locked, their tongues meeting as the two women explored each other. The sight was breathtaking, and you could feel the arousal growing within you.

You took a long sip of your wine, watching them. There were key differences in how you kissed and Natasha kissed. Natasha was more hands-on with her kissing, opting to feel whatever part of your body she could get her hands on. You could see them twitch in her lap out of the corner of your eye. Her kisses were confident and sensual. They left no doubt in your mind about what her intentions were.

Wanda's hands rested against your thighs, occasionally gripping them. She was less intense and more curious. Her kisses were tentative, exploring the other woman's mouth slowly and deliberately. She clearly felt for Natasha, and you wondered if the redhead knew. It was a dangerous line to cross, but you were not giving up this opportunity.

You couldn't help but wonder if this was how Natasha felt the first time the two of you had sex. Seeing the two of them together was thrilling and a little surreal.

Natasha was the one to break the kiss. She pulled away with a sigh, licking her lips as she looked over at you.

"You've got good taste," She smirked.

"So do you," You winked.

"How far do we want to take this?" Natasha asked, looking over at Wanda. "The ball is in your court."

"I have some ideas," Wanda blushed. "But I'm a little afraid."

"Do you want to be the one getting fucked?" You asked.

"Yes," Wanda nodded.

"Do you want to fuck Natasha, or do you want her to fuck you?"

"I-I... I want you to fuck me," Wanda said.

"That can be arranged," You winked.

"And do you want me to watch, or do you want me to join?" Natasha asked, her fingers dancing along Wanda's arm.

"Whatever you'd like," Wanda said softly.

"We have plans for you yet," You rested a hand on the small of her waist. "I hope this is okay."

"This is great," Wanda said, leaning back as you kissed her neck. "Just different. I'm not used to being treated this way."

"Well, you deserve it," Natasha purred. "And so does my wife. She likes it a little rough. How do you like it?"

"I'm not sure," Wanda admitted. "I've only had sex a couple of times, and it wasn't amazing."

"Oh, honey," Natasha cooed. "We'll take good care of you. That's a promise."

"Okay," Wanda breathed.

"Come here," You grabbed her by the waist, pulling her over onto your lap. You kissed her gently, trying to soothe her. You didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or pressured; the last thing you wanted was for her to feel like an intruder.

Wanda moaned into your mouth as your tongue found hers, the tension in her shoulders gradually melting away. Your fingers crept under the hem of her shirt, gently rubbing the soft skin of her lower back.

"Do you want to take this to the bedroom?" Natasha asked.

"Yes," Wanda nodded, breaking the kiss and climbing off your lap. Natasha took her hand, leading her to the bedroom as you trailed. The room was dark and cool. She set Wanda up on the edge of the bed.

"I want to see you two kiss," She blushed.

"Oh, does that turn you on?"

"It always has," She nodded.

Natasha smirked. "Then we should oblige." She turned and kissed you, her hands cupping your face. Her lips were soft, and the taste of wine lingered on her tongue.

"Mm," Wanda hummed.

You'd wanted Natasha's hands on your body all night. She sucked on your tongue, drawing a soft moan from the depths of your throat.

"Fuck, that's hot," Wanda whimpered.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling Natasha's lips pull up at the corners. You broke the kiss and pulled her close, your bodies pressing against each other.

"Your turn," You said, gesturing towards Wanda. "Go easy on her."

"Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise," Natasha replied, her green eyes sparkling.

"Are you gonna strip, or are you waiting for me to do it?" Wanda teased.

Natasha laughed, walking over to the young woman and sitting beside her. She placed a hand on her thigh and leaned in, kissing her. This time, there was no hesitation.

Natasha kissed her hungrily, her fingers tracing circles against her bare skin. Wanda moaned softly, her body shivering. She broke the kiss, looking up at Natasha through thick lashes.

"Are you alright?" Natasha asked.

"More than," Wanda nodded.

"Can I touch you?"

"Please."

Natasha's hand trailed up her thigh and slipped underneath her shirt. Her hand found the soft cup of her bra as she used her thumb to tease Wanda's nipple through the material. To Wanda, it was perfect foreplay, but you knew better. Natasha was gauging Wanda's sensitivity. She did not disappoint.

"Mmm," Wanda sighed, her back arching slightly to get more feeling. "Fuck, that feels good."

"Does it?" Natasha smirked, continuing to rub the fabric. Wanda's nipple was hardening and beginning to peek out.

"Yes," Wanda whimpered.

"You want more?"

"Please."

Natasha's fingers slipped beneath her bra, her fingertips brushing against the soft, sensitive skin. Wanda moaned, her body jerking a little.

"Fuck, that's so good," Wanda whined.

"You like having your nipples played with, don't you?" Natasha purred.

"Y-yes," Wanda breathed.

Natasha smirked. "Good to know."

She kissed her again, her lips hungry and demanding. Wanda melted into the kiss, her body sinking into the mattress. You used that moment of distraction to begin unbuttoning Wanda's jeans. Your fingers made quick work of the buttons and zipper.

"Lift up for me, baby," You requested.

Wanda raised her hips, letting you slide the denim down her legs. You tossed them to the side, leaving her in her panties and her bra.

Natasha finally broke the kiss, and Wanda gasped for air. "You're so beautiful," Natasha murmured, eyes scanning the younger woman's body. "And you taste so sweet."

Wanda blushed. "Thank you," She said shyly.

"My turn," You grinned, kneeling between her thighs.

"Your wife has good ideas," Wanda hummed.

You spread Wanda's legs for her, noting the wet patch on the front of her underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight.

"You've been wanting this for a while," You mused as you approached her. You used your knuckle to brush against the wet spot finding her clit with ease.

"Shit," Wanda gasped.

You smirked at the reaction.

"I'd ask you what you were thinking, but I think it's fairly obvious." You teased, rubbing slow, firm circles around her clit.

Wanda moaned, her body writhing beneath you. "F-fuck."

"Don't make her come so fast," Natasha warned as she pinched Wanda's nipples between her fingers.

"Sorry, babe," You smirked, pulling your hand away.

Wanda let out a soft whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

"We can't have that," Natasha purred. She moved her hands from Wanda's chest and slid her fingers underneath the waistband of her underwear. "Lift up for me, pretty girl."

Wanda obeyed, raising her hips once again. Natasha hooked her fingers around the fabric and tugged them down. She tossed them over her shoulder, her green eyes raking over Wanda's exposed skin.

"Fuck," Natasha muttered.

"What is it?" Wanda asked.

"You're just so... fucking gorgeous,"

"I didn't shave," Wanda apologized. "I didn't exactly plan for this."

"Doesn't matter," You shook your head. "Natasha, hold her." You raised your chin. Natasha immediately knew what you were asking of her. She moved across the bed and leaned back against the pillows and headboard. She patted the spot between her legs for Wanda to come and sit. Wanda leaned back against Natahsa's front.

You grabbed Wanda's thighs, pulling her down the bed and spreading her legs, her glistening pussy on display for you. You didn't hesitate to lean in and lap up her slit. Her taste exploded on your tongue, the sweet taste of her arousal coating your tastebuds.

"Fuuuuck," Wanda groaned.

"You're doing so good," Natasha murmured, her hands massaging Wanda's tits and belly.

You continued to lick her, her taste and scent surrounding you. You moaned softly, loving the way she writhed beneath you.

"Y-you're really good at that," Wanda panted, her body jerking and trembling. "MMM," She moaned softly.

You could feel her pussy getting wetter and wetter with each flick of your tongue.

"She's very skilled," Natasha chuckled.

"Oh, fuck," Wanda moaned, her head falling back. "Please."

You hummed softly, the vibration adding to her pleasure.

"Oh, please, oh," Wanda whimpered.

"She's really sensitive," Natasha mused. "Do you like that?" She asked.

"Y-yes, it feels amazing," Wanda stammered.

You smirked, swirling your tongue around her clit. Her thighs trembled in response, and you knew she was close.

"You don't know how long we've been wanting you," Natasha murmured into her ear. She nuzzled her neck with her nose.

"R-really?"

"You're gorgeous," Natasha murmured, her voice soft. "Of course."

"So are you," Wanda breathed.

"We could've done this so long ago," Natasha said, kissing her cheek.

Wanda didn't answer, and you weren't sure if she was even listening. Your tongue was buried deep in her pussy, and her legs were quivering. Natasha's hands moved to her thighs, forcing her to keep her legs open as you sucked her clit into your mouth.

"OH, oh, I'm going to..." She trailed off, her orgasm hitting her. Her body tensed, her legs trembling. You didn't stop, your tongue flicking over her sensitive nub.

"Mm," Natasha hummed.

Wanda's entire body tensed, and her back arched off the bed. You kept your tongue on her, tasting her orgasm as it flowed out of her.

"Shit," She panted.

"How was that?" You asked, finally pulling away.

"Good," She replied. "Amazing."

"We're not finished yet," Natasha said. "We're just getting started."

"You've been a really good girl," You smiled.

"Yeah?" Wanda asked, still trying to catch her breath.

"Yes," You nodded. "We've been talking about this for a while."

"You have?"

"Yes," Natasha smiled. "And now, you're all ours."

"Yes," Wanda nodded. She reached for you, pulling you to her and tasting herself on your tongue.

"I think she likes it," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," You nodded.

"Can I touch you?"

"Sure," You shrugged. "Where do you want to touch me?"

"Everywhere," Wanda admitted. "Will you show me how to pleasure her?" She leaned her head onto Natasha's shoulder to see her eyes. The two of you shared a smirk. Wanda assumed that Natasha usually took a more dominant role in the bedroom. If only she'd seen you a couple nights ago, with Natasha begging you to fuck her as you made her come for the second time.

"Start with her neck," Natasha instructed. "And her ears. Those are two of her most sensitive areas."

Wanda followed her instructions. Her lips pressed against your neck, and her teeth grazed your earlobe.

"Mmm," You hummed, tilting your head to the side.

"That's good," Natasha praised.

"Do you want my shirt off?"

"Yes," Wanda nodded.

You reached down, pulling the shirt over your head. The cold air hit your bare skin, causing your arms and chest goosebumps.

"Now her nipples," Natasha murmured, watching Wanda closely.

Wanda nodded, her fingers finding your nipple and pinching it.

"Ooh," You gasped.

"She's more sensitive there than I am," Natasha explained.

"Not true," You moaned.

"Oh, hush," She smirked.

"Keep doing that," You urged as Wanda wrapped her lips around your nipple. You straddled her lap, effectively pinning her to Natasha as you looked into your wife's eyes.

"Look at her," Natasha smirked. "So pretty."

Wanda looked up at you, her lips still wrapped around your nipple. You cupped her cheek, smiling at her.

"Such a good girl," Natasha praised.

Wanda's eyes fluttered closed at the praise, her body melting into yours.

"She's perfect," Natasha murmured, her voice low.

"Mhmm," You agreed, running a hand through Wanda's hair.

Wanda's hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of your skin. She was so curious, so eager, and it made you smile.

"You're so sexy," Wanda said softly when her lips released your nipple with a pop. "Both of you."

"And so are you," Natasha cooed.

"You've got great boobs," Wanda hummed.

"Why thank you," You grinned.

"Do you mind if I kiss her again?"

"Go right ahead," Natasha replied.

Wanda pressed her lips against yours, her hands roaming your back.

"Do you want to touch her more?" Natasha asked.

"I think so," Wanda nodded. "But I don't know where to start."

"Just explore," Natasha replied.

Wanda's hands explored your body, her fingers tracing patterns along your skin.

"That's so good," You breathed.

"She's so responsive," Wanda smiled.

"Yeah, she is," Natasha agreed.

Wanda's fingers trailed down your stomach, her hand slipping into your pants. Her fingers found your pussy, sliding along the wetness.

"Oh, god," You moaned, your hips bucking forward.

"Does that feel good?" Wanda asked.

"Yes," You moaned.

Wanda's fingers moved up and down, sliding easily along your pussy. This was her first time touching another woman. She wanted to see and feel everything.

"Fuck," You breathed, your hips bucking.

"So wet," Wanda purred.

"Yeah, that's what happens when someone has you as a lover," Natasha said, her voice dripping with lust.

"Right there," You sighed as Wanda's fingers clumsily found your clit.

"Here?"

"Y-yeah," You moaned.

Wanda's fingers worked your clit, her pace quickening.

"Mm," Natasha hummed.

"F-fuck," You whimpered, your hips jerking.

"Good girl," Natasha purred.

Wanda continued her ministrations, her fingers rubbing your clit.

"O-oh," You moaned.

"That's it," Natasha encouraged.

Your thighs began to tremble, your orgasm building.

"C-close," You stammered.

"Come for her," Natasha said.

"Fuck, yes," Wanda growled.

"OH," You moaned, your body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. Wanda's fingers continued to work, her pace unrelenting.

"Fuck," You breathed, your hips grinding against her.

"That's a good girl," Natasha said softly.

"Damn," Wanda smiled.

"That was really good," You said, taking a moment to breathe.

"It was," Wanda nodded. She helped you pull the sticky underwear and sweatpants from your body.

"How much can you take?" You asked Wanda.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want Natasha to fuck you? Or do you want me to fuck you?"

"I don't know," Wanda admitted. "You choose."

"Hmm," You chuckled to yourself. You reached over to your nightstand, grabbed one of your favorite straps, and tossed it to Natasha. "She needs you."

"Is that so?" Natasha grinned, holding the strap-on.

"Yes," Wanda nodded, looking up at the redhead.

"How badly do you want it?" Natasha teased.

"I want it," Wanda answered, her voice shaky.

"Are you scared?"

"A little," Wanda admitted.

"We have you," You reassured her. Natasha removed herself from the bed to adjust the strap. It wasn't too big. Six and a half inches. It was perfect. She returned to the bed and kneeled between Wanda's thighs.

"We'll go slow," Natasha promised.

"Okay," Wanda nodded, taking a deep breath.

Natasha's hand slipped between her legs, testing her readiness.

"Fuck," Wanda gasped.

"That's good," Natasha smirked, pulling her hand back. "Ready?"

"Y-yes," Wanda said, nodding.

Natasha lined the dildo up with her pussy and pushed it in, her hands on either side of her hips.

"Oh, God," Wanda moaned, her eyes squeezing shut.

"How does it feel?"

"Good," Wanda whimpered.

"Just breathe, honey," Natasha cooed. From beside them, you offered moral support. You knew this feeling, and it was a good feeling.

"Fuck, it's a lot," Wanda panted.

"Do you need a minute?"

"No, keep going," Wanda urged.

Natasha obliged, pushing further into her.

"Oh, God," Wanda moaned.

"Good girl," Natasha murmured. Your eyes zeroed in on the strap pushing into Wanda's tight hole.

"Fuck," Wanda whined, her hips squirming.

"You're doing great," You praised.

"I know," Wanda groaned, her cheeks turning pink.

Natasha bottomed out, her hips flush against Wanda's.

"There we go," Natasha hummed.

"Oh," Wanda moaned, her body adjusting to the strap. Her clit brushed against Natasha's pelvis.

"That's better," Natasha smiled.

"Feels... different," Wanda admitted.

"Good or bad?"

"Just... different."

"You'll get used to it," You reassured her.

"Is that what it's like for you?" Wanda asked, looking at you.

"Sort of," You nodded. "But I usually have something inside me, too."

"Can I touch you again?" Wanda asked.

"Of course," You replied, spreading your legs.

Wanda reached over, her fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around it.

"Mmm," You moaned.

"You have a pretty pussy," Wanda cooed.

"Thank you," You blushed.

"Do you mind if I taste it?"

"No, I don't mind," You shook your head. You knew the implications of what she was asking and obliged. In one swift move, you were straddling Wanda's head. She used one hand to wrap around your thigh and the other to dig into Natasha's back as the other woman thrust into her.

"Ooh," Wanda gasped as Natasha's hips met hers.

"Mm, fuck," You whimpered as her tongue lapped at your pussy.

"Tastes good," She muttered.

"You're so good," Natasha purred, her fingers digging into Wanda's hips.

Wanda moaned against your pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through your body.

"O-oh," You gasped.

Wanda's tongue flicked over your clit, her lips wrapping around it. You did the same to her earlier, and it drove her wild. She figured the same would be for you.

"Holy shit," You breathed, your hips grinding against her.

"Fuck, I can't," Natasha whined, her hips snapping.

"You're doing so good," You encouraged.

"Mm-hmm," Wanda mumbled, her tongue licking up your slit. If someone were to walk in right now, they'd either be horrified or incredibly turned on. The sound of the bed creaking against the floor and your mingled moans were the only things that could be heard.

"You're doing amazing, baby," Natasha praised, her hips moving faster and harder.

"You're going to make us both come," You groaned.

Wanda whimpered beneath you. She'd never experienced something as euphoric as this moment. Even if her neck strained and he tongue was tired, she was not giving up. She felt the delicious ache of the strap filling hr, and your arousal coated her tongue.

"Oh, god," You moaned, your thighs trembling.

"Fuck," Natasha growled, her hips thrusting.

Wanda's hands dug into your thighs, her nails leaving small crescent marks.

"I-I'm gonna," You stammered.

"Do it," Wanda murmured, her lips moving against your pussy. You came, reaching out to the headboard to hold you up as you thrust against her tongue. You tried to be mindful of the fact that she could suffocate, but Wanda only locked in more. She pulled you down, sucking gently on your clit, prolonging your orgasm. Not too shortly after, she was thrown into her own unexpected orgasm as Natasha thrust harder.

"F-fuck," Natasha grunted.

"Holy shit," Wanda whimpered, her hips bucking.

Natasha's hips jerked, her grip tightening.

"Shit," You swore.

"FUCK!" Wanda moaned, her legs trembling.

Natasha's body tensed, her thighs shaking.

"Oh, God," She groaned.

"Oh my," You breathed.

Wanda let out a shaky moan, her body writhing beneath yours.

"Wow," She whispered.

"You're doing amazing," You panted, climbing off her head.

"That was incredible," Natasha breathed, slowly pulling the strap out of Wanda's pussy.

"Thank you," Wanda smiled, her chest heaving.

"You're such a good girl," Natasha smiled.

"You are," You nodded. "I can't believe that was your first time."

"Really?" Wanda asked.

"Absolutely," Natasha replied.

"Well, I guess it was worth the wait."

"I'm sure," You laughed, crawling into the middle of the bed.

"Do you need anything, babe?" Natasha asked.

"Maybe a glass of water," You smirked.

"Okay," Natasha nodded. She kissed you and then kissed Wanda.

"You're going to stay, right?"

"If you want me to," Wanda smiled.

"We'd love for you to," You grinned.

"Then, yes," She nodded.

"Good," You smiled, kissing her gently.

"We're keeping her," Natasha said as she walked out of the room.

"Definitely," You grinned. "Can you go again?" You asked her as your hands trailed across her body.

"Y-yes," Wanda answered, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Good," You hummed, nuzzling your face in her neck.

"That was... wow," Wanda breathed.

"It was," You nodded, pressing soft kisses against her neck.

"I never thought I'd actually have sex with someone, let alone two people," She said.

"You haven't really dated before?"

"No," Wanda replied, shaking her head.

"We've known each other for a long time," You noted. "This feels natural."

"It does," Wanda agreed.

"It's like you're part of our little family already."

"I think so," She smiled.

"I'm glad you feel that way."

