#let's get this season 2 rolling!!!!

[pickletrip]

This is all I ever wanted.

Thank you for giving them back to me.

Let me live my fantasy just a little longer. And we are even getting Rain as the villain! This will be just lovely.

[greykolla-art]

Cw: suggestive as heck ofmd art!👇🌹🔞

.

.

.

I am aware of all the cute art suggestions I’ve gotten!❤️

but I simply must feed the gremlin in my brain that has been going: “brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” ever since episode 6.🙏

Can you imagine moving on after this???

I’m proudly waving my asexual flag while staring, disrespectfully!👀

[thefirstknife]

Getting real sick of a certain subset of Destiny players complaining that it’s a baby game and crying to Bungie to nerf exotics and abilities when their ENTIRE POINT IS TO BE STRONG in specific ways as if they are being locked into using them.

IF YOU WANT AN EXTRA CHALLENGE STOP BEING SUCH A DPS GOBLIN AND JUST EQUIP SOMETHING THATS NOT TOP TIER META AND STOP COMPLAINING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

MOOD. Go off.

It's incredibly annoying to me. They always use the argument of "the game should FORCE me to do things, I should not SELF-IMPOSE challenges." And like. ? I'm sorry but what? It's a video game for a big audience, it's here to be playable and accessible to the widest possible playerbase. There are plenty of ways to make the game difficult for yourself, so knock yourself out if that's your thing, but don't force others into it.

Like, I enjoy hard content, I regularly at least attempt day 1 raids, I do master raids, GMs, solo and solo flawless content and all that. But only when I want to. Sometimes I don't and I don't want to suffer in a patrol zone or struggle in a seasonal activity I'm doing for the story. The majority of the players don't want that. Designing games for the professional gamers only has NEVER been a good idea and never will be. Fifty streamers can't sustain a video game. It needs casual players who will want to come back to the game instead of feeling defeated.

One of the reasons I really enjoy helping others is because I know that casual players tend to struggle in stuff that's basic activity for me. I've seen people unable to get through a strike. I've sat for 10 minutes rezing someone who couldn't do the jump in a seasonal activity. I want those people to be able to play basic content without feeling frustrated and I want them to know that there are people out there who will help them out.

And this doesn't apply just to basic content, although it should start with that. I think all dungeons and raids and everything should be things that all players can complete. Fine, doing a master raid with all challenges should be tough, but it should be achievable with time and practice, not impossible. What a lot of these "pros" want is just completely divorced from reality.

It takes days and days of practice every time a new master raid is out for me and my team (all with thousands of hours of playtime) to get comfortable to finally finish it. We're far from casual players and it still takes a lot of time to be able to finish hard content. Making it even harder is insane to me. Like, if something is so hard that my team full of people, each with 5000+ hours of playtime and a coordinated team that's been raiding together for years now can't finish it, that means it's absolutely impossible for probably 90% of the playerbase. That's wild to me. Raids and GMs should have more people playing them. If master raids are too easy for you, Mr. I-Play-Destiny-For-A-Living, that's on you buddy. Unequip the super god tier god roll meta guns and loadouts or play something else.

And ofc, another excuse they make is "if I don't use meta, I am not going to win a raid race!" Then don't. Idk. Let me play you the tiniest violin. This affects literally nobody except a grand total of 50 people. Run your meta in day 1, and play with random shit otherwise. Play raids with all white weapons. Play without mods. Play without a HUD. Do things solo only. I don't know, make up a way to spice things up for yourself. I'm not interested in that and neither are 99% of the players out there. The game is genuinely hard enough for the majority of the players. On top of that, I am here to feel like a powerful space fantasy superhero. I am NOT here to die to dregs in patrol zones. If there's ONE thing that I know for a fact that put people off from Lightfall (as in this year of Destiny), it's the difficulty changes. They're annoying, frustrating and for some a barrier to entry more than anything else.

[roshambo05]

Bungie, I swear, if you don't leave my boy Crow alone, I'm gonna turn YOU into a gun.

[brionysea]

mike could've easily been the bad guy in season 1 if they'd framed the exact same events a little differently so let's all remember that storytelling is a matter of perspective and trickery. that's why they call it an unreliable narrator

[psalmsofpsychosis]

Some Batman: Telltale thoughts

[this is a Batman Telltale critical post, ye be warned.]

So. There are perhaps no words in the english language to describe with how stupid i feel right now.

I started Telltale Batman because i thought that it's one of the more distinct unconventional Batman narratives that would let you have a more interesting, complex and nuanced relationship between Bruce and Joker— the game even lets you bring all of Bruce's sincere hypocrisy and sentimental selfishness to the surface and have him admit that yes, he can fight the rogues gallery because it takes a madman to know a madman; to love a madman. For a moment i geniunely thought that i can escape the everpresent shadow of DC hays code in the freakshow funhouse that is Batman comics, i thought Telltale had done something different.

But telltale's approach to The Enemy Within is so flaky and flimsy and timid at best— such noncommittal twist on themes of pain and grief. They take on a hefty plotline, "what does it take to actually fight through evil and be surrounded by it? How long does it take before your resolve and your selfhood cracks? When you lose the mask, which one did you truly lose— The ideal persona, the superhero, the crusader, or the person underneath, the casket that holds all your humanity and your heart and your hopes? How long can you stare onto the abyss before it stares onto you?" It's indeed a very Nietzsche approach to Batman— except that a good Nietzsche narrative takes a lot of intentional plot points and honesty of thought and of heart. And Telltale doesn't commit, not to Bruce's characterization, and not to any other character, and definitely not to Joker's journey in any variation of it. The existence of the Vigilante route is useless on every front; Joker is going to turn into a villain anyway, just with a different hello kitty eyeshadow palette and an extra bland consolation lollipop. No good choice Bruce makes on Joker's behalf affects anything whatsoever, and i particularly love the "community and friendship and sympathy do not help the mentally ill and all that ever works is punishment and shock therapy and confinement and loneliness" message the vigillante route puts on the table, charming charming status quo commandments from DC as always.

Telltale Batman could only be revolutionary if it had dared to break comic convention and let the vigillante route play out like Selina and Bruce's relationship always does; very grey morality, irrational, full of tension and trust, unstable, intriguing, inexcusable, irreversible, unavoidable and heartfelt, human. But we can't have nice things in batmanverse, so both Joker routes run on stuck gears and topple and fall into a predictable narrative hole that neither Bruce nor Joker can claim out of.

And on the predictable front? this story is too lukewarm to be a good time for me personally. When you get 84 Batman comics per minute every other Tuesday, all ending the same way no matter whatever the fickity happens inbetween, you have to pull no punches. This is my 53368532th Batman-with-tragic-batjokes-implications read of the week, say something new or forever hold your blue-balling silence, i dont care.

[navree]

the insane thing about riverdale people going "um the absurdity was a part of the show" is that no it absolutely was not. i was there when the deep magic was written, i REMEMBER the early seasons of the show and the discussion around it, they were one hundred percent not being intentional absurd. everything in season 1-4 was entirely serious and intended to be taken seriously (remember in season 4 when ras tried to rein himself back in and literally said they were gonna focus more on HS stuff and small scale murder mystery things), and then at some point the show realized it was being laughed at, not with, and just decided to do crazy stuff so that the "riverdale cringe" compilations wouldn't be mocking genuine sincere writing attempts but instead things that they were actively trying to make ridiciulous.

like, no, your show was bad, and people were making fun of that, so the writers tried to pivot and make something that made it seem like that was the plan all along. but it absolutely wasn't, i remember how it was before y'all realized everyone was mocking this shit.

[good-vibes-only-bitches]

Growing up in California is kinda crazy bc you’ll live somewhere where it has never snowed in your lifetime but you’re an hour away from where some of the worst known winter catastrophes happened so you grow up acutely aware of how the snow Can And Will Kill You and you’re appropriately cautious anytime you’re in the snow because the Sierra Nevadas do not fuck around. And then you get older and you move somewhere where it snows a normal amount and it feels like a specter of narrowly avoided death is coming to haunt you year after year to tell you that you really should have died on that mountain, that it was the mercy of the universe that that tree well didn’t collapse, that that snow shelf didn’t detach, that you got horribly lost on an unseasonably warm day. And year after year the icy hills beckon you to return, to go where the snow reaches your chest and where you can quietly collapse in a muted peace, body wrapped in cold weight until the thaw that you’ll never see.

[no-144444]

my girl- (o.piastri no.81)

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

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

summary: fans made an edit of oscar and you being in love since your prema days.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader (no.28)

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

Oscar Piastri being in love with Y/n Y/l/n for 15 minutes straight, and vice versa  (F2 -> F1)

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

Clip 1: Prema video 

Bahrain Airport, F2 season beginning, March. 

“And here we have the 3 year reigning champion of the Indycar Junior series, making her F2 pivot, Y/n Y/l/n!” Rob cheered as he woke you from your nap on the plane. 

“Shut up,” you groaned, pushing the camera away with a chuckle. “I'm tired, leave me be.”

“The plane is landing, idiot!”

“Hush!” you laughed. “That means ages until we get off, get your camera away Rob!”

Rob and you had gotten the same flight from London, and you’d become fast friends. He was eccentric and overtop, but a good laugh. You were sure you looked crazy. 6 hour flights do that to a person. You and Rob chatted to the camera about the weekend, and you introduced yourself to the Prema fans. Not many people gave a shit about Indycar, and even less cared about Indycar junior. 

As you disembarked the plane and got through security, people stopped you and Rob for photos and whatnot, then you finally got out of the airport. Angelina was standing there with a camera and a big ‘welcome’ sign, and another two very tired teenage boys beside her. 

“Y/n!” she cheered, pulling you both into a hug. “Rob!” 

Little did you know, Rob’s camera was pointed at Oscar, who turned to Fred with a shocked expression and whispered: “She’s gorgeous.” 

Beside him, Fred chuckled. “Go for her.”

“No way I have any chance with her, I-”

“I can hear you, y’know?” you cut in, coming over to introduce yourself. 

He went redder than a tomato, and you all just laughed. 

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

Clip 2: Sky Sports channel

Bahrain International Circuit, 27th of March 

“And it’s No. 28 who sees the chequered flag first, the rookie, and the only girl on the grid, Y/n Y/l/n! Pole position in her first race!” 

“That’s P1 Y/n, congratulations,” your race engineer, Pedro, beamed as you crossed the finish line. 

“Motherfuck Guanyu is fast mate, we need to watch out for him- oh, and the other Alpine boy that was trying to flirt with me, what’s his name?” you answered. The Prema garage was full of laughter as you outed Oscar. 