[postracehair]

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 São 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.

[venmondiese]

WEIRD HOBBIES

-ˋˏ| summary: you meet a guy in a bar and decide to go back to his place, as weird as he might seem.

✧ | Pairing: Martin (in the modern world) x reader

✧ | word count: 2.3k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f/m receiving), 69 position, Martin is weird as hell but a pussy eating champ! Not beta proof<3

“So… what’s your name again?” You ask curiously, walking behind the man that holds your hand, guiding you through his home, and to his bedroom. You don’t complain, though, since you were out just for that; to get home with a handsome man. 

There was this band that you never heard of playing near your house, and it took little for your brain to convince you to go. If something good came from it, you would get fucked. If something bad came from it, well… you hoped for the first one. 

That’s how you ended up here, following a dude, which looks from head to toe like a metal head. His hair goes to his shoulders, coal black, which you assume he dyed it, and some graphic shirt with the words ‘Knotfest’ and all, wearing some metal stuff that you didn’t really know much about.

And you looked like a rock groupie, with a leather top that practically squeezed your tits and a dark jeans miniskirt with some boots. Yet, this mysterious man was still taller than you, and that was quite exciting, and a bit arousing.

“Eh, Martin” he says nonchalantly, as he grabs your hand, his bracelets really end up the detail of his fit, and you feel really horny now to lay with this dude. “Yours?”

You tell Martin your name, following him as he opens his bedroom door. To be fair, it is tidier than you imagined.

“Sorry the mess” he murmurs, moving the drone and an electric guitar out of his bed. You hum, looking around curiously, to the badly positioned posters, some rock-metal bands that you didn’t know about.

“Is that a snake?” You ask, watching the little head of the reptile in the middle of the dim light coming from outside.

“Uh- no, it’s a lizard” 

A guy with a lizard as a pet. Okay.

“What is its name?” 

“Lizard. I don’t like naming them-” 

Great. 

You look at him with a fake smile. The dick better be good you think, taking out your jacket and leaving it on a chair next to the desk.

“Be careful, spider likes to crawl near there”

You took your jacket off there, and you really hoped that he had a dog called spider because otherwise it would be strange as hell.

“Riiiiight” you say, leaving your jacket in a hanger of his opened closet. Whatever. “So… Apart from having a lizard and a spider… do you maybe also have… a cockroach?”

He lets out a huff, his lips turning upwards as he takes his shirt off. “No” Martin says. “I do have another thing, though, it’s very big”

You try to smile at his corny, cringy words. It’s for the dick. You repeat to yourself: The dick better be good. He better not finish in two minutes. He better knows how to eat pussy.

“Ha. Funny” you say as you start to take off those boots.

“How did ya meet the band?”

“Ehmm… A friend dated the brother of an ex of the bassist. I think” you say watching as he frowns his eyebrows slightly trying to make any sense as he lights up a cigarette. 

“ah, nice” he says as he lays on bed as he smokes the cigarette, taking off his shirt as he remains only in those Adidas jeans of his. “Heard the songs before?”

“Once or twice” you say looking at the CD albums stacked on top of each other messily, and you move to grab a solitude piece of paper, as you can practically feel Martin’s eyes on your ass. “I liked the vocalist, quite handsome, don’t you think?” you unwrap softly the paper, away from Martin’s eyes.

It was an address. It piqued your curiosity.

“Aye, come here” his voice is soft as he extends his hand to turn off the cigarette on the glass ashtray, which has the shape of a dragon.

You turn around and walk toward his bed, and watch how he seems eager to have you. It’s hot to have a man drooling for you like Martin is now. And his erection is the living proof of it; it was obvious against his trousers that he was rock hard. You wondered if he was leaking as well. 

You straddle his lap, a smirk forming on your lips as his hands move immediately to your thighs, cold hands moving slowly up to find their way to your ass. 

“Sit on my face” Martin murmurs, words slightly stuck between his pants

“Hm? What was that?” You ask petulantly, pretending not to have heard. 

“Come on, beautiful, sit on my face” he says, pushing your hips closer to his chest, trying to push your miniskirt up.

“Gotta take my panties off” you say softly to him, watching his lips as he licks them, savouring the ghosting taste of you.

“No, like this” he murmurs, eager to taste you. “I’ll eat you from behind even.” Martin proposes, more desperate than the last time “Please”

You might forgive cheesy comments for his eagerness. You sigh with a wide smirk, turning around as Martin places his big hands around your thighs, dragging your centre closer to his face. 

Eager was the wrong word for it; he was desperate.

His hand moved your panties to the side, and his face almost nuzzled your cunt, before starting to press his tongue on your centre. You could hear his groan of pure delight, his hands caressing the skin of your thighs and ass as he delighted himself. 

“Fuck” you said, but it was as if all the air from your lungs when out in that moan. 

Martin’s hands were keeping you still, not allowing you to move your hips to grind his face as you wanted. You could hear his moans, the way he slurped and nuzzled his face on your cunt. 

He was a pro, eating pussy as if he did it every day (maybe he did, god knows), and he didn’t seem to care for his lack of air in the matter. He was on it, devoted to eating your dripping cunt as if it was his last meal on earth.

Your hands are pressed on his stomach, and he has to forcefully let you go to breathe, and you sigh as you feel his breaths. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” You breathe softly, as you can hear how he pants, catching his breath. 

“A good pussy can make a man go feral, love” he says, moving your panties out of the way as his index and middle finger move to rub against your slit. 

He was cheesy, and it was a bit weird. Yet it couldn’t bother you less, you had been with worse men, and Martin was good in other areas…, well, at least in sex and eating out a pussy. And it was more than average, so you were up to it.

Before he decides to keep on eating you, still caressing your clit as he catches his breath, you lean a bit on his torso, to try to pull down the leather pants, opening the zipper. 

It takes you a bit, yet after accomplishing your mission, your hand grabs his dick to guide it into your warm, eager mouth. 

He was well doted, and hard as a rock. He was leaking, and his tip was a bit pink compared with the rest of his cock. 

God damn you if it didn’t make your mouth drool. Between him eating you out, and his leaking cock, you think you will go insane. He could have cheeky, cringe comments but you could live with it. You couldn’t live without him eating you out or his cock. 

You are as enthusiastic with his cock as he is. Though, you start slower. You take the head on your mouth, sucking on it as you feel him groan against your pussy. It was fucking hot, and it had you moaning on his cock. You didn’t remember the last time your legs were trembling like this, and how much you wanted to feel a dick in your throat. It was a need, a primal need.

Martin was kind and nice, had his things, but god, you need to fuck him. You might even need to have his babies by now. You wouldn’t complain if he came all inside you, filling you with his cum, and making you pregnant. Fuck, it even turned you more on. What was this man doing to you?

You took more of his dick in your mouth, trying to take all of it, not minding if you choke on it. He was hot. More than hot, in truth.

Martin was relentless with his tongue, lapping at your cunt again and again, moaning loudly against it as he could feel how deep you were taking his cock in your mouth. Your hand moved to cup his balls, as your tongue tried to swirl around his tip. It drove him insane. 

It was not long before you started to cum, moaning loudly, his dick slipping from your mouth as your thighs pressed against his face, riding his face and nose as he was making you cum. His tongue was as greedy as him, and he worked with his nose along your slit. And it made you cum hard, rolling your eyes back. “Fuck, Martin, just like that…” You say, hips grinding against his mouth in a desperate need to stretch the feeling a bit more. 

And once you finish, your mouth goes back to his cock, to keep on sucking him off. “Fuck, you feel incredible” he rasped, as you moved forward, closer to his cock and have full access, as Martin’s hips pumped upwards to fuck your mouth. 

You lay on his chest, his face back on the pillow, moaning loudly as you seem to try to drain him completely, deepthroating him as if it was nothing at all.

“Fuck, you are going to make me cum” He says, teeth gripped as his hand moves to grab a fist of your hair, to move your head down to allow him fuck your mouth deep as he wanted. His own head titles back in pure bliss and pleasure, moaning loudly as he uses your mouth as a desperate animal in need to cum. Not that you complain, it costs a bit more to breathe, and you were almost choking, but hearing Martin be so local, groaning, moaning and grunting was worth it. 

His cum soon fills your mouth, and he keeps you still, the signal clear for you to swallow all of it, as his throbbing cock unleashed his hot cum. 

“Swallow it… fuck, swallow it all, take what I give you…” he mutters in pure bliss.

As the last drops of cum are licked off his cock, he leans back and you move to his side. 

“That was great” You mutter, looking at the ceiling. How could he be so great at it?

“Yeah. Cig break and round two?”

“Hell yeah”

You are with your friend when you search the location in the paper that you found in Martin’s room. You were supposed to go to the club, you were wearing your miniskirt and a top, really to party, but that man had eaten your pussy and fucked you like no one before, so you felt entitled to find what that was for.

“It’s cold” Your friend, Tamara, says. She was chewing gum as she followed you begrudgingly. 

“It’s a fucking parking lot?” You ask looking around the empty street, the night made it lonely yet not totally isolated. 

“Your darling buries the bodies here” Your friend says, obviously judging it all. “Can we go?”

“Look, there is a car” you point out, as the car seems to be jumping around due to the movements inside. “Gods, you think they are having sex?”

“Ew, you think he has a brothel in his car?” Tamara asks you, looking at the car as you both get closer. “Eww and you fucked without a condom… You could get an IST, and die”

“It is called an STD, and… I think he is not fucking anyone” you frown slightly, getting closer.

“Careful! What if his pimp is here…?”

“He is fighting someone!” You say looking inside the car, as you find Martin pressing the head of the other guy against the window. 

Surely, Martin was a weird dude. He was corny as hell, and he had pets called like the species they were. Sure. He almost burned his hair as he smoked after sex, yes; and he also ate pussy like a champ and was hung as a horse. 

“I am going there” You tell your friends. “The dick is worth it”

“Yikes” 

As you walk closer, you feel your friend either staying behind or walking away, not that you care. 

Martin had blood trailing down his forehead, and was lying in the passenger’s seat as his thighs choked the other guy he was with, holding his head still with his hands. Okay, whatever, a guy can have hobbies.

When he sees you, he starts rolling down the window of the car, as you lean closer to his height.

“Hey, darling- how did ya–”

“A girl has her secrets” you say, smiling as you see him. God, he was sexy as hell. “I want my pussy eaten” 

Martin smirks, and he leans back to sigh at your request, as if the idea delights him. He still applies pressure to the other dude, who seems to pass out. Martin leans forward closer to your lips and whispers “Will ya’ wait ten minutes as I finish with this round?”

“Three” You bargain.

“Seven.”

“Three”

“Five and I’ll make you cum twice.” His final offer, and the time you had in mind. Offering lower than one wants always seems work to get your official deal, even with an extra.

“Deal” you accept with a smirk. 

And what if he was fighting inside a car? You fancied Martin, and sure as hell he fancied you. Even if he has weird hobbies. 

[xinganhao]

✏️ film major!mingyu x reader.

"the greatest films of all time were never made"? not if your ex, film student mingyu, can help it ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ college exes, exes to friends. more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from @taeraegyat & @gyubakeries!

DIR. BY KIM MINGYU

FADE IN INT. CINEMA '76, LOBBY - DAY

MINGYU enters with his DATE. MINGYU's eyes go wide when he notices YOU at the cinema's snack bar.

DATE Do you want some popcorn?

MINGYU (hesitant) Uh… Isn't it kind of expensive?

DATE shoots MINGYU a look. He heaves out a longsuffering sigh.

MINGYU Okay, I'll get us some.

MINGYU makes his way to the snack bar. YOU look up. His eyebrows furrow, because he can't read the look on your face as well as he used to.

MINGYU Hey, look—

YOU (interrupting) Welcome to Cinema '76. What can I get you?

MINGYU feels his heart drop in his stomach. He wants to explain, but then DATE comes up to him.

DATE Can you get us some soda, too?

MINGYU wishes he hadn't noticed the slight change in YOUR expression. But YOU keep YOUR cool as you go to punch in the order.

YOU A large popcorn and two sodas. Anything else?

MINGYU I—

DATE And a pack of M&Ms, please.

YOU Got it.

MINGYU watches helplessly as you go get their snacks. When YOU return, he wordlessly hands over the payment. The tips of your fingers brush.

MINGYU (softly) Thanks.

YOU only give MINGYU a nod in response. He winces slightly when DATE grabs him by the arm.

DATE We'll miss the previews!

MINGYU Right, right.

MUSIC UP: "You Were Beautiful" by DAY6

MINGYU lets DATE drag him off. He casts one glance over his shoulder at YOU, except YOU'RE not even looking at him. Somehow, that's even worse.

INT. CINEMA '76, CINEMA 1 - DAY

The film is one of those cheesy romcoms. MINGYU thinks about how YOU had introduced him to his favorite romcom; how the two of you used to spend hours and hours debating over which was best.

His DATE leans over a lot to comment on things, he notices.

DATE (pressing close to MINGYU) I think Glen Powell is severely underrated...

MINGYU laughs, just a bit, because in his mind's eye, he can see how YOU would react to that opinion. He's also imagining the look on YOUR face if YOU saw somebody talking during a film.

YOU only allowed movie commentary if it was in the comfort of YOUR home. Otherwise, in public places like cinemas? YOU would glare daggers at anybody who dared.

DATE (CONT'D) ... And that's kind of like Sydney Sweeney, isn't it?

Crap. MINGYU has no idea what DATE had just said.

MINGYU (whispering) Yeah, I agree.

DATE seems placated. Close call, thinks MINGYU. But he's also thinking about how the two of you would argue about everything. How YOU would never back down on YOUR opinion, and how he adored YOU for all YOUR convictions.

DATE goes to hold MINGYU's hand. He almost flinches away. But that would be rude, so he awkwardly lets them hold on.

It's cruel, but throughout the movie, MINGYU bears it by imagining that it's YOUR hand instead.

INT. CINEMA '76, LOBBY - EARLY EVENING

MINGYU emerges from the movie with DATE. He immediately drops their hand.

MINGYU Hey, uh, I think I was short on change from the cashier. Mind if I go check on that real quick?

DATE Oh, sure. I'll wait for you by the entrance.

MINGYU Thanks.

MINGYU rushes back to the snack bar. YOU'RE nowhere to be found. He checks his watch; YOUR shift has probably ended.

MINGYU (underneath his breath) Damn it.

MINGYU had wanted to explain. He does the next best thing. He fishes out his phone from his pocket and pulls up your contact, which is still your name with a heart emoji. He hasn't changed it after all this time.

He types and retypes several texts. When did you start working at Cinema '76? and You looked good and Can we talk, please? and I wished it was you during the entire two-hour runtime of the film.

In the end, he only sends out an I'm sorry.

MINGYU puts his phone away. He wanders back to DATE, who greets him with a helluva good question; they're looking at the posters for upcoming shows.

DATE (absentmindedly) How do you feel about sequels?

And, again, MINGYU is thinking of YOU.

MINGYU I think they're always worth a shot.

FIN.

[saddleups]

𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃.

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 3k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . drabble , complete. ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . mid/low honor arthur . spanking . p_rn without a plot !

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .   arthur is gruff and often irritable. despite his tough exterior , it's become a running joke that he'd do anything for you. so one day you decide to reward him.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . one of my fave things to do is intentionally bump into npc's and hear a low honor arthur morgan get all dramatic about it lmao. pretty self indulgent drabble that's much needed considering, ugh, recent world events, smh. let's just relieve some stress with our fave cowboy :')

"Arthur, the damn horse got out again."

"Arthur! Go fetch meat for the stew, or we’ll be eating air tonight."

"Arthur! For heaven's sake, take a bath!"

"Arthur? Are ya even listenin' to me?"

Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

The sound of his own name twisted through the air like nails on a chalkboard. The way you said it—a sharp, clipped tone that hovered between scolding and command—set his teeth on edge, feeling less like a partner and more like a child caught in mischief. No matter how much it grated on him, he obeyed, if only to spare himself the prolonged nagging… and to give himself a chance for one of his well-timed snarky comebacks.

"Arthur, did you get what I sent you for?" you asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Nope," he deadpanned, but then, almost as an afterthought, pulled the small inkwell from his satchel and placed it in your palm.

"Thank you kindly," you said, though the hint of exasperation bled through.

He cocked a brow, smirking. "The way you say that, darlin', doesn't sound all that kind."

You rolled your eyes, but a faint, grudging smile betrayed you.

It had become a running joke around camp that, grumpy attitude and all, Arthur would go to the ends of the earth if you asked him to. You’d often hear, “Hell, that boy’d wrap a lasso 'round the moon and bring it right to ya' if he could!"

No matter how reluctant he might act, he’d always come through—whether it was fetching supplies from town or bringing you something from across camp, you knew you could count on him. His grumbling had become a ritual, the begrudging look only making it clearer: when it came to you, he’d always show up.

Maybe it was time to pay it forward.

Arthur sat on a rock by the lake, hat tipped low, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of the water slapping against the shore. It was a warmer day, the first few buttons of his work shirt came undone, exposing the curly hair underneath.

The murmur of camp life floated faintly from behind him, but he couldn't care less about what they were fussing over now. The weight of responsibility hung around his shoulders like a yoke, dragging him down. Hungry mouths, Dutch's endless plans, your constant badgering—it was all just so damn relentless.

He tried to focus on his journal, but the words blurred on the page, his eyes drifting to the lake’s glassy surface instead. Out here, alone with the quiet, he could almost forget.

“Arthur!”

He groaned, snapping his head around. “Goddamn it! Woman, can’t you see I’m tryin' to relax?”

Ignoring his grouchy tone, you sauntered over, a teasing smile on your lips. “Well, maybe if you didn't run off, I wouldn’t have to come find you,” you replied, slipping in behind him. With a practiced touch, you set your hands on his shoulders, kneading the knots beneath the dusty fabric.

“Poor Arthur Morgan. Carryin' the weight of the world on these big strong shoulders, huh?”

He tensed, half-tempted to shrug you off, but he couldn’t deny that your touch felt good. Still, he wasn't about to let you off easy.

“Seems like 'yer mighty concerned 'bout my shoulders all of a sudden,” he muttered, trying to sound gruff even as his eyes drifted closed.

“Apologizin’ for all that naggin’, are ya?”

You leaned in close to his ear, a playful tone slipping into your voice. “Well, I know you like the attention, Arthur. If I left you alone too long, who knows what trouble you’d get into.”

He snorted. “Trouble? Woman, I can barely take a piss without you findin' some reason to come yellin' after me.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, even as he tried to keep his expression set in a scowl.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you in line,” you said, your fingers pressing firmly against his tense muscles. “Otherwise, you'd be a mess—and you know it.”

After a beat of silence, Arthur let out a reluctant sigh. “Maybe,” he grumbled, “but don’t go thinkin’ I need ya hoverin' over me all the damn time.”

You press into his back harder, attempting to release the tension stored there. "Goodness, Arthur your back is in knots."

"Wouldn't be so damn knotted if I didn't have to hear my name in that god-awful tone of yours every damn day."

"Oh?" you teased, leaning forward to rest your chin lightly on his shoulder. “Maybe you just need to hear it said differently.”

You shifted your hands down his shoulders and towards his chest. Your own pressing firmly against his back, meanwhile your fingers pressing in a slow, suggestive rhythm, just enough to make him squirm.