“Oscar Piastri? No.2,” Pedro chuckled. “He failed to flirt with you?”

“Well, bless him, he tried to,” you chuckled as you parked the car. “He’s cute though.”

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

“That’s P6 Oscar, and just to let you know, Y/n Y/l/n has outed you on the radio and on live television saying that you tried and failed to flirt with her,” his race engineer said. 

Oscar laughed, finding the situation funny. “My mum’s going to tweet about that.”

“She also called you ‘cute’, if that helps with any bruised ego?”

Oscar’s face lit up under his helmet. “It definitely does,” he chuckled. “Thanks mate.”

“I’d wingman you any time,” he chuckled. 

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

Clip 3: Prema video

Prema Headquarters, Grisignano di Zocco, Italy, April.

“Hello everyone,” Robert smiled at the camera. “Today we will be going for a drive, I’d better call Oscar in.”

Oscar sat in the passenger seat and did his belt as they caught up and told the viewers what they’d be watching. 

“So, today, you will be joining us for a drive around the Italian countryside,” Rob smiled. “And we will be answering your questions.”

“Let the questions begin,” Oscar added. He pulled one out of the bowl and read it aloud. “Who’s your favourite Prema team member?”

Rob smiled. “That’s hard, I love the whole Prema team so much, but… yeah, that’s hard. Maybe my race engineer, Fred? I get along quite well with him,” Rob giggled as Oscar nodded.

“What?” Oscar laughed.

“I know your favourite,” Rob smirked. 

Oscar looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who?”

“La tua ragazza,” Rob chuckled as Oscar rolled his eyes. “What? It is true! You love her!” (La tua ragazza = your girl in Italian)

“I’ve met her once, mate!” Oscar laughed. 

“So you don’t like her? I can ask her out?” Rob deadpanned. 

“Well, no, you can't-” Oscar was cut off by Rob’s laughter and he decided to stop trying to fight him about it. Everyone on the team knew that Oscar Piastri was infatuated with you. 

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

Clip 4: Georgie O’Hara’s deleted youtube video. 

Haileybury and Imperial Service College, England. 

“Ok, that’s an awful idea!” Oscar yelled over his friends. “They already know you’re the ones doing it!”

“It’s fine! It’ll be fine!” Elijah, a good friend of his, smiled. They wanted to set off the fire alarms again, for the third time that week. Deodorant and stupid teenage boys did not mix, especially when they refused to put it on themselves and waste it on fire drills instead. 

Georgie turned to his phone, addressing the viewers "Oscar's a goody-two-shoes, if you couldn't tell."

Suddenly his phone rang from an unknown number, and before he could leave it ring, Anthony (another friend of his) answered. “Oscar Piastri, incoming F2 champion’s phone, how may I help you?”

Oscar laughed, but suddenly stopped when he heard you. 

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” you chuckled at his friend. “Anyways, can you just ask him to ask Elijah not to do the fire alarm thing between 11pm and 2am? The girls in my room and I are sneaking downstairs to watch a film and we don’t really want to get caught.”

Oscar covered his face and groaned, then took the phone off Georgie. “Hey-hi, Y/n. Yes, of course, we won’t do the fire alarm thing, ever again. Sorry.”

He turned his back as his friends made kissing noises and certain gestures at him. 

“All good, thanks Osc,” you smiled. “You and your friends are welcome to join us if you want.”

Oscar could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating. “I’ll ask them,” he smiled. He turned to his friends. “Y/n’s inviting us all to a movie, we’re sneaking out tonight,” he informed them. 

“I don’t want to-” Anthony started, but Georgie silenced him with a kick to the shin. 

“Mate, this is Oscar’s one fucking chance with his girl, shut up,” He scoffed.

“Is that a yes?” You asked over the phone.

“Yes!” they all answered. 

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

As the night went on, you found yourself getting more and more tired. Oscar was beside you and you could tell how he was trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. You could practically see the way his heart leapt out of his chest when you held his hand. As ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ ended, you squeezed his hand before getting up and letting go. 

“Alright, I’ll clean up, everyone else go back upstairs before you get caught,” you whispered. The ‘movie room’ as the students called it (it was technically the staff room but no one really cared) was a mess. Blankets, cups, wrappers and pillows were everywhere. The group slowly shuffled out as you were left with only Oscar. Georgie had forgotten about his camera and it was still recording where he’d put it down to get some shots of everyone watching the film. 

“I can help,” Oscar whispered. 

You shook your head. “Seriously, you go ahead. They already hate me at this school anyways,” you chuckled. 

“Please let me help?” he asked again. You couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to his puppy dog eyes, could you?

“Fine,” you smiled. 

You two chatted quietly as you cleaned up the room, and finally met at the door to leave. 

“I really enjoyed tonight-” You started, but you were cut off by Oscar kissing you. His arms wrapped around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck once the initial shock wore off. You both pulled away after a few seconds. You stared up at him as his usually-blank face turned to one of panic.

“Sorry if that was forward, or-or weird- or-” He started, but now it was your turn to cut him off with a kiss. 

He pulled back smiling, and he didn’t move his hands, or try to move away from you. There was a moment of silence. “Can I take you on a date?”

You chuckled. “Yes.”

Oscar was elated. 

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

Clip 5: Sky sports channel and Prema footage

Circuit de Monaco, Monaco, Monaco, May 22nd. 

You were excited as you stepped onto the podium, victorious. It had been a difficult few laps at the end, Guanyu overtaking, then you overtaking, and over and over, but you got the chequered flag first. You were breaking records, breaking barriers as a woman in motorsports. You’d won Monaco, your first time racing there. In the Sprint, and the feature race. You were on top of the world. As you raised your trophy, the crowd cheered and Oscar was cheering the loudest. 

You looked to your left, him standing on the podium for the first time this season, and you smiled. 

“Feels good, huh?” you smirked. 

“Feels great, but I’ll be coming for your step next,” he smirked.

“You wish Piastri,” you scoffed, then uncorked your champagne bottle and sprayed it on him and Zhou.

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

Clip 6: Sky Sports channel, Prema footage

 Autodromo Nazionale di Monza, Monza, 17th of July, Sprint Race. 

“And it’s Y/n Y/l/n into the wall in a bad collision with Liam Lawson, only 2 laps till the end!” 

Everything was in slow motion, one second you were in control, the next you were flipping into the wall. 

“Red flag, red flag Oscar, huge crash in sector 3, come in, come in,” his race engineer said. 

“Who was it?” He asked, slowing his pace. 

“Y/l/n and Lawson, straight into the wall.”

“Is she ok? Is she out of the car?” he asked calmly. 

“Not yet,” he answered grimly. The Prema garage was eerily silent as they watched the stewards struggle to get you out of the car. 

As he came up on sector 3, he saw you. The car was upside down leaning against the barrier, they were putting out the fire. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You and Oscar had been dating for a few months now, and he really liked you. He passed by in horror as he saw that you weren’t out of the car yet. He was getting more and more nervous as the moments went on. He caught sight of Liam. He was out of the car. He beckoned Oscar over and he obliged, letting him hitch a ride back to the pitlane with him as he drove slowly. As they got back to the pitlane, they both jumped out as the race was finally deemed as cancelled, and the boys walked off, waiting for news. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

“It was a total mistake, my car had mad fucking oversteer and I just hit the throttle too hard, and then she was in the wall,” he answered. “She’s not even out yet.”

“She’ll be ok,” Oscar said, trying to convince himself as well as Liam. “She’s strong.”

Liam nodded, and went off to the RedBull garage with his head held low. Oscar walked into the Prema garage and his mom immediately pulled him in for a hug. Beside her was your parents, looking terrified. 

“You’re ok, thank god,” she whispered. She didn’t care about the multiple cameras pointing at them, her son was alright. 

“Is there any news yet?”

“They’ve pulled her out of the car,” your dad answered, eyes glued to the screen. 

“Is she responsive?” Nicole asked. 

“Yes!” You race engineer answered, happy that you were alive. There was a collective sigh of relief throughout the garage. “Complaining about lower back and leg pain, as well as a definite broken arm. She won’t be racing for a while,” he added, his tone becoming more and more sombre. Oscar watched as your mother broke down in your father’s arms, and he felt like throwing up. You wouldn’t be racing, you wouldn’t get to do the thing you loved. 

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

Clip 6: Prema video

ASST Brianza - Vimercate Hospital, 18th of July.

You woke up in blinding pain a few hours earlier. Everyone had worked so hard to make everything ok, to make you comfortable, but all night all you did was sob. The pain was unbearable in the car, you thought you were going to die, you thought you weren’t getting out of the car. 5 fractured vertebrae, 3 broken ribs, a fractured hip bone, and a broken arm apparently wasn’t a joke. No racing for the rest of the year. Your life was over. 

“Fuck,” you whispered as you sat up and pain shot up your back. 

“Hey,” Oscar’s soft voice brought you out of your upset, and back into the room. He took your hand. You felt bad, he’d been there the entire time, and honestly, he should probably be at the track already, ahead of today’s race. You’d tried to shoo him but he wasn’t having it, much more in favour of being with you and cluing you in on how your parents reacted to him being your boyfriend. Awkward. “Take your time.”

You nodded, grateful that he was there, then turned your attention to the camera Angelina had brought with her and set up to take a ‘statement’ video. “Hi Prema fans, and my fans. Yesterday was pretty rough, and with a heavy heart I have to tell you that I won’t be able to continue this season in F2. My back was badly damaged yesterday in my collision with Liam, which was a complete accident and not anyone's fault, and I definitely don’t blame Liam. I love racing, and I’ll still be at the majority of the races to support my teammates, and my boyfriend. This is just a very unfortunate event that pulls me out of the game for a while, but I’ll be back. I hope you miss me on track, and just know that I’m alright. Thank you for the support, bye for now, Prema family.”

Oscar wrapped his arms around you and smiled. “I’m the boyfriend,” he added, making you laugh. 

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

Clip 7: Prema footage

Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, 4th of December

“And Oscar Piastri sees the chequered flag first! Winning a sprint race and the feature race this weekend!” 

You jumped up and down beside Chris, his father, as he came into the pitlane. He was the lead of the championship. He was going to win F2. No doubt about it. 

The past 5 months had been difficult. You’d been back at school for a while, only now cleared to travel again, but you were happy to be back at the tracks. It felt good to watch Oscar win in person. 

Chris wrapped his arms around you as you both celebrated. Oscar’s radio came on. 