“Would that help?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched, fighting the twitch of a smile. “You really think that little trick’s gonna work on me?” he said, turning his head just enough to catch your mischievous grin.

Abandoning your previous position, you decide to swing your leg over Arthur and settle your frame onto his lap. "Maybe," you replied, voice dipping lower, your fingers looping around his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders in one go.

“Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you like the sound of me sayin’ your name at all.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped him, though he tried to bury it. “Keep talkin’ like that and maybe I’ll get used to it.”

You continue to press his shoulders, his arms. Arthur's initial scowl began to soften, lashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes open. You could feel him loosening up, his breathing evening out, and the smallest smile breaking through his mask of irritation.

You leaned forward, letting your fingers trail down his arms. “Guess that wasn’t so bad, huh?” you murmured, voice low and teasing, your lips just grazing the edge of his ear.

His breath hitched imperceptibly. Arthur shot you a sidelong glance, a warning smirk tugging at his mouth. “Watch it. I ain’t exactly a gentleman right now."

“Good thing I don’t need you to be,” you replied, letting your fingers slide down to lace through his, guiding his large hand to rest at your thigh.

Without waiting for another word, you closed the space between you, capturing his lips with a boldness that matched his own rough edges. Arthur’s hands settled firmly around your waist, and his grip tightened, pulling you closer with a possessive intensity.

His mouth was warm and demanding, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment a lot longer than he’d let on.

Your fingers tangled in his collar, pulling him closer to you, and he responded by pressing in even harder, his hand slipping to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

Arthur's lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss as if he were staking his claim. The lake, the distant murmur of camp, everything around you faded until there was nothing but the two of you, wrapped in each other, the simmering heat between you spilling over.

You felt his length twitch against your core, the thought of it makes you moan, "Arthur," it's softer this time. It was that girlishly lewd moan men like Arthur dreamt about.

"I like when you say it like that."

"Do you?"

He kisses you harder, hips buck into your core. You clench his collar.

"Arthur," you whispered in a sultry purr. "You like it when I say your name like this, don't you?"

He growled lowly, a deep sound in his throat that vibrated through your bones. "Damn woman, you know I do. Now stop teasin' and give me more."

You bit your lip, a wicked smile playing on your mouth. Leaning in, you captured his earlobe between your teeth, nibbling gently before whispering, “What if I don’t want to? What if I like having you needing more?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his grip on your waist tightening almost painfully. “Yer askin’ for trouble, darlin’.”

You arched an eyebrow, hiking up your skirt to bundle at your waist. You met his gaze with a challenging glint. “Is that so? And what are you going to do about it, Arthur Morgan?”

Before you could react, his hand slid up to cup your cheek, forcing you to look into his intense eyes. “This,” he rasped, and with a swift motion, his other hand landed on your ass, giving you a sharp spank that made you gasp into his mouth.

The sting spread quickly, mingling with the heat pooling between your thighs. You whimpered, biting back a moan, but Arthur wasn’t done. He repeated the action, firmer this time, his fingers digging into your flesh as he punished you for your teasing.

“Arthur…” you breathed, your voice shaky with arousal. “More… please…”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I already do so much for you, might as well have you start beggin'" his voice is rough, commanding.

You swallowed hard, your pride warring with your desire. But the way his hand lingered on your ass, the way his thumb brushed over the spot he’d just spanked, sent jolts of pleasure through you.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, Arthur… again…”

His intense gaze meets yours, full of desire. He gently lifts your chin and lightly traces the outline of your lower lip with the rough pad of his thumb, savoring the moment. Arthur murmurs, "my beautiful girl, you say my name so sweetly, I just might eat you right up." You’re caught in his trap, surrendering your prideful nature to please him.

With a swift, deliberate movement, he brought his hand down again, a firm smack that echoed in the quiet of the lake. The burn ignited a fire deep within you, and your body instinctively pressed against him, craving more of that delicious friction.

“Is this what you wanted?” he breathed against your lips, his voice low and teasing as he reveled in your reaction. “You ain’t too proud now, are ya?”

The question swirled around you like smoke; the answer lay heavy on your tongue. “No,” you murmured, barely able to muster the words as he continued to trail his fingers along the edges of your bloomers before pushing them up your thighs, the fabric snatching between your wet folds.

Arthur’s gaze flickered with something instinctual, a hunger that painted his features with shadows. “Good,” he murmured. “Now let’s see how far I can push ya.”

With that, he thrust his hips upward, pressing against the solid heat of you. A cry escaped your lips—a mix of pleasure and surprised urgency—as you felt him coaxing every quiver from your body. His hands were everywhere—exploring, claiming—and you responded eagerly to each touch.

“Goddamn,” Arthur muttered, his voice thick with desire as he settled into a rhythm that was both punishing and pleasurable. Each caress ignited flames that licked at your skin, demanding attention and coaxing moans deep from your throat. “Yer a temptress, you know that?”

“Only because you make it so easy,” you replied breathlessly, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, seeking more grip as he pushed you closer to the edge of sanity.

With every thrust, every firm touch, Arthur was unraveling something inside you, a tangled knot of need and yearning that had long gone neglected. Each whisper of his name became a prayer, a plea for him to sustain this blissful torment. The sound of his name on your lips sparked a fire inside of him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He was no longer the troubled man caught up in mischievous acts, but a devoted lover who had complete control over you.

“Can ya’ handle it?” he teased, slipping one hand back to squeeze your thigh possessively while the other found its way under your chin, tilting your gaze upwards. “I ain’t holdin’ back anymore.”

Without waiting for an answer—knowing all too well that any attempt at defiance would only further stoke his desire—he surged forward with reckless abandon. His lips crushed against yours, raw and insistent as that spark ignited into an inferno between you.

You could barely think as he plundered your mouth and coaxed every ounce of passion from you. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, and for a moment, time seemed suspended in the heated silence between heartbeats.

Arthur's hand shot down, fingers digging into the delicate fabric of your bloomers. With a savage tug, he ripped the seams, causing you to gasp and shriek his name in surprise. The sound was abrupt and high-pitched, a sharp contrast to the low, rumbling growl that escaped his throat as he moved quickly to cover your mouth with his palm.

"Shhh," he whispered fiercely, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "The camp's only a few miles off, darlin'. You want them to hear?"

You shook your head frantically, feeling the heat of his hand against your lips, the roughness of his skin contrasting sharply with the softness of your own. His gaze never wavered, and you could see the fire burning in those blue depths, a testament to the control he was exerting over both himself and the situation.

Assiting his undress, you reached for the buckle of his pants, your movements swift and determined. He watched, breath hitching in his throat, as you unfastened the leather strap and opened the fabric, freeing his large, hard cock from its confines. It jutted out proudly, thick and throbbing, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Your mouth watered at the sight, the desire pooling low in your belly. You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his shaft, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Arthur's breath hitched, his hips bucking instinctively against your hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice ragged. "You keep doin' that, and this is gonna be over before it even starts."

He shifted his weight, positioning himself between your legs, which you had spread wide in anticipation. He didn't waste any time, guiding the head of his cock to your slick folds. The sensation was electric, hot and wet, and you couldn't help but moan against his hand, biting his calloused palm while your body arched up to meet his.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb brushing across your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. "All that work I do for ya, this is how a bastard like me likes to be reward."

His words were like fuel on the flames of your desire, and you nodded frantically, desperate for more. He removed his hand from your mouth, he holds his cock, sliding the length of him along your drenched slit. The friction was maddening, a tantalizing mix of pleasure and frustration that left you panting, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Arthur," you whimpered, the sound torn from your throat. "Please…"

"Sing my name," he commanded, his voice rough and urgent. "Sing it loud and clear, and watch what it does to me."

You obeyed, letting out a soft, melodic cry as he pressed deeper, teasing the entrance to your core. Each thrust of his hips brought him closer, the head of his cock dipping between your folds, mixing his wetness with yours. The sensation was intoxicating, a dizzying blend of heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Arthur," you chanted, your voice growing stronger with each repetition.

"Arthur, that feels so good."

"Arthur, please..."

"Arthur, harder."

His thrusts became more forceful, his grip on your thighs tightening as he drove into you with relentless determination. The sound of your voice seemed to fuel his fire, his breathing growing harsh and uneven as he pummeled into you, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Yes, that's it," he growled, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "Keep sayin' it, darlin'. Keep sayin' my name."

You did, your voice rising to a breathless plea as he plunged deeper, his cock hitting all the right spots inside you. The world narrowed down to just the two of you, the sounds of the lake and the distant camp fading away until all that mattered was the feel of his body against yours, the raw, primal connection that bound you together.

"Arthur, please," you cried, your body trembling with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "I can't take it anymore…"

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep as his hips snapped forward, burying himself inside you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that crashed over you, leaving you gasping for breath.

"Almost there," he whispered against your lips, his voice strained with effort. "Gonna come with you, darlin'. Gonna make sure you feel everythin'."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, your body straining towards the edge of ecstasy. The rhythm of his thrusts was driving you closer and closer, each powerful stroke pushing you further into the abyss of pleasure.

"Arthur, I'm so close," you gasped, your voice breaking with the force of your desire. "Don't stop… please…"

"Never," he promised, his thrusts becoming almost frantic now, his body straining with the effort of holding back his own release. "Gonna make it perfect for you, darlin'. Gonna make sure you remember this."

With one final thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You shout his name, the sound echoing across the lake as waves of pleasure rippled through you, leaving you trembling and weak. So much for being quiet.

Arthur followed you over the edge, his own climax crashing over him with a roar. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he emptied himself into you, filling you with his warmth.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the steady thump of your hearts beating in unison. Then, slowly, Arthur pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a look of raw, unadulterated satisfaction.

"Good girl."

Your eyes are shut, but you can feel his gaze, searing and unrelenting, tracing over you. His cock is still warm inside you, the sensation feels…homely. Slowly, your lashes flutter open, confirming what you already knew—his soft blue eyes are fixed on you, brimming with pride and satisfaction. You give him a playful slap on the chest, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, shut up.”

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part4

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: mentioning abortion, daddy issues, mentioning violence, kind of depression

previous - next

You missed feeling relaxed. You missed that brief period without all the stress packed into these last two weeks. Actually, it wasn’t just these two weeks. Ever since you noticed the symptoms, a constant worry had settled inside you.

What would Rafe say, what would your family say, how would they react—would they even want this?

Now, at least you knew what they felt. You knew they didn’t want this, that they were trying to convince you to end it. But the worry hadn’t gone away, not for a second. It clung to you like it knew your weakest spot, pressing down on it relentlessly.

Looking at the big picture, you didn’t really have anything left to fear. The people who needed to know had found out. Even though their reactions were awful, now you knew, and you’d have to carry on knowing it.

And that was what truly scared you.

You were starting to feel anxious about the future. Bringing a child into the world without anyone by your side would be incredibly tough, and you were sure of that. You were basically broke, with no support from your family.

Entering a dark, unknown path without any light ahead was terrifying.

This wasn’t how you wanted things to turn out.

“You’re quiet.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you were walking with your gaze on the ground. If he hadn’t spoken, you might not even have been aware of the state you were in. At the sound of his voice, you lifted your head and looked at his face. He was smiling at you, just like always.

His smile didn’t seem very sincere—it was almost infuriating. And you could tell he was doing it on purpose. He seemed to enjoy messing with you, and you hated it. The way he talked to you, as if you were some alien who just didn’t get it, made your blood boil. It was like he was observing you the way someone would watch a caged animal.

When it became clear you weren’t going to answer, JJ chuckled and turned his gaze forward. The sky was nearly dark, and the air was beginning to chill.

To be fair, he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that you weren’t exactly on a pleasant path. The evening was closing in, and the road had grown desolate. But he knew this walk would be worth it.

You were behind him, but JJ made a point of staying close to you. Not because he wanted to be near you, really—he just wanted to make sure you were ready for anything. Simply put, though he’d never admit it, he didn’t want you to miss out on this. He’d never say it, but these weren’t the safest paths to be on.

Hearing you sigh in frustration behind him, JJ rolled his eyes. Your impatience was practically a signature trait, especially for a Kook like you. “Not a fan of hiking, huh?” JJ’s teasing was obvious, and you disliked his tone. Just a bit.

“This isn’t hiking,” you muttered, trying to scrape mud off your shoe. You could swear you were in the most godforsaken corner of the world. "This—this feels more like a death march. Tell me there’s something good at the end of this, or else—”

JJ couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. Sometimes, he thought your silent moments were his favorites, but hearing you complain actually amused him in its own way. Whatever happened, you’d keep following him like a little lost puppy. He cut you off before you could go on. “We’re almost there.”

When your complaints subsided, he found himself smiling involuntarily. He was absolutely certain you’d hate every bit of this, but for now, you were stuck here with him. You didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Sure, he did—he could go to John B’s place, and he would eventually.

It just didn’t sit right with him to leave you on your own. He hadn’t been raised with high standards, but—he was still the kind of guy who wouldn’t leave a girl alone at night.

And since he definitely wasn’t taking you to John B’s house—he was sure you’d say no—the only option left was his own style of a safe, quiet spot. At least you wouldn’t stand out around the Pogues, and you’d get some peace and quiet.

To say he was doing it entirely for you would’ve been a big lie. He needed some time, too. He wasn’t ready to show up at John B’s place, explain everything, and face them in this state. JJ didn’t want to feel their silent pity, even if they didn’t say it out loud.

You wouldn’t ask, he was sure of that—or at least he hoped. And even if you did, it wouldn’t stick in your memory for long. To you, JJ was just some random person, and to him, you were the same. Your lives didn’t really intersect in any meaningful way.

JJ pushed some branches and shrubs aside to clear a path for you, and you followed close behind. This hike was becoming increasingly strange from your perspective.

As the sky darkened and you nearly found yourself in the forest, JJ took out his phone and turned on its flashlight. You rummaged through your pockets, intending to do the same, when you remembered storming out of the house in such a hurry. Honestly, you were lucky you’d even put on shoes because you’d left everything—literally everything—behind. Wallet, phone, cash, hair tie, body spray, everything was still at home. You were truly penniless.

JJ jumped down from a ledge and extended his hand to you. The realization that you’d left everything behind had hit you hard, but you pushed aside the frustration and focused on the path.

You tucked your hair behind your ears and tested the ground with your foot. It was pure mud. “Come on.” JJ extended his hand a bit further. You hesitated, but something in you trusted he’d catch you. Even though JJ was unreliable in general, you believed he wouldn’t let you fall. Just as you trusted he’d keep your pregnancy a secret.

He could be obnoxious, foolish, and infuriating—but he wasn’t a bad person.

As soon as you jumped down and took his hand, JJ quickly leaned forward and caught you by the back to keep you steady. Your foot slipped on the mud, but his grip kept you safe from harm.

“You okay?” he asked. Once he was sure you were steady, he slowly let go of your back and hand, bending down to pick up his backpack. You gave him a quick nod, and he looked at you, nodding back and gesturing at the trail.

Even though he’d held onto you and kept you from falling, you were still frustrated at the path he’d chosen. “I already hate this,” you said, and JJ immediately started laughing. The fact that your irritation amused him made you somehow even more annoyed.

You crossed your arms and took a deep breath, tempted to fire back a few words. You just wanted to get under his skin, to rile him up as much as he seemed to enjoy riling you. But it felt impossible. No matter what you said, he just found it funny, like he was looking for any chance to mess with you. Was it your tone, the way you phrased things, or were you just naturally the kind of person he could laugh at? You couldn’t tell, and it only irritated you more.

But then, as you looked over at him, you realized—it was none of those things.

He was genuinely laughing. His dimples appeared. There was no mocking glance, no condescending smirk. He was actually amused. It was like he found you funny, not in a mean way, just… funny.

Just two seconds after you looked at him, JJ turned back with a wide grin—nearly every tooth on display. “Told you you’d hate this,” he chuckled, his voice shaky from laughter, as if still savoring his victory.

He had indeed told you, and he’d meant it. He wasn’t saying it just to annoy you; he genuinely knew you wouldn’t like this. Not that it mattered much. You weren’t alone, after all.

The anger simmering within you slowly began to melt, and for a second, you even wanted to smile back at him. After a brief exchange of glances, you both looked away, but a faint smirk remained on his face.

When JJ sped up a little and moved ahead, you opted to stay behind him. He paused just enough with each branch he brushed aside to make sure you could follow, eventually taking a deep breath as he passed through. “Home sweet home,” he declared, as though this place were actually his.

By the time you both finally made it through the branches and bushes, you were covered in scratches. You swore you’d kill JJ. No blood, but plenty of pain. As he flashed his phone’s light around, you rubbed your sore arm and looked at the scene around you.

Wonderful.

An abandoned dock. Was this his idea of a “nice place”? You figured you had about 15 minutes before the bugs and snakes launched an all-out assault. “I’m not staying here.” you announced firmly, crossing your arms. JJ turned to you with a smile.

Did he ever stop smiling? He nodded as if he agreed, surprising you. You almost thought he was crazy. You’d followed a madman all the way out here. Great decision.

“Same.” he replied, that knowing tone in his voice. Before you could step back, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you along, heading toward the edge of the dock. For a second—a single second—you thought he might push you into the river, but he didn’t.

It was too dark to make out everything around you, but as JJ's phone light lit up the surroundings, you saw it. Slowly, the scene became clear. Was that... a boat?

Did JJ get a boat?

Impossible.

“What are we doing right now?” you asked, pulling your wrist back as he crouched down to untie the boat. His phone light didn’t quite reach, so he handed it to you, gesturing for you to shine it on his hands. You did as he asked, though you watched him warily. What was he even doing?

He had to be nuts.

“Is this... your boat?” you asked, as he stood and stretched out a hand to help you aboard. JJ shook his head, still grinning.

Wait a minute... the boat wasn’t JJ’s. It wasn’t yours either. So—

“Are you stealing this boat?!” you blurted out, unable to hide the horror in your voice. JJ rolled his eyes, extending his hand again as he shook his head. He thought you were being dramatic. This wasn’t stealing.

“We’re not stealing it. We—remember? We’re in this together,” he said, his tone playful. You immediately shook your head, taking a step back, but JJ quickly placed a foot on the dock to steady the boat and grabbed your hand before you could retreat any further. “We’re absolutely not in this together. You dragged me out here on some unknown path, and now you’re stealing a boat—”

JJ couldn’t take your ranting anymore. Without a second thought, he tightened his grip and pulled you onto the boat. The world was pitch black out here, and even if you tried to turn back, you’d get lost. He just hoped you wouldn’t be foolish enough to attempt it.

Once you were on board, JJ stood in front of you, so close that you were nearly nose to nose. When you stumbled, he reached out to steady you by the back, speaking before you could protest further.

“We’re not stealing. We. Got it? We’re just borrowing it, and we’ll bring it back by morning. And if anyone asks, there’s only one thing you need to remember,” he said, his tone casual, yet with a hint of amusement.

As you stared at him, you noticed how close he really was. Your hand rested on his shoulder, and one of his hands was on your arm, the other somewhere between your back and waist. Silently, you waited, wondering what he’d say next. JJ smirked, clearly enjoying your curiosity.

“Deny, deny, deny... You tripped, fell into the boat, and it just happened to drift off on its own. And unfortunately—” he continued, pulling his hands back from you as he spoke. You were so focused on him that you barely noticed his movements. Fixated, you watched him start up the boat as though he’d done it a hundred times.