“God guys, good drive. Looks like Y/n is my lucky charm,” he laughed over the radio. The last races hadn’t gone so well for him, but he was straight back to winning with you here.  

You were smiling the whole way to the barricade, but that ended when about 50 people were against your back, pushing violently. Chris and Mark were trying desperately to get them to back off, but they couldn’t stop them. You promised them you’d be ok, but the pain was getting unbearable, and Oscar hadn’t come over yet. 

“Guys, move back!” He shouted as he ran over, just finished taking off his helmet. “Make some space!” The team obliged, but he still decided to be dramatic and lift you over the barrier. “You alright?” he asked, but you just wrapped your arms around him.

“You’re incredible Osc,” you smiled. “I love you so much.”

And there it was, out in the open for the first time. Too bad you forgot you both had microphones on. 

He smiled wider than you ever thought possible for his face. “I love you too. So much baby,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You should be up here with me,” he added and you nodded, it still being a sore subject. “And you will be. Next year.”

You nodded, grateful for the hope and support he offered you. “Go! Go to your team!” you laughed, pushing him on. Before he let you out of his grasp, he grabbed your waist and stole a sweet, quick kiss. 

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

Clip 8: Prema footage

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, 12th of December 

He’d done it. He was the F2 champion. Sadly next year he would only get to be the Alpine F1 reserve driver, which meant no consistent racing, but that was still incredible. 

You waited by the barricade as he came in, and he went straight over to you. He pulled his helmet off, then his bandana, and pulled you in for a kiss. The rest of the team ‘ohh’ed and ‘aww’ed but neither of you cared at all. He’d won. 

“Congratulations F2 winner,” you smirked, pulling away. 

“Thanks baby,” he smiled. 

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

Post-race interview

“So, how does this feel, Oscar?” she asked. 

“It feels amazing, y’know, we’ve all worked so hard at this for the whole year and it’s just really special to have everyone here, especially my girlfriend Y/n. I’m missing her on track, so it’s good to still at least have her in the paddock,” he smiled, and the camera cut to you, beaming up at him.

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

Clip 9: Prema footage and Sky Sports channel 

Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, 19th of March, Sprint 1. 

“We’re in the Prema garage,” Oscar explained to the camera in front of him. He was in full Alpine gear, being a reserve driver meant being a marketing machine, but this wasn’t for Alpine, this was for you. “And my girlfriend is about to go and do her first race back since the accident last season. Let’s go interview her about it!” He walked through the garage, searching for you, and finally found you. “Y/n! Any time for an interview?”

You turned to him and smiled. “I always have time for you,” you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. His grip on you was tight but you didn’t mind. You pulled away and turned to the camera.

“So, how does it feel to be back?” He asked.

“Amazing. I thought my life was over when I was told I wasn’t allowed to race for half a year.”

“And who helped nurse you back to health?” He smirked, batting his eyelashes at you. 

“Your mom mostly,” you chuckled. You’d spent the entire off-season in Australia with Oscar and his family, and Nicole had been so considerate and careful about your healing injuries. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Yeah… that’s probably true,” he chuckled. “How do you feel being on Pole?”

“It feels good. We just have to stay quick this season. I didn’t rush my healing just to lose,” you smiled then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve to get in the car now, love you,” you smiled. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to yours with a ‘good luck’, then let you go. 

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

“And can she do it? Yes she can! Y/n Y/l/n is coming in with a bang! A Sprint Pole and a Sprint win! That is a statement, ‘I never left’!” 

“That’s P1 Y/n, well done!” Pedro called over the radio as the Prema garage went crazy. 

“Thanks for everything guys, great car, great drive-”

“Great driver,” he added. 

You pulled into the pitlane and got out of the car, celebrating as they got the photo of you on the car. You ran over to Oscar at the barricade as you pulled off your helmet and balaclava.

“That’s my girl!” he cheered as you pulled him in for a hug. “See? Nothing's changed.”

You pressed your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m loving this WAG lifestyle,” he chuckled. 

You laughed. “It suits you.”

He chuckled. “Alright, you’re being called for the interview. Love you,” he smiled as you walked off, giving your hand a squeeze. You blew him a kiss back. 

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

Clip 10: Prema video 

Prema Headquarters, Grisignano di Zocco, Italy. 

You were laughing with Logan, doing a ‘Who knows who best’ challenge and both of you were failing miserably. 

You put the headphones on and the music started, making it impossible to hear him. You watched as the room erupted in laughter, then Logan nudged you to take the headphones off. 

“What is the most annoying thing about you?” He asked, holding back giggles. 

“I know what you’d say,” you chuckled. “Me and Oscar.”

The room erupted in laughter as he nodded. “Exactly!” 

“You’re just jealous,” you chuckled. 

“Why? ‘Cause I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No, because I have Oscar and you don’t,” you shot back, and everyone started laughing again. 

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

Clip 11: Sky Sports Channel

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, 20th of November 

“And after a season of domination from the woman in red, Y/n  Y/l/n sees the chequered flag first with a staggering 425 points! This F2 season will go down in history!”

You’d done it. You’d done it. You were an F2 champion, and next season you’d be in an F1 car fulltime, racing alongside Oscar, Logan, and Nick. You’d made it. 

You jumped out of the car, amazed at your season. It’d been win after win, fastest lap after fastest lap, pole position after pole position. You’d worked so hard. 

“You did it baby!” Oscar shouted as you ran over. You jumped into his arms, and let him hold you up. He looked at you like you held the sky up, like you were the greatest thing on the planet. “You’re incredible.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you smiled. “ I love you so much.”

“I love you so much more,” he pressed kisses to any inch of skin he could, more than proud to be yours. 

You chuckled as he tickled you with his kisses, before you realised that you needed to go fulfil your duties. He put you down, but before you could leave, he grabbed your waist again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Osc.”

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

Clip 12: Sky Sports channel, McLaren footage, and RedBull footage

Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, 2023. 

“A disappointing result for Oscar Piastri, but an incredible run for Y/n Y/l/n, P1 in her first race! I’m sure he’ll be pleased with that for his long-time girlfriend!” 

 Oscar was pissed off, but his mood was lifted by your result. You were incredible. He cheered in his own garage, happy for your win. You’d won your first race. Who else did that? The first woman to ever do so. 

He was in awe of you. 

He exited his garage, ready to see you after your win. He saw you getting out of the car and running straight into the arms of your team and he smiled. He finally caught your eye after some time, and you ran over, wrapping your arms around him. 

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words out of your mouth. “If I could trade our cars, I would Osc, I really would,” you sighed.

“Don’t even joke about that. Don’t make your first win about me. This is about you, my brilliant, incredible, winner,” he pressed his lips to yours in a short, victory kiss. “I love you, yeah?” “I love you too,” you smiled. 

“You were amazing out there,” he smiled. 

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

Clip 13: McLaren video 

Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia 

“Who is your teammate's favourite person?” Lando asked, then looked at the camera and rolled his eyes. “Oscar’s is Y/n because he’s a traitor.”

Oscar burst into laughter and looked at Lando. “That’s not fair! We started dating as teammates!”

“Oh sure Osc!” Lando sighed, playing up the drama. “That’s what they all say.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“Anyways, moving on from Oscar and his traitor girlfriend, who’s my favourite person Oscar?” 

“Max Fewtrell?” 

Lando thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Him or my parents or siblings.”

Oscar took another question out of the bowl and chuckled. “What’s the other person’s red flag?”

Little did he know, you’d come in to visit him and were actively sneaking up behind him. 

“Yours is your refusal to ever use a hairbrush,” you answered for Lando, and Oscar jumped, making everyone laugh, especially Lando, who fell off his chair. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around Oscar's neck from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Came to say hi,” you smiled, kissing his cheek. 

“Came to air out my business online?” He questioned, laughing. He took your hands and led you around his chair, sitting you on his lap. “When did you get in?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder as Lando tried to compose himself. 

“Just now, came straight from the airport,” you nodded, leaning back against him. 

“Bad flight?”

“Nah, I was on Max’s jet. He’s offered me to ask you two if you want to go back to Monaco after this weekend with him. I am,” you answered. He nodded, gently playing with your hands as he listened to you. 

“Sounds good to me,” he smiled. “Tell him ‘thanks’, yeah?” 

You nodded. “‘Course,” you got up to leave but he pulled you down by the arm and pressed your lips together quickly, then let you go. “Love you,” you called after yourself. 

“Love you too,” he called back, ready to get back to the interview. 

“Can we keep that in?” Ellie, their marketing manager asked. 

He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

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

Clip 14: Hattie Piastri’s tiktok vlog

Piastri residence, Melbourne, 2023 

“Y/n’s over there with Oscar, and Addie is with May and mum and dad are with Tim over there,” she explained to the camera pointing everything out. In the video you and Oscar were laying on the grass in the setting sun, utterly exhausted from your weekend of racing where you’d gotten p2 and Oscar had gotten p8. His arms were wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, smiling. 

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

Clip 15: Sky Sports channel, RedBull footage and Nicole Piastri’s instagram

Circuit Zandvoort, Zandvoort, Holland

“And can she do it? Yes she can! Y/n Y/l/n beats teammate Max Verstappen to first place, and she sees the chequered flag first! What an incredible season this has been for the rookie!”

As you crossed the finish line, you almost felt sick. You’d beaten Max, giving you a lead in the Driver’s Championship. He’d been 10 points ahead. Now, you were 15 points ahead of him. 

“That’s P1, P1 Y/n congratulations,” Pedro smiled. 

“Thanks Pedro, and thanks everyone, really well done. Car is perfect, thank you all so much!” 

“And Oscar’s P9, if you're wondering.”

“When I get my fucking hands on Zak Brown I will rip his fake fucking toupée off for giving him such a shit car,” You groaned. “Great drive guys, thanks.”

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

You walked into the paddock as they all cheered both you and Max on. Max had gotten P2, unhappy with not winning, but not mad that you’d won. He saw what you were doing for motorsports all around the world, how much pressure you were under as the first female driver in a long time, and how hard you were working. He wasn’t going to make your life harder by being an asshole off the track too. He gave you a celebratory hug and moved onto his driver’s room, as you stayed out with the engineers, chatting and celebrating with them. 

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

Nicole Piatri’s instagram live 

“Hi everyone, Osc and I are right now, trying to sneak into the RedBull garage to see Y/n,” Nicole explained and behind her, Oscar smiled and put both thumbs up. 

“I’m going to be told off for this by Zak, so, sorry Zak. I want to see my girlfriend, my bad,” he chuckled, his apology only half-assed. 