“We’re just two clueless kids who don’t know how to steer, and the boat just started moving,” he said, a grin still on his face. He turned to make sure you had something to hold onto before he started the engine.

You weren’t sure how long you both stayed silent, just that you hadn’t drifted too far. Sitting beside him, you enjoyed the cool breeze—until it started to chill you to the bone.

You didn’t know where you eventually stopped, but JJ clearly did. You followed his lead, keeping quiet.

Now, both of you were lying quietly at the back of the boat. JJ’s phone lay face down, its flashlight casting a soft glow. You both seemed to enjoy the silence.

You were an idiot. You hadn’t planned anything for tonight, and now, like a fool, you hadn’t even brought anything warm. A T-shirt and red shorts, no jacket. You started to feel the night chill, hoping you wouldn’t catch a cold. You didn’t have the energy for that right now.

JJ noticed. He knew if he handed you one of the blankets from under the seats, you’d wrinkle your nose at it, just like he would. So, instead, he took out his sweatshirt from his bag, took a deep breath, and handed it to you.

He waited for you to refuse, to say you didn’t need it, but you surprised him. You looked at the sweatshirt for a moment, then took it from him without a word, slipping it on quickly.

The slight movement caused JJ’s phone to slide, leaving his face illuminated by the flashlight. His hair, tousled by the wind, fell slightly to one side.

Your gaze lingered on his eyes, but something distracted you—a bruise you hadn’t noticed before. Probably hidden by his hair until now.

JJ realized you’d noticed. Instinctively, he ran a hand through his hair, rearranging it to cover the bruise. He knew exactly what he was doing, turning his head slightly.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out it was fresh. The bruises you’d seen two weeks ago had already faded. This one was definitely new.

JJ saw you looking. He shifted uncomfortably, yet he knew you were still watching him out of the corner of your eye. “What?” he asked with a smile, though it was different from the smiles you’d seen earlier. It just sat there, plastered on his face, almost lifeless. “Did you like what you saw?”

He expected you to look away, maybe even sigh in annoyance or give him a frustrated glare. But you didn’t. You just looked at him, knowing full well that something was wrong. And he knew you knew it, too.

“What happened?” you asked quietly. The words left your mouth almost as light as a feather. But JJ, listening intently, caught every word.

His smile turned bitter as he took a deep breath. He didn’t want to tell you, but things might change, given that you already knew his most guarded secret.

You were each other’s opposite. You were a Kook; you didn’t deal with Pogues. JJ was a Pogue; he didn’t associate with Kooks. You’d barely spoken to anyone from that crowd. Not that you didn’t want to—it just hadn’t interested you.

And yet, here you were with JJ. You weren’t trapped; you’d chosen to follow him willingly. He’d led you to this deserted, uncomfortable place, but it was relaxing. Sure, you’d hated it at first, but now you were starting to like it here.

This was one of those moments you’d never have predicted, not even if someone had told you about it hours earlier. What could you possibly want with a Pogue?

“Did I ever ask you about how that fight went?” JJ’s tone was cold, harsher than he intended. He wasn’t looking to bite back. He didn’t even know why he was saying it, only that he regretted it when he saw your expression fall.

You’d both come out here to get some peace—not to ask questions.

But instead, you withdrew, mumbling a soft, dry, “Sorry.” You drew your legs up, crossing your arms to brace against the chill. There was nothing to see in the darkness around you. Nothing but darkness itself.

JJ hadn’t expected this reaction. For a moment, he’d forgotten how rough your day had been. He’d anticipated a biting remark, even a small argument. But you remained silent, as if you hadn’t asked at all.

Maybe, JJ thought. Maybe you weren’t as stuck-up and unbreakable as he’d thought.

He hadn’t intended to add to your sadness. It was just that he felt his space being invaded. But he already regretted not biting his tongue. He could’ve said nothing at all, but now, it was too late.

You felt like you were meddling, like you were sticking your nose into someone else’s business. And maybe you were. But today, without knowing what had happened, he had helped you. There was no need to ask him anything; whether he chose to open up or not was up to him. Pressuring him for an answer had just happened in a brief, unintended moment.

JJ straightened up and moved his phone's flashlight aside, taking a deep breath. "My dad," he muttered. He hadn't planned on telling you. He hadn't even shared this with his friends. But then again, you'd also told him things no one else knew about you.

JJ trusted that you wouldn’t tell anyone. After all, who cares about someone else's daddy issues?

Your eyes turned back to JJ as he spoke. Feeling your gaze, he nervously ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t intend to tell you everything—just the basics. It was hard for him to explain.

You listened intently, and after his response, you thought he might stay silent for the rest of the night. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stayed completely closed off. But barely a minute later, he began speaking again.

On a good day, you might have jokingly called him bipolar. But neither of you was having a good day.

"Long story short, he has a drinking problem. We don’t get along too well," JJ continued, struggling to articulate his thoughts. Besides his friends, he’d never opened up to anyone. His friends were his family, his only family.

JJ shifted slightly, watching as you leaned in a bit closer. You stood facing each other, and he avoided looking directly at you, worried that he might see pity or sympathy in your expression. If he saw even a trace of it, he thought he might just jump off the boat and into the river.

But when he looked up and met your gaze, he found none of that. You were simply looking at him with understanding. Your eyebrows weren’t raised, and there was no pity in your eyes—just empathy.

Nobody deserves to have terrible parents, no matter where they come from. It just wasn’t fair.

"Sometimes… things like this happen. But I'm used to it, Princess. No need to feel sorry for me. I’m still as handsome as ever." He extended his leg to nudge your own, a grin appearing on his face. It would’ve taken a fool not to see that his smile was a mask. He was trying to hide his pain behind a playful facade.

You decided not to call him out. Smiling in the same way, you pushed your legs away and gently nudged his back.

It felt like an unspoken promise had passed between you. You wouldn’t mention this to anyone. It seemed important to him. Even if he thought no one would care, you knew it mattered.

"Yeah," you teased, recognizing he was trying to change the subject. "I’m sure Pogue girls will be lining up for you either way." He threw his head back and laughed, his Adam’s apple prominent as he tilted his head off the side of the boat.

As you laughed with him, you felt, for maybe the first time today, a craving for something normal. It felt good to share a moment with someone who wouldn’t judge you. The same was true for JJ. You both exchanged secrets and now carried each other’s burdens. If one of you fell, so would the other.

But you couldn't help but wonder. Had his father caused the scars you saw when you first met, or had he really been in a fight? You weren’t bold enough to ask. Respecting the boundary he’d set, you didn’t make any comments.

"Actually, you’re funny," JJ remarked with a grin. Of course, you were funny—you just didn’t show it to people who didn’t matter. Why would you?

Rolling your eyes, you laughed, and JJ continued smiling. He’d always thought you were serious, not because he was always thinking about you, but because he’d never seen this side of you.

But now he knew better.

While JJ watched you, you didn’t look back. You hadn’t even noticed him observing you. With your arms crossed, you took deep breaths, savoring the fresh air, trying to unwind, and, in this moment, you finally relaxed.

Despite JJ’s presence, you felt detached from all the day’s stress. If you could, you would erase today from your mind entirely. But you couldn’t, and you felt deeply exhausted. As you thought of tomorrow, you couldn’t help but wonder. Soon, you’d leave JJ, the boat, and this river behind. Where would you go? You had nowhere to go except home, and you didn’t know if they’d continue being mad at you. A sigh escaped you, and you felt a nudge on your leg.

JJ was looking at you intently, with a slight grin as if he knew something you didn’t. "Stay in the moment," he said as if reading your mind. He tilted his head back, looking around and taking a deep breath. "We’re in a place no one can find us. Whatever it is you’re worried about—deal with it tomorrow. Let them wonder what you’re up to. Why should you be the one feeling bad?"

In a million years, you wouldn’t have thought you’d take advice from him. But what you couldn’t believe even more was that you actually wanted to follow it. He was right, and you wanted to hold onto his words.

He was right.

Let them think whatever they wanted. You were going to be fine. You’d figure things out. You just needed a little time—not much.

You and the baby.

The thought made you smile.

You nodded, glancing at JJ. Even an idiot could say something wise once in a while. Like a broken clock being right twice a day.

"I’ll stay in the moment," you said, agreeing with him. Your smile grew, and it was as if JJ had been waiting for this. He exhaled and clapped his hands. "Finally!" he shouted, startling you as he moved closer.

In that moment, a realization hit you: JJ Maybank made you feel better. He’d lifted the sorrow from your body, just with his words—the words you needed to hear.

Not Rafe, not your family. You didn’t want to remember their words. JJ’s words were enough.

JJ broke eye contact, still smiling, and picked up his phone. “Shit…” he muttered. You wanted to ask what was wrong, curious, so you leaned forward, realizing his phone battery was running low.

“Your phone—” JJ began but stopped, remembering you looked like a runaway with no phone on you. Of course, you’d left it at home. “Oh, great,” he mumbled to himself.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" he asked. You shook your head in response, even though, well… you might’ve been a bit scared. But you were on a boat with someone, so it didn’t really bother you.

JJ ruffled his hair and looked at you. "If we’re going to sit in the dark, I need a verbal answer. I can’t see you shaking your head.”

Just when you thought you’d found a way to get along with him, he managed to ruin it. He was driving you insane.

“Yes! Are you happy now?” JJ rolled his eyes and, adjusting his position, turned off the flashlight.

Your eyes tried to adjust to the darkness, but you could feel him sitting beside you, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. “More than happy,” he replied. You turned your head the other way, not wanting to look in his direction, even if you couldn’t see him. You sensed he was smiling from the tone of his voice. He enjoyed this—teasing you.

Even if he couldn’t see it, he knew he was getting under your skin, and it pleased him. Although he could’ve found other ways to connect with you, this playful sparring felt right to him. Besides, your reactions amused him.

"Pouting, are we?" JJ teased. He liked the quiet and the dark. Even if he couldn’t see you, he still felt your presence, your shoulder barely brushing against his.

“Not at all,” you replied, making JJ chuckle. He couldn’t help but enjoy every minute he spent with you. Your way of responding to him was entertaining, but deep down, he knew—you enjoyed this back-and-forth too.

You didn’t like the darkness. You weren’t scared, but you didn’t love it. JJ, right now, was your distraction. You’d been watching him or the boat to keep your mind off things, but since the flashlight had turned off, the heaviness inside you began creeping back. You couldn’t tell if your eyes were open or closed, and all you could think about was the day’s events.

Absentmindedly, your hand drifted to your stomach, as if feeling it might help you make the right choice. But the feeling you’d expected didn’t come. You felt nothing at all.

What am I gonna do?

Fears were starting to creep in. You didn't know if they'd be there for you if you went through with this, but you hoped you could overcome it. You were strong, ambitious, and capable of handling things on your own. If, of course, you wanted to. But did you even want it? Were you ready to bring a child into this world at twenty?

"Listen to yourself," JJ’s voice startled you. You turned to him, unsure of what he meant, and a small murmur slipped from his lips. Was he reading your mind?

"You asked what you’re going to do. Listen to yourself. Your body, your choice." JJ’s voice was close. You had turned to his side and didn’t expect to be this near. His breath was almost brushing your face.

"Rafe doesn’t want it," you said without thinking. Again. Yet you couldn't help but see JJ as a sort of mentor. He wasn’t on anyone’s side. He was an independent observer. "What would you do? If you were pregnant?"

At that, JJ’s laughter echoed through the woods. It was so loud that it made you jump a little, and you sensed him holding his stomach—not for the same reason, of course, but it looked like he was almost cringing. Not exactly an appropriate question, but—he needed to understand. Without meaning to, despite the difficult situation, you smiled. Laugh really was infectious.

"First off," he began, still chuckling, "Who the hell is Rafe to ask me to get an abortion? Second, fuck his opinions. He can shove it right back where it came from. And third—and this is the last point—as long as I want it, no one can make me do anything I don’t want to do." You didn’t usually like swearing, but coming from him, it was funny. You hadn't expected those answers, but then again, you’d thrown him a question out of the blue. It was fair.

"Besides, sorry, beauty, but I can’t get pregnant." You couldn’t help thinking how clueless some guys were sometimes. You’d meant what would he do if he were in your shoes. Of course, you knew he couldn’t get pregnant. You weren’t that dumb.

But JJ wasn’t dumb either. He just liked to mess with you.

No one could tell you what to do. You were the one carrying this baby. Abortion was your choice, and so was giving birth. You’d decide. Tonight, you’d know what you wanted. You might stumble at first, you might be afraid, but you’d make your choice.

It had been a long day. As the beginning of a headache began to make itself known, you leaned into the touch of JJ’s shoulder. Your lips parted, but only air came out instead of words.

You appreciated his words. Though you were two completely different people, from opposite sides, he’d supported you. He’d brought you back to yourself. Neither of you would call this helping, but it was. JJ had been there for you when no one else was.

So, without thinking, you said, "Thank you." And you meant it. You didn’t mutter it, nor did you look away. If there’d been light between you, you’d have looked right into his eyes.

JJ wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t even know what to say, but he took a deep breath. When you leaned into him, he leaned back. Now, your shoulders were fully touching. He didn’t know if he’d do this with the lights on, but the lights were off, and there was no need.

The unknown, dark path was terrifying. But it would pass. It would light up eventually—maybe with an object, maybe with a person, or perhaps even with a baby…

You couldn’t enjoy life by standing around, waiting in fear. You couldn’t let your paranoia stand in the way of living. This was your life, and you were the one in control. Your fears and anxieties were temporary; they’d go away, and in the end, you’d be left with yourself. This was your life. You had a life to live. Stay in the moment.

JJ took a deep breath. You both fell silent. There wasn’t much left to say. "Of course," he almost whispered, but you heard it completely in the stillness and quiet between you.

As your eyes slowly closed, you took deep breaths. The only scent you caught was salt and the sea.

You lay together until dawn, sprawled out in place. JJ would occasionally wake up and just lie there, only to fall back asleep, but you never stirred. It was as if you were lying on a queen’s bed.

When the sun’s rays started to creep into your eyes, JJ was the first to wake up. He moved to put the boat back in place. When he accidentally woke you, he muttered a small apology. You’d have woken up to any engine sound anyway, but he hadn’t meant to wake you. The two of you moved to the captain’s side as you tried to wake up and gather yourself. You didn’t chat much. JJ took you back to the old pier and helped you out of the boat.

After making sure there was nothing left behind, you took the water he offered without hesitation.

You muttered a few complaints about possibly getting bitten by bugs again, which JJ found amusing. A few cars passed by as you walked, and together you headed back to the beach where you’d been yesterday.

As you reached the entrance, JJ’s eyes wandered to the sea. You wondered if you should just leave him. You didn’t know what to do. To avoid making the situation more awkward, you looked away and gazed around. "Nice weather," he said, still looking around, but the ocean was his main focus.

"I have a change of clothes. Do you want to swim?" Your eyes shifted to the ocean he mentioned, your mouth opening and closing. If he wanted to see you go swimming in your underwear, he was in for a surprise. But you breathed a sigh of relief when you realized he meant clothes.

Fuck it.

"Let’s go." You left him behind as you walked toward the ocean. Without hesitation, you took off your shoes and socks as JJ, trailing behind, looked at you in awe. "Come on!" you shouted. A smile played on your lips. He smiled back, then quickly followed, dropping his bag near where your shoes were and tossing his shirt on the ground. He already had swim shorts on. You didn’t.

You took off your red shorts, tossed them with the other clothes, and walked toward the water. You couldn’t go in naked, but a T-shirt would work. JJ seemed just as eager.

The coldness of the water made you both shiver the moment you stepped in. It felt like something you had to do. "If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you," you said as you waded in deeper. JJ laughed, looking at you as you both continued shivering.

"We know a lot about each other. Isn’t that sweet…” Then he shrieked when you splashed water at him. Even though you were soaked, you hadn’t yet adjusted to the water. As you splashed him back, he scrunched up his face at the feel of water on his bare skin and tried to back away.

"No! No!" JJ yelled, but you didn’t stop. As you kept drenching him, he finally dipped himself underwater, unable to handle your relentless game. Smiling mischievously, you looked around to see where he’d resurface. He was nowhere to be seen.

Then he grabbed you by the legs and pulled you down, cutting off your scream as you went under.

That mother fucker.

He’d outplayed you.

As soon as you emerged, you pushed your hair back and looked around. JJ was already in front of you, catching his breath and fixing his hair, smiling. "Didn’t like that, did you?" he asked, moving toward you, still smiling, showing his dimples. Just as you raised your hands to splash him again, he caught your wrists and pulled you close.

"I didn’t like it either."

Then, he splashed you in the face and bolted away. You didn’t feel like yourself, and JJ didn’t seem like JJ. There were no names, no titles, no telling who was from where—you just had fun. You didn’t even notice, but you felt like you had nothing to worry about anymore. You lived in the moment.

You weren’t sure what had changed within you, but it felt like everything had shifted. You didn’t know how long you’d been in the water until a few people appeared in the distance, and as the area grew busier, you and JJ left the water. He gave you another shirt. You put on your own shorts and sweatshirt. He walked with you until you got to your path home and turned to you as you were about to part.

"Not very Kook-like, but I’m sure you didn’t hate it as much as you say." No, it wasn’t Kook-like. You were sure of that. And yes, you might have hated it just a little. But you didn’t tell him that. You smiled, feeling the chill on your face from your wet hair.

After a moment of silence, he took a deep breath and said, “Take care.”

He was right. What mattered was you—your choices, your life.

Nodding to acknowledge him, you started walking toward home while JJ headed off toward John B’s place. Would you have had as much fun alone? Probably not, but here you were, laughing and living a bit more freely thanks to someone you’d never expected.

As you walked through your front gate, you were startled by the people waiting outside the door: your dad, your mom, and the sheriff. There was a whole lineup of officers, as if you’d been kidnapped or something. When your eyes met your mother’s, you could see her tears and the redness from crying, which made your heart twist painfully. She rushed over and wrapped her arms around you, her hands softly rubbing your back.

You didn’t want to listen to anyone. Without saying a word to either your mom or dad, you headed straight to your room. There on your bed was your phone, and you saw that you had a few unread messages—from your mom and dad, of course. They must have stopped messaging once they realized you’d left your phone behind. Even Rafe had sent you a few texts, as well as a couple of your friends.

But you didn’t care about what Rafe had to say. It was more of the same—messages about “thinking of your best interests” and a whole lot of other nonsense. He could go straight to hell for all you cared. It was you against the world. Even if you were alone, you could handle this. You were strong, and you’d get through everything just fine. You didn’t need anyone’s support; just your own belief in yourself.

So, fuck him.

You

Keeping the baby.

seen.

[barcaatthemoon]

complicate me || leah williamson x reader ||

Coming back to Arsenal was a mistake, but you and Leah manage to make an even bigger one together.

18+

You had always known that you wouldn't be at Manchester forever. A three year loan was a pretty long time, and for a moment, you had hoped that it would become permanent. Arsenal had let you stay the couple years, but with Jonas out, management ended your loan early. They wanted you back in red, not that you could blame them. There were a lot of important games coming up, and even if you technically couldn't play in a couple of them, you were still an important piece for practices.

It felt weird for you to walk the training grounds at Arsenal by yourself. Jen was gone, and she had always been the person you could count on to still be your mate after everything. Leah had kept most of your friends after the breakup, and then you hadn't exactly helped your case when you just up and left after everything.