Nicole and him continued faffing around the paddock for a while, until Nicole caught your eye through the window. You ran over to the door beside them and let them in, pulling Nicole in for a huge hug as Oscar waited behind her with a wide smile. 

He spoke to the live. “Apparently my girlfriend likes my mum better than me-" 

You cut him off with a kiss as you laughed at his antics. “Shut the fuck up,” you chuckled. “You’re such a baby.”

“I missed seeing you in the conference,” he shrugged, holding you close as his mum took the phone and documented this moment between the two of you. “I love you,” he smiled. 

“I love you too,” you chuckled, kissing his cheek. “P9? Not bad.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “P1? Not bad,” he lifted you into his arms making you squeal. 

“Osc! Put me down!” You squealed. 

“Let me win next time,” he chuckled. “Then I’ll put you down.”

“What do you want me to do? Switch our cars?”

“Ideally,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek and putting you down. “But I guess I’ll settle for watching you be gorgeous on the podium every week.”

“The fans are loving this!” Christian joked as he watched over Nicole’s shoulder, seeing how the chat was going crazy.

You both turned to Nicole with confused faces. 

“You’re still filming mum?!” 

This live has now been ended by the host. 

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

Clip 16: Sky sports channel

​​Lusail International Circuit, Lusail, Qatar 

“Oscar Piastri has done the job brilliantly, the Australian driver will see the chequered flag first! Oscar Piastri wins the sprint to take McLaren to the top step once again!” 

“That’s P2 Y/n, Oscar P1,” Pedro announced. 

“WOOOOO!” You screamed, elated for him. “Fucking legend!” 

“I said P2 for you,” he reminded. 

“Shut up and be happy for him, just once,” you chuckled, pulling into the pit lane to park. You watched as Oscar got out of the car as you got out of your own car. Immediately, he ran over to you, wrapping you up in his arms as you celebrated together. 

“You did it!” You shouted, jumped around in each other's arms. “You’re fucking incredible.”

“You put up a good fucking fight,” he chuckled, smiling like a kid. 

“You’re going to look so sexy at the top of the podium,” you smirked and he blushed hard. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say stuff like that in public,” he chuckled, then hid his face in your neck as you laughed. 

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

Post-sprint conference 

“So, this is a question for Y/n and Oscar,” an interviewer started. Both of you looked up, exhausted from the late night race. “Does your relationship prohibit you from racing to your full potential? I believe Y/n, you could’ve caught up. Did you give him this win?”

You scoffed, appalled that anyone would have the audacity to ask such a thing. “For fuck’s sake,” you sighed. “No. I couldn’t have. You know how you know that? Because I would’ve if I could’ve. I love Oscar, and I’ve loved him since I was about 14 years old, but that doesn’t mean that I let him win. He’s a ridiculously talented driver, and a fucking genius with strategy. His car is great too. But out there today? That was pure talent. I can love him, and wholeheartedly race him too,” you answered, getting annoyed at the comments like these you two constantly got. “And another thing, I’m getting really fucking sick of the questions about our relationship. Do you really think we’d be together if we couldn’t race each other and not come back to each other and be proud of each other? Seriously? Where is your critical thinking?”

The room was full of whispered conversation as you dropped the last diss, and beside you Oscar was looking at you with huge heart eyes. Anyone could see it from a mile away, he loved you. He chuckled, wanting to add his two cents as well. “Yeah, exactly. The only thing she lets me win in is chess, right?” He looked at you with a smirk and you rolled your eyes. 

“You won once, asshole,” you chuckled, pushing his hand off your thigh. 

“Then we stopped playing,” he shrugged, a cocky smirk very-present on his face. 

“We ran out of time,” you shrugged, feigning innocence. 

He cocked an eyebrow. “Sure.”

The tension in the room had been dissolved in the comedic moment, and you were thankful for Oscar’s calm exterior. You moved closer to him on the couch, and he wrapped an arm around you, smiling wide as you pressed a kiss to his hand, the one closest to your face. 

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

Clip 17: Drive to Survive 

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

“How are you feeling?” Oscar asked, sitting in your driver’s room with you before the race. He knew how worried you were, how much you wanted this. You had to win. You and Max were neck and neck. You just had to get more points than him, starting from P2. 

You sighed, standing between his legs and messing with his hair, favouring trying not to think about it rather than talking about it. He grabbed ahold of your waist and pressed his face into your torso, pressing kisses to wherever he could reach, trying to make you laugh. 

You chuckled and pushed him away, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m alright, I promise. Just stressed.”

“You won’t be stressed in a week,” he smiled. “We’ll be in Melbourne.”

You smiled, and kissed him again. “We will. Waves and relaxing. Nothing else.”

“Well, and Logan,” he chuckled. “So… ‘Merica and all that,” he smiled as you laughed at his bad joke. He got you down to his lap and he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“Wow, anxiety cured,” you replied sarcastically, making him laugh.��

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

Clip 18: Sky Sports Channel

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

“And it is an incredible season for the first female in modern F1, Y/n Y/l/n sees the chequered flag first, with a Driver’s Championship 1-2 with her teammate Max Verstappen! This makes her the first female ever to win the F1 Driver’s Championship title! What an inspiration!” 

You’d done it. You won your rookie season. You were World Champion. You were a legend. 

“WOOOOO!” You screamed as tears rolled down beneath your hemet. “We did it! We did it!”