You could still remember the way that Caitlin had practically begged for you to stay with the team. If it wasn't for Jen, you probably would have been convinced to stay. A part of you regretted leaving, but you knew that you hadn't been in your right mind with Leah so close after everything. At the time, it all seemed like too much to be reconciled, but now you were hopeful that things could be fixed.

You'd never in a million years get back together with Leah, no matter how good she looked. It didn't matter how many drinks you had on a team night out. After the first couple to celebrate wins, however, you promptly decided that you'd be a loner at Arsenal. With Jen in California, you had lost your personal voice of reason, the only person who could truly keep you away from Leah for your own wellbeing.

"Come on, you have to come over. You never do anything with the team, everybody's gonna think that you hate them," Caitlin pleaded with you. The two of you had been going back and forth for the past week about you coming to the party she was throwing with Katie at their place. It was a bye week, so everybody was free to enjoy the weekend. You knew there would be a lot of drinking, and that was what scared you. You had always been able to hold your liquor pretty well physically, but you made absolutely terrible decisions sometimes.

"Cait, nobody wants me there. Let's face it, they barely even want me playing here again," you reasoned. Caitlin could see you start to move to get up and rushed to grab onto your wrist. "Caitlin, I don't want to argue about this."

"Then don't argue and just come over for a bit. You don't have to talk to anybody but me. Just please, I miss you. I've missed you since you moved and iced everybody out," Caitlin said. She gave you her best puppy dog eyes, and if it was anybody else, you probably would have just said no. But because it was Caitlin, you gave in despite your better judgement.

That afternoon when you got out of training, you went straight home and immediately called Jen. You had hoped that she would convince you not to go, but instead, she had fully agreed with Caitlin. You hated hearing how it was a good idea to bond with the women you'd be spending the next two seasons of your career with. Once your contract was over, you could go somewhere else, but for now, you were stuck at Arsenal.

A lot of things had changed since you left. The changes may not have seemed like much to people who had been around, but they had definitely taken you by surprise. The big one had been Caitlin and Lia. Caitlin had been clinging to Katie's side when you arrived, and Lia was stuck by Lia.

Years before, you had been close with Lia, even closer than Lia and Leah were. Now, you just had Caitlin, who you had only befriended because of Lia. It hurt for the Swiss woman not to even look your way, but you couldn't imagine how it looked to her. You were sure that everybody had gotten Leah's side of the story, which you weren't calling bullshit, but you knew had to be biased.

"You look good. Leah's staring," Caitlin said as she nudged you.

"Whatever." You brushed off Caitlin's comment, but only to force yourself not to glance over at the blonde. You couldn't let yourself get sucked over there, not when you knew where it would end up. Leah had an uncanny ability to complicate everything in your life, and she had been doing it for years now. Your relationship had been far from perfect, but you were happier then. Now, you were miserable while she was getting a chance to live her best life.

"(Y/n), I didn't think you'd come." Katie looked just as surprised as she sounded. Caitlin swatted at the Irish woman's chest, but Katie seemed unphased. "I'm glad you came. It's been boring without my favorite drinking buddy."

"Do you really want me to drink you under the table this early into the night?" you asked teasingly. Katie scoffed at that, but didn't deny that you usually did win the little competitions. You watched as Katie sent Caitlin a pleading look before Caitlin just nodded. Before you could react, Katie grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen where the alcohol was.

You let Katie pick the alcohol, and thus, your competition began. You should have known better than to start drinking like this so early into the night, but you wanted to have fun. It had been so long that you believed that you deserved to have a good night out. Several shots later, and you found yourself having to help Katie stumble out of the kitchen.

"Katie, you promised you'd stop at 5," Caitlin huffed as she took her girlfriend from you.

"Hey, it's not my fault that she did doubles," Katie slurred. Caitlin glanced over at you, who just barely had a rosy tint to your cheeks. You didn't seem too out of it, so Caitlin left you there to make Katie sit down and eat something with the hope of sobering her up a bit. It couldn't have been more than maybe 30 seconds of you being alone for Leah to find her way over to you.

"I see that you're enjoying yourself," Leah teased. Your eyes narrowed at her, but your anger was fleeting. You couldn't hold onto any one emotion for too long before forgetting what exactly it was that you were feeling. "You're gonna be feeling that tomorrow."

"That's not your concern," you told her. Leah seemed a bit shocked by the snark in your tone. She shouldn't have been surprised by it, you had spoken to her in worse tones constantly by the end of your relationship. "Why are you over here? You told everybody that I ruined you. Nobody wants to talk to the woman who ruined them."

"(Y/n), I was hurt. You know that I lash out when I'm hurt, besides, I am much more mature than I was before," Leah said. She placed her hand on the small of your back, and it ignited something inside of you. Without an ounce of hesitation, you turned and tried to kiss Leah. "Hey, no, not like this. I want you, but I want you to want me back."

"Leah, it's complicated. I'm complicated now," you told her. Leah bit her lip and glanced at the bottle of alcohol just sitting on the table behind you. You followed her gaze and immediately knew what she was getting onto. "You want to be on my level?"

"I don't think I'd feel so bad if I was," Leah reasoned. You didn't like the thought of her needing to be drunk to want you, but the notion was gone as quickly as it popped into your head. Everything was fleeting, except for your desire to have Leah. You didn't necessarily want her sexually; you just wanted her close. If you had to crawl into bed and open your legs for that, then you were more than willing to do so.

The trip back to Leah's was a bit of a blur. Leah's place wasn't too far from Katie and Caitlin's, close enough for the two of you to walk there. The two of you had left fairly early into the night, but it was nearly 11:30 by the time that you had gotten inside. Neither of you seemed to care as you had both been guilty of stopping to kiss and feel the other up.

Your lipstick was smeared on Leah's mouth and neck by the time that you got back to her place. She paused as she caught a glimpse of herself, a little more disheleved than normal. Leah promptly turned her atttention over to you. You looked just as far gone as she did, pupils blown wide as you watched and waited for her to make another move on you.

"Come on," Leah said as she tugged you along with her. Leah tried to move quickly with you, not giving you a chance to take in the state of her home now that you were gone. She was scared that if the two of you stopped for too long, you would notice all of the little pieces of you that Leah had refused to give up.

The truth was that she had tried, and for a while, they had been gone. However, Leah had always kept the few boxes of trinkets and little things you left behind in her closet. Lia had begged Leah to throw it all away, but the blonde couldn't bring herself to do it. Eventually, she began hating the way that her house felt, so she slowly put all of your things back in their rightful places.

Leah kept the light in her room off, guiding you to the bed herself. She didn't think about you waking up in the morning and seeing anything, but Leah doubted that the two of you would be on speaking terms for a while after tonight. Any time that you let yourself get remotely close to Leah for a little, you always blanked everybody for about a week or two.

"Lee, it's dark," you said. Leah just hummed, neither of you stopping in your attempts to undress each other. You wanted to see Leah's body, but you weren't willing to pull yourself away from her to turn on the lights. You didn't need the lights on to know the look of concentration on Leah's face as the two of you ground against each other.

You could vividly imagine everything happening around you. This was far from the first time that you had closed your eyes and just tried to imagine all of the things you remembered about Leah. Now, it was much more real than before with Leah panting and moaning in your ear.

"I want to feel you. I want to be inside of you," Leah told you. You had never been glad to be laying down before in your life. There was no way that Leah wouldn't have known how her words would affect you. You were sure that Leah could feel the surge of arousal as it coursed through your body.

"Fuck me, Leah, please," you begged her. You pushed a needier tone than usual, letting Leah really hear every ounce of desperation inside of you. Leah groaned as she sat back on her knees. One of her hands slipped between your legs while the other went between her own.

Leah could just barely make out the twisting of your body in the moonlight. She was so much closer than you were, but Leah wanted to make you cum. She wanted to feel you clench around her fingers at least one more time. She didn't know whether or not she'd get another chance to touch you like this again, and so she tried her best to savor the moment.

…

The hangover from hell was the least of your problems whenever you had woken up the next morning. With Leah fast asleep next to you, you quickly snuck out of her home. It had once been your home too, but once again, you were running from it. A few quick phone calls to Arsenal's management staff about taking some time off for your mental health and a hasty plane ticket purchase later, and you were dead set on leaving the country.

Leah would be mad at you, as would Caitlin and everyone else, but you had to go. You watched as a text was sent out from management about you taking the next month off. Text after text began flooding in as you packed a bag. You didn't know how long you'd really be away for, but you just had to get the fuck away from London for a while.

"Jen? I know it's early for you, but I fucked up. I'm not over her, and I just need to clear my head for a couple of days. I swear that I won't be long, they're giving me the month, so I'll probably go back to Glasgow for a bit too. I just, I'll see you later." You had always hated leaving voicemails, but the words just poured from your mouth. You knew that your best friend was going to kill you when she saw you, but she'd also take care of you too.

[aceyalonso]

F1 drivers if they were on the r/AITAH subreddit

drivers : oscar piastri, lando norris, charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, max verstappen, george russell, franco colapinto

warnings/notes : jos verstappen 🤮

a/n : i know i said i was on hiatus but c'mon this was such a fun idea

main masterlist | taglist form

So this might sound weird, but here goes. My girlfriend and I (both 23) love visiting new places, and she’s a big animal lover. She found this adorable cat café nearby and has been talking about going for weeks. I wasn’t as excited but figured it’d be fun to surprise her, so I booked us a spot and thought I’d try to make it extra special.

Here’s the thing: I wanted to be "that guy" who shows up with a bag of cat treats so all the cats would flock to us. It sounds ridiculous, but my goal was to make her day. When we got there, I pulled out the treats and instantly had a few cats’ attention. My girlfriend laughed, but within a few minutes, an employee came over, looking annoyed, and told me I couldn't give the cats treats from outside.

Apparently, they have specific diets or something, and I was "interfering." I apologized, put the treats away, and thought that was the end of it. But soon after, another employee came up, saying we were being "disruptive" because all the cats were lingering around us, and they even hinted we might need to leave if it didn’t stop. I hadn’t meant to cause a scene and told them it wasn’t a big deal—we’d stop and just hang out like everyone else. But by this point, my girlfriend was pretty embarrassed, and it killed the vibe of our day.

We left a bit earlier than planned, and now my girlfriend thinks it was a bit of a jerk move, even though she appreciated the effort. I didn’t mean to upset anyone or break the rules, just thought it’d be fun to make the cats a bit more social. But now I’m wondering if I messed up by not sticking to the café’s way of doing things.

So, AITAH?

Edit: I’ve learned my lesson. I will never underestimate the dietary regulations of a cat café ever again.

So, I (24M) have this bad habit of forgetting what’s in my fridge. A while ago, I bought some chicken, but I totally forgot about it, and it just sat there for months. I was cleaning out my fridge the other day and found the chicken at the back, and it still looked fine to me—didn’t smell bad, didn’t look weird—so I thought, "Why not? It’s still good."

I cooked it up, had a nice meal, and didn’t think much of it. But then, later that night, I told my mom about it (thinking she'd just laugh), and she completely freaked out. She went on this whole rant about food safety, salmonella, and how I could’ve poisoned myself. I was just like, "It tasted fine, mom, calm down."

She kept texting me all night asking if I felt okay, if I was getting any stomach pains, and even called a few of my friends to check in on me. Honestly, I’m fine—nothing happened, and I feel perfectly normal.

But now she’s upset with me, saying I’m being careless and that I should never eat food that old, even if it seems fine. I just didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I mean, people eat leftovers all the time, right? It wasn’t even that old.

So, AITAH for eating chicken that’s been in my fridge for 9 months and making my mom worry unnecessarily?

Edit: Just to clarify, I didn’t intentionally keep it for 9 months. I honestly just forgot about it in the back of the fridge. And no, I’m not sick. Everything’s fine. I promise I won’t be eating anything old again anytime soon!

I (27M) have a dog, Leo, who’s basically my best friend. He’s super friendly and well-behaved, and honestly, I just feel better when he’s around. I bring him everywhere I go – to cafes, parks, and friend gatherings. You name it, Leo’s there. Most people are fine with it because he’s adorable and loves everyone.

Recently, though, my friends have started making comments about it. Last weekend, we met up at this small, cozy café for brunch, and I brought Leo along. He just curled up next to my chair and didn’t bother anyone. But my friend Paul pulled me aside afterward and said it was kind of annoying that I kept bringing Leo without asking. He said not everyone wants a dog around all the time, and it’s “getting old.”

I don’t understand where this is coming from, especially since Leo’s never caused any problems. I figured since no one had said anything before, they were fine with it. Plus, I’m always careful to keep him out of people’s way, and he’s honestly better behaved than most dogs I know. I feel like they’re making a big deal out of nothing, but now I’m wondering if maybe I should have checked with everyone first.

So, AITAH for always bringing my dog? Should I have asked before assuming everyone was okay with it?

Edit: Just for context, Leo’s a small dog – not the type to jump on people or bark a lot. He just sits quietly and naps most of the time. Also, I’ve always cleaned up after him when necessary, so he hasn’t left any “souvenirs” for anyone to deal with.

So, I (39M) have this friend, Nico (also 39M), and we’ve been friends since we were kids. We’re both super competitive by nature, and we tend to push each other a lot. Whether it’s video games, sports, or even something like mini-golf, everything somehow turns into a competition between us. It’s mostly just for fun… until recently.

A few weeks ago, we were at a friend’s birthday party, and they had one of those racing setups in the living room. Of course, Nico and I immediately challenged each other, and we both got really into it. I mean, I might’ve been trash-talking a bit (okay, maybe a lot), but we were both laughing, so I didn’t think it was a big deal.

Well, I ended up beating him by a fraction of a second, and I might’ve celebrated a bit too enthusiastically—think victory lap around the living room, calling him out in front of everyone, the whole deal. After that, Nico got pretty quiet and didn’t talk to me much for the rest of the night. Later, a mutual friend told me that Nico felt like I was “rubbing it in,” and it embarrassed him.

Now I feel bad. I honestly thought we were just having fun and didn’t realize he’d take it so personally. I tried to apologize, but he just brushed it off and hasn’t really been himself around me since.

So… AITAH for taking things a bit too far with my friend, or was it all just part of the usual friendly rivalry?

Edit: We’ve always had this kind of back-and-forth, so I’m not sure why this time it got to him. Just thought I’d get some outside perspective before I bring it up with him again.

Okay, I know this sounds insane, but hear me out. I (30M) love making pancakes, and I’m pretty proud of my recipe. It’s become sort of a tradition to make them for my family when I visit my parents. They’re always really nice about it and say they love them, but... I’m starting to think they’ve just been too polite.

A few weeks ago, I was at my parents’ house and decided to whip up a big batch of pancakes for breakfast. My mom and dad both had seconds, and I thought it was a win. But later that night, my mom started having really bad stomach pains. We took her to the hospital, and she ended up needing surgery for appendicitis. It was a scary experience, but thankfully, she’s okay now.

Here’s where it gets weirder. Just a few days after my mom came home from the hospital, my dad started having the same symptoms. At first, we joked that it was sympathy pains, but he ended up in the ER too, with the exact same issue—appendicitis.

Now my whole family is convinced it was my pancakes. I know logically that my cooking can’t cause appendicitis, but I can’t help but feel responsible because they both got sick right after eating my breakfast. My parents keep joking that they’re never eating my pancakes again, and my siblings have been giving me a hard time about it, saying I’m banned from the kitchen.

So, AITAH for giving both my parents appendicitis with my cooking, or am I just an unlucky chef?

Edit: Just to clarify, I don’t actually think I gave them appendicitis, but the timing is very suspicious, and now my parents are scared of my pancakes. I might need a new family recipe...

So, I (27M) have two cats (Jimmy & Sassy), and they’re pretty much my babies. They’re super affectionate with me but can be a bit picky about who they like. My dad (52M), on the other hand, isn’t exactly a "cat person." He’s more of the “why do you have pets that don’t do anything useful?” type, but he still visits often and tolerates them because he knows they’re important to me.

The other day, my dad came over, and as usual, my cats were lounging on the couch. He decided to sit down and give them a little nudge to move over, but instead of just shuffling away, one of my cats (Jimmy) swiped at his face. It wasn’t a deep scratch, but it was enough to leave a red mark and get my dad pretty annoyed. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit because he was acting all grumpy about it, muttering something about "those spoiled cats."

He got even more annoyed when he saw me laughing and said I should discipline my cats better and not let them scratch people. I tried explaining that cats are territorial and react like that when they’re suddenly pushed, especially by someone they’re not used to. I offered him a band-aid, but he refused and ended up leaving earlier than planned.

Now my mom is telling me I should’ve been more sympathetic and that I should’ve scolded my cat instead of laughing. But honestly, I feel like it was just a normal cat reaction, and my dad knows how they can be. So now I’m wondering, AITAH for laughing when my cat scratched my dad’s face instead of taking it more seriously?

Edit: Just to clarify, my cats don’t usually attack people. They’re very cuddly with me and my friends, but my dad’s not around them enough for them to be comfortable. I’ll definitely make sure he approaches them differently next time... if he ever wants to come back!

So, this might sound a bit weird, but hear me out. I (26M) work at this company, and my boss, "Toto" (52M), and I have a really good relationship. We get along great, share a lot of common interests, and he’s been a bit of a mentor to me. We hang out outside of work sometimes, and every now and then, I’ll stay over at his place after we have dinner or watch a game, just because it’s more convenient.

Recently, my friends found out about this and started making fun of me, calling it “sleepovers” with my boss. I laughed it off at first, but they’ve started saying it’s kind of weird and unprofessional to be that close with your boss. They’re acting like I’m trying to suck up or get some kind of special treatment, but that’s honestly not the case. I just enjoy his company, and we have a good time hanging out.

The thing is, I never really mentioned it to my friends before because it just didn’t seem like a big deal. I figured if I told them, they’d blow it out of proportion (which is exactly what’s happening now). But now they’re saying it’s odd that I didn’t bring it up sooner and that it’s kind of strange to be having “sleepovers” with someone who’s technically in charge of me at work.

So, AITAH for not telling my friends that I sometimes crash at my boss’s place, or are they just overreacting?

Edit: For context, it’s not like I’m staying there every weekend or anything. It’s maybe once a month if we’re having a late night and it’s easier than going all the way back to my place. Plus, he’s got a massive guest room, so it’s not like I’m sleeping on the couch or something. It’s just a practical arrangement

Okay, so I (21M) have a bit of a problem, and I’m honestly not sure if it’s even a problem or just something I can’t control. I’ve noticed lately that whenever I’m doing interviews or talking to reporters, I end up coming off as flirting with them, even though I’m not trying to at all.

I’m naturally a friendly person, and I like to joke around and be engaging. But I’ve had a few reporters (and even some photographers) tell me after interviews that I’ve been “charming” or “too smooth” with them. Some of them even hinted that I was “leading them on.” The thing is, I don’t even notice it happening. I just talk to them like I would anyone else, but apparently, I’m making it seem like I’m flirting—without even trying!

One reporter even gave me her number after an interview, and when I asked if she was just being friendly, she said, “You were a little more than friendly.” I was totally confused because I thought we were just having a good conversation about racing. Now I’m worried that I’m giving the wrong impression to people without meaning to, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or make things uncomfortable.

So, AITAH for accidentally flirting with reporters and leading them on when I really don’t mean to? Should I tone down my "natural charm"?

Edit: Just to clarify, I’m not trying to flirt with anyone, reporter or not. I’m just being myself, but it seems like it’s coming off differently than I intended. It’s a bit awkward now, and I’m wondering if I should change how I interact in interviews.

taglist

@nepobbylver @wobblymug @xoscar03 @irishmanwhore @nitiii

@livsturnioloo @lilorose25 @si1ver06 @zestytimbit @morgrinha

@callsignwidow

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 17

[chap sixteen] | [all chapters here]

Story Summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slooow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, dysfunctional family dynamics, idiots-to-lovers, smut & nsfw themes

a/n: How is it possible that we've reached the end??? Although this may be the last chapter, this won't be the final outing for our Ice Princess - I'll have the epilogue posted soon, and I'm hoping to explore ther relationship more in the future! This chapter is a little bit serious, but otherwise it's entirely indulgent for all of us that have just been chomping at the bit for these two to get together, so enjoy~

wc: 9.1k

Chapter Seventeen

Sleeping in Eddie’s bed had clearly become something of a habit in your month and a half of fake dating, because it didn’t even surprise you when you awoke the day after Halloween to find your cheek pressed against his back, his messy mane of curls tickling your face. No, the part that did briefly surprise you was the realization that you were lying there virtually naked and holding him like he was your own personal teddy bear; when the Halloween party slowly began to come back to you, though, your surprise began to fade away.

You’d kissed Eddie, not just once or twice or even for a few minutes, but for damn near the rest of night. Once you two left the party and returned to his place in the early hours of the morning, you practically jumped him because you were unable to contain all the want you’d been harboring over the course of these past weeks. Hell, you couldn’t even remember when you two eventually caved to your exhaustion and pulled away from each other, because you were so caught up in the whirlwind of his lips and his touch that all other details of the night seemed to vanish from memory.

With a giddy smile, you lightly brushed your fingers along your lips, feeling your ears grow hot at the memory of Eddie’s kisses and groping hands and tented pants. You even laughed to yourself smally, as if you were in disbelief about the evening that had transpired.

As your eyes lazily trailed up and down Eddie’s back, feeling ease and content in watching him sleep soundly, that pesky anxiety of yours began whispering cruelly in your ear again like it always seemed to - after all, you two hadn’t exactly discussed what was going on between you, so for all you knew the kisses could actually mean very little.

Although the reasonable side of you knew it was almost certainly ridiculous to assume this wouldn’t go further - considering the few things you did talk about last night - the nervous, emotionally confused and untrusting side of you couldn’t help but run wild with assumptions. What if Eddie didn’t like you in the same way you liked him, what if you misunderstood each other last night? Within only a few minutes of being awake, your worries were already getting the better of you, souring your morning far too quickly for your liking.

You were never exactly the most emotionally competent person, you loathed to admit - considering the household you grew up in, feelings were often suppressed until they boiled over. Neither of your parents set a very good example of how to properly express emotions or healthily discuss them, so your baseline was pretty damn pathetic. How were you supposed to ask Eddie what this was now, how were you supposed to behave when anxieties kept clouding you with skepticism?

The longer you lied here and stressed about it, the more you began to confuse yourself over technicalities and your assumptions regarding Eddie’s feelings. Eventually, when you couldn’t take the obnoxious ramblings inside your own head anymore, you shot out of bed and rushed back into your clothes from the night before, hoping you weren’t causing enough noise to rouse Eddie from his sleep.

You fumbled around the nightstand in hopes that there was a pack of cigarettes somewhere, but you cursed when you couldn’t find even a loose one rolling around; but after digging around in the pockets of Eddie’s jacket, you were relieved to find cigarettes and a lighter there as if they were waiting for you.

Creeping out of the bedroom, you exhaled deeply upon noticing that Wayne had already left for the day, feeling a little more at ease knowing that you could have some time alone to make sense of your thoughts and feelings. You stepped out onto the patio, immediately shivering thanks to the November chill in the air - you really could’ve thought this through better and at least grabbed a jacket, but your head was a little too mirky to have considered it. And you weren’t quite brave enough now to turn back around to grab one.

Curling up in one of the ratty chairs, you lit a cigarette and took a drag that was far too deep, as you ended up in a short coughing fit within moments. Once it passed, your anxieties and frustrations immediately returned in full force, making it damn near impossible to clear your head like you’d hoped. Really, you didn’t know what the hell you were so worried about, yet you felt this constant sense of foreboding; logically, it seemed misplaced, especially considering just how good last night was for you, yet it couldn’t be helped.

You finally confessed your feelings to Eddie and by some stroke of luck he reciprocated them, so then why did you have this sinking feeling in your chest? Why were you so convinced that something had to have been miscommunicated or misunderstood? It was as if you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable disappointment that had to come following last night, because that’s how things had always gone for you before when they were actually important.

You were used to disappointment - between your parents and your friends and your exes, you’d come to expect it at this rate. You wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if Eddie didn’t want any kind of serious relationship, if he didn’t want to keep things going between you two; despite yourself, your brain could justify any and all ridiculous reasons for this not to work regardless of how desperately you wanted it to.

You sat out on the patio for what felt like an eternity, watching the relatively uninteresting activity of the trailer park, thinking yourself into an anxious fit. Somewhere between your first and second cigarette, you began pacing across the small expanse of the patio, moving back and forth as if that could somehow put your mind at ease.

It was as you put a fourth cigarette to your lips that you heard the door open behind you, causing you to jump and spin around with wide, nervous eyes. Eddie paused in the door frame, his tired eyes landing on you with something akin to surprise and relief, though you couldn't understand why he looked at you that way.

Despite your best efforts to keep your gaze focused on his face, you couldn’t help but give Eddie a quick up-down, swallowing at the sight of his bare chest and his boxers slung low on his hips. You could see in his expression and posture that he still felt heavy with sleep, and yet his eyes were wide awake, as if he shot straight out of bed upon realizing you weren’t there beside him. He, too, looked you up and down, his shoulders seeming to relax a little as his tired mind tried to catch up with him.

“I thought you were gone.” His morning voice was gruff, and yet you couldn’t help but enjoy it. You dumbly shook your head, unable to think properly now that Eddie stood across from you, disrupting the already chaotic train of thought you’d been consumed with since waking. You removed the unlit cigarette from your mouth, sliding it into your pocket as you looked down at your feet; you could curse yourself for feeling so fucking nervous right now, your heart drumming hard and fast in your chest.

“No, just…” You trailed off, not knowing what you wanted to say anyway. Eddie’s brows were knotted with concern and thought as he stared at you; it almost looked as if he, too, was awaiting disappointment, just the same as you. Biting your lip, you added simply, “Just needed to think.”

Eddie’s chest heaved with a deep sigh as he looked you up and down again, making you wish you could simply read his mind right now - that would make this so much easier, you wouldn’t have to ask him questions or say any of the things that were on your mind.

Eddie looked around, giving you the impression that he was just as nervous as you were right now; clearly, sobriety had both of you a little on edge, “About last night?”

Despite all your nerves, a faint smile nearly ghosted across your lips as everything from the evening prior came flooding back to you. In some ways, it was so much easier to look upon it fondly now that Eddie was here, even as his presence hiked your anxieties. You glanced up at him through your lashes, biting the inside of your cheek at the warm yet trepidation look on his face.

“About last night.” You affirmed in a quiet voice, sheepishly looking around as you continued to make some sense of the chaos going on in your head. Why was it so hard to simply talk to Eddie right now? Why were you so scared to be transparent, to discuss your feelings when clearly you both had things to say on the matter?

Well, because you’d never felt like this before - the answer was obvious, and yet impossible to wrap your head around. The affection and endearment and yearning you felt for Eddie was unlike anything you’d ever experienced in your entire life, and it scared the fuck out of you. He’s been so good to you from the start, has always taken care of you, has let you into his world with open arms, and all of that was now utterly terrifying - the other shoe would inevitably drop soon, right? Something bad had to happen soon, that was all you ever knew. All your relationships - romantic, platonic, and otherwise - were bad, so what would make this any different?

Suddenly fearful of the swell of emotion inside your chest, you turned away from Eddie and took a deep breath; you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head. Now that you weren’t looking him in the eye, it became at least a hair easier to swallow the lump in your throat and talk, even if your words were shaky.

“I… am terrible with feelings. Absolute shit with emotions, okay?” Eddie simply hummed behind you, and even in that simple sound you could almost hear the look on his face - brows up just a little with curiosity, arms crossed, corner of his mouth barely pulled back in a patient, attentive smirk. Whether or not you were making up that expression in your head, you were somehow certain that’s what you’d see if you were brave enough to turn around right now, “It’s hard for me. But… I’ve been confused for weeks, Eddie.”

A very faint laugh escaped him, prompting you to spin back around and look him in the eye with a puzzled, nervous expression; in that brief moment, you forgot your nerves as you found his watchful gaze. And just as you imagined, he was leaning in the door frame with his arms lazily crossed over his chest, a look of even-tempered composure spread across his face.

“You and me both, princess.” He said simply, as if he were refraining from talking too much. Was he doing so to give you the opportunity to speak your mind more easily?

For a long stretch, you stared at one another, your anxieties coming back to you even as you tried to fight them off; you abruptly turned away from him again, your nerves getting the better of you as you suddenly delved into a panicked rambling.

“You’ve made me feel shit I haven’t felt before, and I didn’t want to get confused so I tried to ignore it, but, fuck Eddie I didn’t think I could feel so many things all at once. It was so easy before, being the ice princess - I didn't care about anyone or anything, it was easier to just exist. But then you happened and I can’t even begin to understand why I’m so emotional all the time or how it’s possible for me to like you so much and be scared of that feeling.”

Hearing the worn wood of the patio creak under Eddie’s feet, your eyes grew wide, debating whether or not to turn around or maintain this measly comfort that came from having your back to him. But it didn’t sound as if he were coming any closer, and your prattling continued whether you wanted it to or not.

“Why am I scared? That’s so stupid, am I really that incapable of handling emotions or a relationship? All it took was one nice boy to turn me into a confused, emotional mess? God, you’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been these past couple months, and yet I want to run from it, like I don’t deserve it or something. Like no matter what, I’m gonna fuck this up and we’re both gonna end up disappointed.

“This was supposed to be some stupid little way of getting back at everyone in my life, but I guess the joke’s on me because now I’ve got more feelings than I can fucking contain and it’s like no matter what I do, I’m gonna ruin this.”

Maybe it was your nerves, but it was almost as if you could suddenly feel that Eddie had come closer without warning, causing you to abruptly begin pacing back and forth across the expanse of the patio. You kept your head down, still insisting on keeping some kind of pathetic barrier between you and Eddie as your anxiety just continued to escalade.

“This would be so much easier if you just didn’t like me back, Eddie, if you just didn’t care about me - I could’ve gotten over this so fucking easily. I can’t ignore it, and now some part of me wants to run, and I know that’s not fair, but maybe it would’ve made it easier on us both to just pretend nothing ever happened and to go back to how things were before we met and--”

Abruptly, Eddie grabbed your arm and spun you around to face him, causing you to trip over your feet as he steadied you. Firmly, he cupped your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look up at him, forcing your eyes to stare directly into his - his gaze was far too affectionate right now, and it was only at that moment that you realized your eyes were feeling a little too watery for your liking.

“You’re talking yourself into a fit, princess.” Eddie’s voice was low and comforting, his hands warm against your skin as he held you in place. You gulped nervously, your skin breaking out into goosebumps as his thumb brushed tenderly along the apple of your cheek. You looked down, your gaze emptily staring at Eddie’s chin as you could feel the way he studied you, the way he looked at you with care. He dipped his head down just an inch, but was mindful not to get too close, a charmed little laugh escaping his lips and fluttering against yours, “What are you so afraid of?”

Eddie’s question felt too kind and gentle, far nicer than you deserved. Your sad eyes turned back up to meet his, and the tenderness in his gaze was utterly terrifying. You could only manage to whisper, as if incapable of raising your voice any louder, “I’m gonna fuck this up, Eddie; I don’t wanna hurt you and disappoint you and waste your time.”

A sweet smile tugged at Eddie’s lips, and you quickly looked back down nervously. Eddie’s fingers pressed against your skin insistently, “Will you please look at me?”

As if unable to resist the request, your eyes immediately flicked back up; Eddie’s expression brightened a little, clearly pleased that you were cooperating with him instead of resisting.

“You’re never gonna waste my time.” He started firmly, clearly believing every single word he was saying. You shook your head, but his gentle hands stopped you, “You don’t get to decide that. If you like me as much as you say you do, just be with me. Is that such a bad idea?”

You looked between Eddie’s eyes, unsure how to answer him - your head was swimming with confusion, your heart was pounding with anxieties, and yet they were somehow in entirely different places. You tried to outweigh your fear with logic, and yet you remained at odds with yourself. Pressing your lips together tightly, you swallowed while trying in vain to find your voice again. As if Eddie could read your thoughts, he continued.

“Let me make this easy for you,” although he spoke with confidence, you could see that Eddie was just as nervous as you were, that his eyes were alight with concern; hell, you could practically feel how rapidly his own heart was beating, how his arms were ever so gently shaking. He dipped his head closer, your foreheads nearly pressed together, his handsome face causing you to exhale longingly despite all your pent-up fear. Eddie’s voice had also lowered to a near whisper, “We’ve already been faking it for, what, two months now - so, can we just stop pretending? Nothing else is going to change… except that I’ll kiss you more, if you’ll let me.”

You tried to resist the temptation to smile, but you lost that battle quickly; your cheeks nearly hurt as you grinned and let out a nervous laugh, causing Eddie’s own gleeful smile to grace his pretty features. Trepidation was still ever present in your mind, hesitation clearly shining in your eyes, but getting you to smile again was a victory for Eddie, whose thumbs brushed dotingly along your cheeks.

“We’ll be just fine,” Eddie started warmly, his eyes reveling in the smile on your lips, gaze drinking in your features, “okay, princess?”

Your response was but a whisper as you gave a small nod, your breath warm against Eddie’s lips, “Okay.”

Without a need for any further confirmation, Eddie closed the gap between the two of you, crushing his lips against yours with a desperation that made you instantly dizzy. Your hands quickly began to search for grip along his sides, fingernails scratching against his skin as you kissed him back eagerly, a fire lighting in your stomach that burned out your nerves.

Eddie's hands trailed down your cheeks and neck, his gentle touch making your toes curl and sending a shiver up your spine; a deep sigh of satisfaction deflated the fears in your chest as his arms encircled you. You lips became more assertive and eager against Eddie's, hands gripping at him a little tighter as if intent on never letting go.

As your tongue teased along his lower lip, a gust of autumn wind blew past, and you could feel goosebumps breaking out across Eddie's skin beneath your fingertips. You shivered together, Eddie pulling his lips from yours with a faint chuckle. 

“Shit, it's cold.” He muttered into your mouth, causing you to laugh along with him. You gave his chest a small nudge, causing Eddie to take a step backwards.

“Then take me inside.” You instructed. With a sly look, Eddie took hold of your hands and dragged you back into the trailer, pressing your back against the door the moment that it was closed so he could steal another fierce kiss. You could have moaned at the way he pressed his body flush against yours, flinging your arms around his neck and twisting your fingers eagerly in his hair. Enjoying the feel of your hands on him, Eddie rolled his hips smally, causing a hungry sound to rise in your throat.

You broke away from Eddie’s lips, but evidently he wasn’t done with you, because he leaned down to plant firm kisses against the side of your neck; you sighed with delight, momentarily forgetting yourself. When you found your words again, you curled your fingers a little tighter in his hair to get his attention.

“Eddie, I--” You cut yourself off before anything more could leave you. Admittedly, you were embarrassed at the idea of simply saying “Eddie, I wanna fuck you so bad right now,” and just thinking those words caused your cheeks to grow fiery hot.

Feeling your hesitation, Eddie lifted his head to look you in the eye, his gaze dark as if in an odd blend of knowing and uncertainty - it was as if he knew what you wanted to say, and yet he doubted you’d say it at all.

“What?” He whispered huskily. It was then you realized you could feel him growing hard against your hip, and fuck you could’ve mewled greedily. Taking a breath and sticking up your chin in an attempt to gain your confidence, you looked between Eddie’s eyes and lips.

“I want you.” You opted for the less vulgar admission, hoping it would keep your temperature from rising quite so high, though you still felt sheepish saying it. Eddie inhaled deeply, taking in your face closely as if he planned on memorizing each and every feature.

The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint grin, an excitement alight in his eyes, “I’m all yours, princess.”

A bubble of exhilaration swelled in your stomach, your pussy clenching at his words in anticipation. Achingly, you dragged Eddie’s lips back to yours for a fierce, hot kiss, just as quickly pulling back so you could drag him the short distance back to his room.

Unceremoniously, you shoved Eddie down onto the bed, a giddy laugh escaping you at the surprise across his face, clearly unprepared for you to take charge the way you did. Your eagerness and nervousness were at odds inside your chest as you took him in, hooded gaze dragging down his bare torso and locking onto the tent in his boxers. Eddie stared back at you with much the same expression, his brows slowly rising with anticipation as you unbuttoned your shirt and quickly dropped it to the floor.

In the next moment, you slid out of your shorts, pausing there for a moment as if frozen by the way Eddie watched you with a mesmerized expression. Everything within you was taut with arousal as you let Eddie drink your body in a few seconds longer; as if starved, though, you quickly crawled into his lap and kissed him with such urgency that it made you short of breath.

Eddie’s arms snaked around your middle, hands pressed firmly to your back as if to make sure you were real and solid, as if to make sure this wasn’t some dream. With your body flush against his, you could feel each breath in his chest, each flex of his muscles, the tease of his cock awaiting your touch. Still with some uncertainty, you lowered yourself on Eddie’s lap, your hot center pressed comfortably atop his cock, your underwear creating barely enough layers between you two.

As Eddie twitched beneath you, a moan passed from your mouth into his, your hands desperately winding into his hair again and your tongue feverish against his lips. Slowly, you rolled your hips along his length as a depraved groan rumbled in Eddie’s throat; he jerked again eagerly, his grip on your back growing even firmer. You rutted your hips heavily against his cock, pussy tightening with jitteriness and desperation and yearning.

You pulled your lips away from Eddie’s abruptly, only to ravenously kiss and nip along his neck, the feel of your hot mouth causing him to squirm with impatience. You continued to grind your hips at a deep, lecherous pace, your underwear growing damp from the friction and your arousal, desperate for more and more of Eddie’s body.

Pulling back to catch your breath, you found Eddie’s eyes, so dark and hooded as he stared back as if you were a goddamn work of art. Your heart beat wildly in your chest at the look of adoration, and all too quickly you were crashing your lips back to his for a passionate, chaste kiss.

You withdrew again, not just your lips but this time your entire body, sliding down from Eddie’s lap to the floor in front of him, eagerly settling between his knees; as you looked back up through your lashes, his slacked jaw and nervous anticipation made you grin wickedly.

You held Eddie’s eyes as you pressed closer, hands sliding up his thighs and towards the hard tent in his boxers; he swallowed excitedly, watching with intense focus as you finally palmed his cock through the thin layer of fabric concealing it. He tensed, sighing longingly at your touch; when you gave him a slight squeeze, the sigh turned into a gasp.

Eddie took a deep breath in a weak attempt to steady himself, eyes locked on yours for fear of looking away. You gave him one more small squeeze before removing your hand, hooking your fingers into the hem of his boxers; you paused, taking in Eddie’s expression with a teasing glint in your eyes.

When you finally dragged the measly article of clothing down, his cock bounced up and slapped against his abdomen; you bit your lip, holding in the gasp that nearly left your mouth at the sight of him. You hungrily looked between Eddie’s eyes and the throbbing head of his cock, nearly ready to pounce him without warning, though you refrained. No, if you could help it, you were going to take your sweet time with him.

The mere sight of you on your knees for him was nearly enough to drive Eddie mad, his breath shaky as he took in your carnal expression, your eager eyes. In that moment, you were so damn beautiful that he was nearly afraid to touch you, his fists clenching urgently into the sheets on either side of him as he awaited what you’d do next.

You kept your dark stare locked with Eddie’s as you wet your lip, lowering yourself slowly towards his desperate cock. Just your hot breath against him was enough to make Eddie twitch and gasp, your mouth hovering mere centimeters from him; god, you clenched at the needy sound that escaped him, impatient to hear what others you may cause.

Finally, your lips closed around the head of Eddie’s cock, tantalizingly pressing your tongue flat to the underside of his length. Eddie exclaimed with a sinful stutter, hips bucking as you slowly twirled your tongue around him; you sucked in your cheeks, watching Eddie’s face through your lashes. His jaw had gone slack, staring down at you with hooded, mesmerized eyes; it very nearly drove you mad, and this had only just begun.

For a long, cruel beat, you remained unmoving, your stare teasing even with Eddie’s cock in your mouth; you waited until you spotted his impatience, relenting with a satisfied gleam in your eyes. Torturously slow, you took his length as deep as you could, your pussy clenching at the way his body shuddered and twitched as incoherent sounds leapt past his lips. His hips bucked up into your mouth as he frantically grabbed at your hair as if desperate to both stop you and to push you even lower on his cock.

Far too pleased with yourself, you finally stopped teasing, rhythmically bobbing your head up and down, twirling your tongue, drooling down the entirety of Eddie’s cock. With one hand, you squeezed what length you couldn’t fit in your mouth, slowly tightening your grip in response to his eager mewling; the nails on your other hand dug into the skin of his thigh, feeling his muscle flex beneath you.

Your tempo grew sloppier and needier, your once slow pace now growing wetter and greedier each time you made Eddie gasp with pleasure. Your hand squeezed tighter around his thick shaft, tongue tantalizing as it swirled his head. Eddie’s hips jerked up desperately, uncontrollably, his cock gagging you as it hit the back of your throat and the hand in your hair gripping harder as he all too easily fell apart. You used both hands to press down on his hips, a silent insistence to stay put as you shifted on your knees, changing the angle so you could take him even deeper.

He gasped and moaned as your mouth grew more frantic, tongue swirling, lips sucking, teeth grazing each time you took him deep enough that you nearly choked. Eddie’s squirming and begging only encouraged you, your mouth becoming more and more desperate around him, your jaw straining as you slurped and sucked with total obscenity. With his cock practically fully sheathed, you ran your vulgar tongue from base to tip, pressing it against the most sensitive part of his head and making him gasp with a salacious jolt.

“Heyhey--!” Eddie abruptly pulled you off his cock, a string of drool connecting you two as a satisfied, wicked grin spread across your lips. His chest heaved frantically as he stared down at you with glazed eyes, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and flushed cheeks. You cleaned the drool from your lip with the back of your finger, hungrily looking between Eddie’s pretty face and his throbbing cock.

He laughed breathily in disbelief, making a measly attempt at composing himself. His cheeks were bright red as he looked down at his twitching cock, “Fuck…”

His fingers were still twisted in your hair, gently tugging as he met your eyes again; his expression was sapless, another profane look spreading across your face at the sight of him.

“Want me to stop?” You asked in an airy, tender whisper, realizing that you, too, needed to catch your breath. The question amused Eddie, who shook his head with a weak grin.

“Fuck no, that’s the problem.” You giggled at his response, teasingly pressing your lips to the underside of his cock, which made him jump a little with sensitivity. He dipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath to collect himself.

“Aw, need a minute?” You teased, to which Eddie faintly nodded. For a few moments, you rested your head atop his knee, adoringly watching his chest rise and fall, his Adam’s apple bob, his lips hanging open lustfully.

When he finally glanced back down at you, the look in his eyes was so damn tender that it nearly froze you, unable to move or look away as you drank him in. Once you managed to pull yourself from the hypnosis, you slowly rose to your feet, Eddie’s eyes watching you oh-so closely as you unclasped your bra and stepped out of your lacy underwear, entirely bare in front of him.

You drank in the dilation of his pupils, the heave of his chest, the twitch of his cock, shivering a little under Eddie’s severe, lustful gaze. His eyes trailed over your body, studying every single curve and blemish as if intent on memorizing your skin.

With a deep breath, you grabbed Eddie’s face tenderly between your hands and leaned down, kissing him with a hungry, passionate fervor, moaning against his lips. He blindly reached out for you, pulling you closer until you were flush against him, a satisfied sound escaping his throat at the feel of your skin on his. As you kissed him deeply, desperately, you hiked one knee up onto the bed, your hot center hovering above his thigh, so close that if you were to shift even a little you would graze against him.

Your tongue prodded at Eddie’s lower lip, moaning as his mouth opened to you; his hands tentatively explored your body, fingers digging into your hips, your legs, squeezing your ass with an unsure grip. Needily, you pressed your wet pussy onto his thigh, causing Eddie to moan and pull back so he could look you in the eye.

You breathed into each other’s mouths as you slowly rolled your hips once, making yourself gasp at the sensation; Eddie’s expression quickly darkened, growing hungry at the mere sight of you pleasuring yourself on him. His grip on you tightened, as if silently asking you to keep going, silently begging you to use him all for yourself.

Carefully maneuvering your other knee between his legs, you sat more comfortably atop his thigh and rutted your hips again, the both of you groaning as you threw your head back. Eddie cupped your ass, his hold more firm than before as you started to slowly ride his thigh, your pussy slick and desperate against his hot skin. Your breaths came out in deep shudders, jaw trembling a little when you’d roll your hips just right; you steadied yourself on Eddie’s shoulders, forehead pressing against his as you focused on your rhythm. He couldn’t help but moan at the sight of you, his cock throbbing against your knee as an erotic “fuck” escaped his lips.

When Eddie unexpectedly flexed his thigh, your hips stuttered, a surprised gasp leaving your mouth as you grinded more firmly, more desperately. Your legs were already beginning to tremble as you held tight to Eddie’s shoulders, sloppily kissing him as you rubbed up and down his thigh, pathetic sounds humming in both your throats as the heat in the room kept rising.

Beads of sweat began forming at your temple and the small of your back, your rhythm becoming more and more frantic against Eddie’s body. His lips were hot against your skin, leaving frenzied kisses along the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck; you could feel the way his breathing hitched and faltered, as if he was getting higher and higher along with you. Fuck, you weren’t even touching his cock, and yet you were so goddamn pornographic that it was about to send him over the edge again.

Eddie’s fingers dug into the fat of your ass, pressing you more insistently down against his leg; you pulled your head back just enough to smile stupidly at him, seeing and feeling the way his trepidation had begun to fade away. There was a fire in his eyes as you rubbed against him, his mouth hung open with need and desire as he watched you coming undone.

Biting your lip, you picked up your pace while curving your hips a little more, catching your clit in just the right way that it made your eyes cross. Your moaning grew desperate as you got closer to climax, your nails digging into Eddie’s shoulders to keep steady. He flexed his leg again, watching you through hooded eyes as he relished in your pleasure, breathing in your erotic scent as you gasped at the sensation that shot through your body.

“Eddie--” Your tone was pleading, causing him to hiss carnally between his teeth, his breath hot against your cheek. Your grinding was almost erratic, pussy so desperate as your hips rolled and your toes curled. Your body stuttered abruptly, overwhelming stimulation suddenly washing over you without warning, causing you to throw your head back with unrestrained gasps and whimpers.

Eddie held firmly onto you, the sounds of his own raunchy whines in your ear making your orgasm all the more intense. Your entire body shook for a few moments as you struggled to catch your breath, slumping against Eddie’s front and resting your head on his shoulder. Your chests heaved unevenly against one another, sweat sticky between you; the feel of Eddie’s cock twitching against your leg made you moan with a weak laugh, attempting to regain your composure.

“Fuck…” Eddie managed to pant out as you finally raised your head from his shoulder. When you met his eyes, he was lazily grinning from ear-to-ear, drinking in the sight of your post-orgasm expression; you smiled back, biting your lip as your gaze bounced around his handsome face, “Succubus…”

You laughed again, though the sound was hoarse and airy; you placed your hands at the base of Eddie’s neck, needily kissing him with as much force as you could muster. His hands trailed lazily up and down your back, his hands hot against your skin, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, the sensation bringing back the memory of that damned wet dream you had about Eddie only a mere few weeks ago.

Feeling your lips grinning against his, Eddie couldn’t help but mirror the expression, although his mind was still reeling from the fact that the ice princess just came because of him. Just a couple of months ago, he wouldn’t have dared bet money on the idea that you’d be getting off in his goddamn lap, and yet here you were, kissing him with lust and adoration, still quivering from your orgasm.

When finally you broke from the kiss, it was to look Eddie in the eye again, fingers tenderly curling in his hair as you drank him in. His expression was once again awestruck, and it made you feel flush all over, dropping your gaze as if bashful; his hands lazily slid back down to your ass, gripping you tight enough that you inhaled smally. Your eyes flicked back up so you could stare at Eddie’s handsome face, finally finding your voice again.

“You have condoms?” your tone was airy; the nearly surprised expression on Eddie’s face caused you to smile smally while raising your brows at him. He looked almost as if he had something smart to say, yet all he could do was nod dumbly in response to your question. Holding you close with one steady hand on the small of your back, Eddie leaned towards his nightstand, wrenching the drawer open and fumbling around until he finally found what he was searching for.

As Eddie brought the foil packaging to his mouth, you couldn’t help but ogle him, jaw slacking a little as he easily ripped the foil with his teeth, looking far, far too hot doing so. When his eager eyes found yours again they darkened with desire, and he couldn’t help but lean in to steal a quick kiss; you giggled against his lips, absolutely charmed by the innocence of it.

You snatched the condom from Eddie’s hand with a playful look, pulling your sweaty body away from his so you could crawl further onto the bed; you sat back, ass resting upon your heels as you waited for Eddie to follow after you.

He stayed planted for a beat as if in consideration, though before you could question it he turned to face you again; his eyes languidly trailed up and down your body, breath hitching at the sight of you, still so damn new and exciting for him. When finally Eddie met your eyes again, he smiled almost to himself, finally twisting around so he could crawl up the bed with you. Unable to stop yourself, your lusty gaze was drawn back to his cock, still hard and so goddamn tantalizing, and you felt desperate drool pooling in your mouth.

Eddie swooped in for another swift kiss, causing you to nearly fall back onto the pillows thanks to how unprepared you were for it. You gripped his biceps to stay upright, kissing him back eagerly and adoringly, and for a brief moment you came out of your lustful fog, realizing that kissing him felt so goddamn easy, that being with him was like the most natural thing in the entire world. That thought in mind, you deepened the kiss, wrapping your arms around Eddie’s neck and drawing him closer.

Eddie pulled his lips away so that he could press your foreheads together, breathing you in with affection while his hands came to rest gently atop your knees. You could nearly feel the way he smiled, your lips hovering but a breath away from one another, and it tempted you to lean back in for more.

“I haven’t really done this before.” Eddie blurted out huskily, as if he’d been trying to find the words since the start of this whole thing. You couldn’t help but smile largely, pulling back a little further so you could look at his face.

“‘Haven’t really?’” You teased questioningly, delighting in the way his cheeks blushed even more red than they were a moment before. Eddie looked down, grinning along with you. You gave him a firm kiss in an effort to bolster his confidence, wondering if this meant you’d be Eddie’s first time, or if he was just admitting to having very little experience.

He found your eyes, and although a smile rested on his face, he still looked nervous, “I mean… I’ve only done this once.”

Feeling especially playful - which had never been a thing with previous partners amidst the throes of passion -  you looked him in the eye with a near cocky expression, “Well, don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

To that, an anxious laugh burst from Eddie’s throat, clearly unprepared for what you said; you giggled along with him, teasingly narrowing your eyes at him. As Eddie composed himself, he had to hold back more laughter while fondly meeting your eyes, “I’ll be the judge of that, princess.”

Eagerly, you dragged Eddie in for another kiss, guiding him to lie back on the bed; as you pushed him down against the pillows, you pulled your lips away. He stared up at you with such reverie, his lusty gaze watching closely as you straddled his legs, a faint gasp leaving his mouth as you gently grabbed his cock. You drank in the look on Eddie’s face as you gave him a few slow strokes, his moans turning you on, the way his head leaned back as his eyes fluttered closed utterly intoxicating. An entranced sigh escaped you, feeling how wet you were getting again at simply the sight of his satisfaction.

When you took back your hand, a disappointed whine rose from Eddie’s throat, causing you to grin wickedly; you finally removed the condom  from its foil, guiding it down his shaft as butterflies began to flutter wildly in your stomach. Eddie watched through hooded eyes as if he were in awe of you; when you leaned forward onto your palms, his eyes flickered down towards your chest, seemingly engrossed in the way your breasts moved as you crawled up his body till you were centered above his erection.

For a moment, you lingered there, mere inches away as you took the time to enjoy the look of Eddie, the desire alight in his eyes, the parting of his lips, the deep heaving of his chest; fuck, he was so handsome it was almost annoying. You couldn’t help but smile fondly while reaching down between you two, positioning Eddie as another faint sound of desire rose in his throat.

With a final, decisive sigh, you lowered yourself onto Eddie’s cock, your pussy so slick that you slid down hilt deep with ease. You moaned loudly at the way you stretched around his thickness, and in the same breath Eddie’s hands spasmed before gripping your thighs tightly.

“Holy shit--!” He hissed sharply while throwing his head back, the expanse of his neck looking far too appetizing all exposed like that. You stayed still for a couple of moments as you became comfortable with his size, delighting in the way Eddie’s fingers flexed against your skin, the way he caught his breath. You couldn’t help but clench around him, causing another gasp to fall from his lips.

Steadily, you began to roll your hips in a deep motion, your moans mingling together at the way Eddie’s cock stroked deep inside you; the slow pace was very nearly cruel, yet the way he hit all your sweet spots was far too intoxicating. God, you just wanted to lean down and trail bites all along Eddie’s neck, but you feared the change of position would get you too close too soon. So, you continued to grind, Eddie’s cock buried deep in your warm pussy, his hands gripping your thighs so tight that it nearly hurt. Hands braced on either side of his head, your fingers twisted eagerly into the pillow with each rut of your hips.

Eddie’s whines and moans were like music to your ears, encouraging you to shift your knees so you could bounce on his cock, the new angle making you mewl loudly as your eyes crossed. Eddie, too, responded wildly, hands grabbing desperately at your hips and ass and legs, squeezing you with rash need.

The way his girth stretched you out had your pussy flexing tight with yearning, your legs already shaky at the feel of him sliding in and out of your slick folds. Christ, nothing before had ever felt as good as Eddie, no one had ever gotten you so high like this; just that thought alone made you shudder and clench with ecstasy and greed.

With his cock sliding in and out of you, Eddie saw stars in his eyes, his mind running wild, his body like static electricity. Incoherent muttering spilled from his parted lips, gasps and hitched breaths growing more frenzied as you rode him eagerly. You looked like a goddamn masterpiece, your hair a mess, body glistening with a sheen of sweat, hands groping desperately at his shoulders as your pace became more and more frenzied. The fucking sight of you riding him was better than anything Eddie had ever dreamed of, and some part of him was still convinced this moment wasn't entirely real.

A particularly urgent gasp leapt from your throat as you rubbed your clit against the hilt of Eddie’s cock just right, the sensation coursing through your body causing your rhythm to falter as you braced your hands roughly on his shoulders. You had to slow down and collect yourself for just a moment, taken aback by the fact that you had nearly cum again so damn easily. Eddie’s breathing was heavy as he stared up at you, ogling the rise and fall of your chest, the taut muscles in your arms, the way your mouth hung open so erotically; unintentionally, you flexed around him, causing the both of you to moan in unison.

You met Eddie’s eyes again, a dopey smile spreading across your lips at how good he looked beneath you with his hair a mess and his eyes nearly black with lust. He grinned back at you with a weak, breathy chuckle, hands squeezing your legs again, cock twitching inside you; it felt so good that you had to bite your lip to hold back a whine.

“You’re amazing.” Eddie said, his voice light as air; you fondly rolled your eyes.

“Shut up.” You answered without any conviction, leaning down so you could kiss him again. The movement caused you to slide up his cock, making the both of you moan into each other’s mouths. You relaxed onto your elbows, trailing hot kisses along Eddie’s jaw as you slowly began to ride him again, the new angle causing friction against your clit that was absolutely sinful.

Eddie’s moaning and muttering being so close to your ear only made you hotter and hornier, clenching tightly as you picked up your pace. His hands held tight to the back of your thighs, helping you bounce rhythmically up and down on his cock as you continued to nip and kiss at his jawline and neck.

As if he had finally gained the confidence to do so, Eddie started to thrust up into you in time with your movements, putting you into an absolute frenzy as your bodies slapped together. All the moans and gasps that tumbled from your lips were growing increasingly louder and more pornographic, to which Eddie’s thrusts became more solid and quick and rough.

You stopped kissing his sticky skin, sounds of ecstasy spilling out of you with more and more vulgarity, your toes curling and knees shaking from how fucking good Eddie’s cock felt ramming inside of you. You could feel drool trailing along your lip and onto Eddie’s hot neck, but you were too far gone to care, your pleasure overriding all of your senses.

“Shit, I’m close--” Eddie whined as if it were both a plea and a warning, and the desperation in his voice had you moaning even louder, walls clenching tight around him. You weren’t sure when you’d stopped moving, but now Eddie was thrusting up into you so deep and rough that it nearly hurt, but in the best goddamn way possible. Together, you were both moaning wildly, Eddie’s hips becoming erratic as he slapped up against you, your body shaking from the now overwhelming pleasuring washing over you. Your mind was so muddled, entirely wrapped up in Eddie and his cock and how close your orgasm was and--

Eddie groaned desperately with one final thrust, ramming himself deep inside you and holding you tightly in place; you could feel his cock twitching, and just knowing that you’d made him cum practically had you tumbling over the edge with him as well.

His body trembled with his orgasm, head thrown back and fingers digging into your skin; you, too, could feel yourself shaking, desperate for that release that was just out of reach. You breathed heavily, clenching around Eddie and making him moan again as he tried to catch his breath, tried to come back down to earth from the cloud he was on.

After a minute, you could feel Eddie relaxing beneath you, and so you sat up a little, moaning at the way his cock still teased your needy pussy, which was growing urgent for relief; a similar, though weaker, sound rumbled in his throat, hands falling limply on either side of your legs. You stared down tenderly at Eddie’s face; his eyes were still closed as he tried to collect himself, and he looked so pretty that you nearly reached out to touch him.

With your second orgasm delayed, your body was feeling particularly desperate, and with a wicked glint in your eyes, you rolled your hips slowly against Eddie’s. He threw his head back with a whine, fingertips trying to grip at your legs and stop you.

“Fuck, princess--!” The lustful way that the endearing nickname left Eddie’s mouth made your pussy flex around him again, drawing another illicit moan from deep in his throat. He managed to get a weak grip on your knees, eyes shooting open to gaze up into your face; there was an overstimulated nervousness in his blown out stare, which made your lips curl into an infatuated smile. Selfishly, you rut your hips with Eddie’s, making him twitch again with how damn sensitive his cock was. “Baby, please…”

Baby. The new term of endearment made you moan. You held Eddie’s gaze as you ever so slowly continued to grind on his cock, which was still hard even after his own release. Weak, needy noises left Eddie as his eyes crossed and rolled back again, succumbing to you; his body shook beneath yours as you used his cock for your own pleasure, creating a friction on your clit that was making you damn near feral.

Like a mantra, weak, breathy “fuck”s fell from your lips as you chased your orgasm, eyes closed and limbs wobbly as you rode Eddie to your heart’s content. His hands flexed against your legs, fingers clinging, body shaking as if he could barely handle your touch anymore. God, you were so close, the mounting of your pleasure beckoning wildly to you.

You realized that Eddie was muttering your name as if it was a prayer, and it flooded you with such desire and warmth and craving, causing you to cum so abruptly that it took you aback. You cried out and threw your head back, staring frantically up at the ceiling as your body became rigid for a moment. In the next breath, you all but melted on top of Eddie, slumping down and resting your head beside his on the pillow. You quivered as your orgasm consumed you entirely.

When you finally came back to yourself, it was thanks to Eddie’s cock slowly shrinking inside you, the sensation making you shudder and sigh as you opened your eyes again. Your faces were so close that you could feel Eddie’s breath upon your cheek, could barely see his eyes staring back at you. An unexpected laugh of satisfaction left your mouth, and you pressed your face into the pillow as if to suppress it. Eddie nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, arms lazily curling around your waist.

“God damn.” He breathed out, pulling back so you could lift your head to look at him again adoringly. You couldn't help but smile at one another, your chests still rising and falling as you composed yourselves. You drank in Eddie’s post-sex expression - the relaxed slant of his brow, his slack jaw, the daze in his eyes. The look made you want to kiss him again and again as if he was the air you breathed.

So, you leaned in to give him that chaste kiss that you desired, which caused his eyes to light up and a smile to spread across his handsome face when you pulled back. His arms tightened around you as he stared ardently upon your face. Shifting so that you two could lie on your sides, Eddie’s cock finally slid out of you, which caused you to moan one last time; the sound made him laugh smally, though you could somehow hear the tenderness in it.

“So… this makes you my real girlfriend now, right?” He asked with a large, silly grin, causing you to giggle and roll your eyes fondly. Lazily, you knotted your fingers into his messy mane of curls, taking a few moments to simply admire his handsome features.

“You want me to be?” Eddie pulled a face as if to say “are you fucking kinding me,” which made you laugh all over again. He narrowed his eyes playfully, challenging you to do the simple task of giving him a real answer. Affection and warmth swelled inside your chest, making you smile largely - all you could manage was to nod vigorously in agreement, feeling your cheeks growing hot at all the emotions you were feeling.

“Come on, you can say it, can’t you?” He teased wickedly, causing you to bite the inside of your lip. With a sincere look and a deep breath, you delicately cupped Eddie’s face in your hands, holding his stare firmly as you tried to control the joyful grin on your lips.

“Eddie,” You started, your tone clearly amusing him, which nearly made you giggle again; luckily, you composed yourself, “I’m your real girlfriend now.”

His smile was large and dazzling and enchanting, his dark eyes tender as they looked about your face with what must have been all the happiness in the world. He leaned in a hair closer, forehead against yours once more as he whispered on your lips, “That’s all I needed to hear, princess.”

.

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addt. a/n: I can't thank everyone enough for following along with this story, it's one that's so very special to me, and it warms my heart to know others love it as well! I could write an entire essay full of things I'd like to say about this little fic, but I'll spare everyone of my ramblings. So, how soon should I post the epilogue 👀

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[synthetickitsune]

Full Stomach, Full Heart ✧ w.jh

Pairing: Wen Junhui x reader (gn) Genre: angst, hints of comfort Summary: What was the last thing you ate, actually? Yet better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it. Word count: 2.2k Warnings: food struggles, mentions of reader not eating properly

You feel something’s wrong within the first hour after waking up. Deeply wrong, but you’re equally deep in denial, so you write it off as a side effect of getting up too early and immediately scrolling on your phone, so you go back to sleep. When you wake up again, you’re not really sure you slept at all. Somehow, though, the time has passed too quickly for you to just be spacing out in bed. You need to get up. 

The feeling is still there, a weight on your chest and your mind feels like it’s clouded by a thick fog. Your bones feel heavy. Just standing feels uncomfortable and draining. You get some water and crawl back into bed. A text from your boyfriend is waiting for you, wishing you a good morning and asking if you’ve eaten yet. Your stomach churns at the idea of eating, so you ignore the text in favor of more sleep. 

Only sleep just won’t come. Not for long anyway. It’s all brief flashes of unconsciousness that leave you disoriented and tired once you wake up. Switching between unsuccessful attempts of napping and mindless scrolling on your phone, with some spacing out on the side, time passes. You try to make yourself get up again and do something, try to guilt yourself into being productive, all without result. Nothing works, nothing feels right.

You can’t tell what’s wrong exactly, but somehow it feels like everything is. It makes you upset, most of all with yourself. There is nothing that needs to get done, however you can come up with a list of a hundred things that you could get done if only you dragged yourself out of bed. There’s no reason you should be like this, you tell yourself. It is what it is, you tell yourself next and close your eyes again.

Without your permission, time passes. It slips away from you, then forcefully reminds you of its existence when your phone starts to ring.

It’s Jun.

“Hey,” you whisper. You hope he heard over the commotion around him. Suddenly you realize you really hate people today. Staying in bed seems even more appealing. Nobody is going to bother you here.

“Are you alright?” Jun cuts straight to chase. His voice is kind but laced with worry. “You never responded to my text.”

Oh. Shit.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess I am,” you hesitate a little, “Just don’t feel too good.”

You can see the frown on his face when you close your eyes and focus on the brief pause. The background noise, the voices, get distant and quiet. Somewhere on the other end of the line, a door clicks shut.

“‘Not good’ as in…?” he asks and you sigh. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you regret being honest in the first place. Just a little. But then again if you haven’t told him, he’d drive himself crazy with worry and that’s the last thing he needs during practice.

“I just don’t feel much of anything,” you admit, “I’m just really tired. I don’t want to do anything, don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

He hums in sympathy. It makes something warm flicker in your chest. You can imagine the hug he’d give you if he was here - enveloping, like the world doesn’t exist, his hand cradling your head, the other on the small of your back pulling you close with just the perfect amount of force. He’d hold you until something made him let go, and then still kiss you and promise to be right back.

“I’m sorry I called,” he whispers, “I just got worried.”

“No, I don’t mind you,” you reassure him even as every word drains more energy out of your already exhausted body, “You don’t count.”

“Why thank you,” you hear the smile in his voice. It’s natural for you to smile as well without thinking, if only you had the energy too. Regret wells up in your chest, even though Jun won’t know about this little turmoil. “Have you eaten?”

Your heart pauses for a beat. The answer is clear, but what was the last thing you ate, actually? Probably just instant noodles or something like that. Better question would be when was the last time you ate a full, nutritious meal. You don’t think you can remember though. And you know Jun will hate to hear it.

“...no,” you admit quietly. You curl under the blanket. He might get disappointed and worried but he won’t yell at you, you know that, yet it still feels uncomfortable. The silence drags on and leaves you suspended in anxiety. You beg him to talk inside your head, to say anything - to snap at you, anything will do. Just not the silence.

“y/n, it’s so late…” he says and you know he’s not scolding you, that he’s as gentle as he can be, but it still sounds like you’re getting scolded.

“I know,” you murmur, “I’m not hungry though.”

It’s an understatement. The idea of eating itself makes your stomach churn. And maybe it’s hunger in disguise, maybe. Most likely. You know you should eat. Food feels repulsive, though.

“You need to eat,” he insists, quietly, still gentle. You can hear the change in his voice when he adds: “I’ve been busy a lot, huh?”

“Jun…” you shake your head, “It’s not your fault. I need to take care of myself.”

“I want to be there for you when you’re not feeling well,” there’s a moment where his voice gets higher. You can imagine the lightbulb appearing above his head and it makes you slightly concerned. “I’m gonna help.”

“Wait, no-”

“Shh, no arguing,” he shushes you. You can hear his voice get more distant. “I’ll order you some food. A lot of it. So you can choose.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna see anyone. Please. I promise I’ll eat later, just not now,” you try to change his mind. It’s pointless, you’re well aware that Jun is the most stubborn when your wellbeing is concerned. The silence on the other end of the line, occasionally broken by tapping noises as your boyfriend’s fingers dance across the screen, tells you resistance is hopeless. Still you try.

“I don’t want to go anywhere to pick up the food. I won’t even go downstairs,” you warn him,

“I won’t pick up the phone if anyone calls. I won’t talk to anyone,” you sulk.

“Jun, please forget about it-”

“Will you cook?” he interrupts you, a slight edge to his voice. You shrivel under the blanket.

“No but-”

“Are there any leftovers you can heat up?”

“No, Jun-”

“Don’t ‘no Jun’ me,” he sighs, “I’m gonna figure this out, okay? Don’t worry.”

Before you can ask for an explanation, beg him to let it go, anything, he hangs up. You groan and pull at your hair. It’s pointless to argue with Jun, however, and although you’re frustrated you know you can trust him. So you return to numbly lying on bed.

It’s some time later that you’re woken up - from sleep or daydreaming, you have no idea - by a text. You frown and pick up the phone, already annoyed. Who dares to bother you now?

Joshua: hey i’m downstairs so don’t get creeped out when i come in with the food

Joshua: if you're awake

Joshua: if not - sorry! ><

…what?

You don’t have much time to process what’s happening before you hear the code being put in and the doors opening. You’re tempted to pretend you’re not home but also what the fuck is he doing here? Taking a quick look at Jun’s messy hoodie and sweats you’re wearing, you ultimately decide that it’s not your fault Joshua’s going to see you like this. He came in uninvited. So much for not talking to anyone. You get up and groggily walk out of the room and look for the intruder.

You find him in the kitchen… putting food containers on the table?

“Hey,” he greets you softly with a friendly smile without pausing his actions.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, confusion written all over your face. Your arms are wrapped around your body protectively. Joshua doesn’t even look at you as he meticulously takes everything out of the bag.

“That’s my line. You should be in bed” he chuckles. Finally he looks up and upon seeing you don’t get the situation at all, he shakes his head with a small laugh.

“Jun said you’re not feeling well,” he explains, “So he asked if anyone could bring you food while you rest. Are you okay to eat now or should I put it in the fridge?”

You stop yourself from screaming aloud. And sighing. And hitting your head against the wall.

“Thank you,” you say instead, “It really wasn’t necessary.”

“No problem,” Joshua smiles at you again, “So?”

“I’ll eat in a bit,” you decide, relaxing slightly. You don’t feel like eating if you’re being honest but you also think the nausea starting to kick in is caused by hunger at this point. You should make yourself eat. Somehow.

“Okay. Do you need anything else? Medicine, dessert?” he jokes and you roll your eyes at him even though the target should really be Junhui.  

“I’m fine, thank you,” you try to smile at him despite your irritated mood. You make a mental note to thank Joshua again and apologize later because he leaves as quickly as he came. You should also talk to your boyfriend about using his friends as couriers.

Speaking of which…

Your phone rings again the moment you sit down and angrily stab the utensil into the closest container. You really can’t be bothered to use dishes that you’d have to wash later.

You accept the call and put your boyfriend on speaker.

“Hi… Joshua texted me he dropped off the food?” Jun sounds timid, careful almost.

“Yeah, he did,” you play with the food without raising any to your lips, “I hope you paid him.”

“No, but I owe him one,” he chuckles, still tense, “You know how he is.”

You hum. You do. But that still doesn’t mean your boyfriend should take advantage of his friend’s kindness to bring you food when he’s too busy. It’s not like any of them ever have too much time on their hands to be doing this.

“I… I just thought it would be okay this way,” his voice softens, “That you could avoid social interaction but still get the food delivered. I told Shua to leave you alone.”

You hum again. Not that you mind talking to Jun, he’s always the only exception, but you’re tired. And hungry, yet the idea of picking up the food, chewing, swallowing just seems so exhausting.

“I’m sorry,” Jun’s voice drops into a whisper, “But you need to eat.”

“I know,” you murmur, “And thank you. It’s just I really don’t feel like it even though I’m so hungry right now.”

It’s quiet on the other side for a moment, and then you hear him talking away from the phone - asking Soonyoung for a short break. You can’t hear what the response is but the next thing you hear is the door closing and Jun’s fast steps.

“What happened?” you ask, smiling a little as you imagine your boyfriend speeding through the corridors.

“I’ll facetime you in a bit, yeah? We can eat together,” his voice is full of determination and confidence that you don’t share.

“You’re going to eat in the middle of practice?” your eyebrow raises on its own.

“...Yes.”

There’s another slight pause.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” you chuckle. You still haven’t found the will to take a bite. Sharing a meal with Jun sounds nice, though. It’s highly unlikely it’s actually going to help with the predicament you’re in but the idea really is nice.

“You don’t have to eat much, I won’t either,” he coaxes you softly. You hear more doors opening and closing. Then something that sounds like a fridge and him rummaging around. “Just eat something, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” you promise.

“I’ll turn on the camera now,” Jun warns while he, at least judging by the sound, puts the food in the microwave. 

You just admire his pretty face while he waits for the food to warm up and try to push down the nausea. It’s hunger, it must be. But it does nothing to help you feel like eating. Your boyfriend yaps on about his day so far, about the practice, whines a little about how hard the new choreo is. It’s soothing, comforting. Ultimately, though, it doesn’t help much.

New wave of guilt washes over you when he sits down with his food and looks at you hopefully. You need to eat. You really need to. If for no other reason, then at least so that he doesn’t worry and can fully focus on the practice.

Finally you force your hands to move, your lips to open and your jaws to chew the first bite. Jun’s bright smile feels much better than the food you swallow.

“There we go,” he whispers to himself, trying to bite back the smile as he digs into his own lunch. You hear it anyway.

You smile a little too as you fight against your head to share a meal with him.

[outrunningthedark]

Oh I for sure think they realized there would be backlash……they just didn’t think it would be aimed at them. They for sure thought Tommy would be getting the bulk of the hate but tbh most people outside of buddie shippers empathize for him and feel sad for him. I’ve seen so many queer men criticizing that you are leaving the gay men who YOU have written longing for community, sad and alone at the end. And then in your post episode interviews you just seem to care about what’s on for the next for Buck. They underestimated how much the general audience loved BuckTommy and Tommy. It seems like they think people only cared about Buck being bi and not the relationship he was in. They completely dropped the ball on this.

I’ve seen so many queer men criticizing that you are leaving the gay men who YOU have written longing for community, sad and alone at the end. This, too!!! Tommy breaking up with Buck didn't just hurt Buck, it hurt Tommy. He walked away from a good thing before Buck could walk away from him. Because that's what he's used to. Being left. Being alone. What bright side is there when BOTH characters are miserable? And when you add in the fact that this was the end of Buck's relationship with another man, something the audience never even thought would happen SEVEN seasons in??? Did ABC underestimate just how well BuckTommy was being received because (obviously) viewers watch for Bathena first??? What??? And, you know, had Buck been the one looking after Tommy in 8x05, or had Tommy NOT accompanied Buck to the cemetery, had Tommy NOT asked for the curse to be lifted for Buck's sake, people WOULD be reflecting on the "signs" even if they did come at the 11th hour. But that's not what happened. So now 9-1-1 is not just dealing with a fan base upset about a break up, they're dealing with a fan base that realizes the show never took the relationship seriously in the first place. #Representation!

[revelboo]

I just wanted to say, thank you for showing me where to get the little models, I've been having so much fun putting these guys together the past two days

Sorry for the quality of the photo

Shockwaves! I found the Blokees models purely by accident, but I love how tiny and posable they are. I ended up moving my Flame Toys Megs to my plant shelf just to make more room for these guys

Gravity Pt 6

IDW Optimus x Reader

• “Why Earth?” Turning away from his work at the soft question, he finds you sitting cross legged nearby watching him with a little frown. Yours been quiet so long, he’s assumed you were resting. At his questioning look, you roll your hand in a vague little gesture. “Why did you all come here? Why Earth?”

• Servos flexing slightly, he leans his forearms against the desk. Almost looming over you, but you don’t lean away. Just arching your eyebrows at him, because it’s been bothering you for a while now. Surely there were other worlds closer to his world, to Cybertron. So why here? “In the archives, there were ancient records of worlds the Primes had visited during the expansion before the war with the Quintessons. Of worlds that had been seeded with energon or interacted with,” he says. The words bringing up more questions than answers. Quintessons? Other Primes? Only energon rings a bell, because that’s the stuff he lives on, but seeded?

• Your expression twists and he knows he should explain it all. That he owes it to you after trapping you with him, but the past has only ever wounded him. Dredging it up always brings up the choices and mistakes he’d made. The things he can’t undo, but wishes he could because something small might have led them all down a different path, a brighter one if he’d only been better, stronger.

• “You came here for the energon,” you hazard. He’s volunteered so little of his past, only letting things slip occasionally. Like that his Autobots are at war, that they’d had to flee their world and that their enemies had followed. The details, though? Like why they’d left Cybertron or even what the war was over? Those things he doesn’t seem ready to talk about so you haven’t pushed.

• “We had no way of knowing about your species. You didn’t exist when this world was seeded as a potential colony.” Reaching out, he crooks a servo not really expecting for you to lay a hand on him and let him gently pull you to your feet. “I wouldn’t have led the Decepticons here if I’d known.” And that’s his guilt to carry from now on. Another failure that might cost so much, another sin weighing on his spark, because this world might not survive their war. You might not.

• “You guys were starving, right?” You ask, hand lingering on his servo as he inclines his head. “You were trying to save who you could, I get that.” It’s not fair or right, but you do understand. From what you can gather from the things he doesn’t want to say, things were pretty desperate. He was desperate. And to be responsible for the survival of your people, what would you have done in his place? You’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be nearly as honorable as he is, that you’d do anything regardless of the cost, because you’re not good like he is.

• Spark warming at your soft words, it’s that you understand that makes him curl his servo about you. How can you not blame him for bringing his war to your home? Not hate him or at least resent him? Your little palm slides against his servo like you’re trying to comfort him, worrying over him. It’s a weight from him that you don’t despise him even though he knows that this and what will follow will be his fault. For now he just wants to feel your hand on him and pretend that this one time, his decisions won’t cost him what little he has right now in this moment. Won’t cost you, because you give him something to look forward to every day. Something beyond duty or responsibility, just enjoying your company, the sound of your voice. The soft touch of a hand reaching out to him to break his loneliness.

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