“We did it!” Pedro screamed. You knew the entire RedBull garage was going crazy right now. “You did it Y/n!”

“Thank you, everyone! This would’ve been impossible without you all! Amazing year! Incredible work!” you beamed. 

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

“That’s P6, P6 Oscar,” his race engineer announced. 

“Did Y/n get it? Did she win?” 

“Yes, your girl is a World Champion,” he smiled. 

“YES! YES! THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRL!” he screamed, elated at the news. He knew you could do it. He’d always known you could do it. 

He rushed to get to the pit lane, ready to celebrate with you. He jumped out of the car and pulled off his helmet as fast as he could, watching as you ran over to him. 

“You did it!” He cheered. “My fucking girl.”

“I did it!” You cried, over the moon. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” you smiled. 

His eyes filled with tears as his heart swelled with pride. “You’re amazing. I love you so much Y/n.”

Neither of you cared about the cameras around you as you went in for a kiss. You didn’t care about how sweaty and gross you both were, you didn’t care about the grief that the pr team would give you, you didn’t care. 

You were a World Champion. He was your everything. You were his everything.

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

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[sentientsky]

hey what was that thing u said yesterday?? oh yeah, “couldn't resist the urge to add those lines sorry”

crowley and aziraphale as richard siken quotes. i am in pain.

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It's the holiday season and Joel is a Scrooge.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, oral sex (m!receiving), SQUIRT, creampie, threats of violence, alcohol

Celia's note: uhm hello??? what the flip thank y'all sm for all the love on my first post!! I got so many requests to make a part 2 so dinner's ready y'all dig in!!!!

Read the first part! > part 1

Jackson looked so pretty this time of year. The Christmas lights, the snowmen, the comfy sweaters and chocolate chip cookies; you loved it all.

Especially gift-giving.

To you, there was really nothing better than seeing someone's face light up when they open a present.

This year, there was someone special you planned to go all out for.

It had been 3 days since Joel Miller fucked you in his house, on his bed.

You hadn't stopped replaying the moment in your mind, especially the part when he finished all over your stomach.

However, it just so happens that after those amazing thirty minutes, Joel was called away by Tommy.

He had to leave and do something that you weren't allowed to know about. Undoubtedly some dangerous mission that pained you to think about.

So your victory was short-lived.

But, like the gentleman he was, he walked you home and made sure you were okay before he left. You wanted to kiss him goodbye, but felt too nervous to do so.

You don't know why—he literally had his cock in you a few moments prior.

Yet you couldn't, and just had to watch him walk away.

Now, you haven't seen him in three days and were starting to get serious withdrawals. Whatever he was up to couldn't have come at a worse time.

You finally had the taste of his perfection, now he was gone, leaving you to deal with your desire alone.

You tried to preoccupy yourself with helping set up all the Christmas decorations around town as well as baking an absurd amount of treats.

You also managed to get him a little gift in the meantime, stuffing it in the cutest box with the prettiest wrapping paper.

God, you hoped he'd come back soon.

And luckily, he did!

You had heard from Maria that everyone had returned from their trip—safe and sound.

She had also told you that she was throwing a little Christmas get-together at her and Tommy's house to celebrate.

She was careful to mention that Joel would be in attendance.

So, that night, you whipped up your signature cinnamon apple recipe and put on your cutest outfit.

You topped it with some fuzzy reindeer antlers because you were in a very festive mood.

As you walked alone to Maria and Tommy's, you were freezing your ass off in your skirt and sweater. You wore tights with your skirt in hopes that it would help with the cold, but who were you kidding?

You didn't care, though. You just cared if Joel thought you looked pretty or not.

You pranced up the steps of their porch, letting yourself into the house and getting immediately bombarded by the hoard of people inside.

Maria made it seem like it was going to be a small thing, but the entire Jackson population seemed to be in her living room.

Thankfully, Tommy catches you come in and walks up to greet you. "Hey there stranger," He grins, looking down at the dish in your hands. "What you got there?"

"Brought desert," You chirp, handing it to him with a proud smile.

"Well well," He muses as he takes the glass container from you, looking it over with surprise. "Didn't think you could tie your own shoes, let alone bake anything."

You roll your eyes before scoffing. "You're just mad because I can tie my shoes and bake something before you can conjure a coherent thought."

Tommy fakes a wince before chuckling. "Alright, touché kid. We're gonna be playing charades in a little bit so stick around, alright?"

You nod, having absolutely no intention of 'sticking around' for charades. Tommy wanders off with your apples, finally giving you a moment to survey the party.

Obviously, you were looking for one person in particular.

You squeezed through all the crowds of people, scouring what felt like every room in the house.

But no dice.

Joel was nowhere to be found and sadness washes over you like a tidal wave.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Torturing you by depriving you of his presence? This was hell.

You plant yourself by the special eggnog and down several glasses to take the edge off.

You were tipsy in no time, it really didn't take much. It was like Maria just dumped an entire bottle of vodka in the bowl and splashed some milk in it. It was disgusting, really, but it was getting its job done.

As you hunched yourself over the bowl, someone tapped you on your shoulder.

You spin around, your hopes high.

"Joel!—Oh. Hi Connor." The disappointment you feel inside displays clearly in your tone.

You're now face to face with the boy who has been unsubtly trying to sleep with you for months.

"Hey there! You look fucking great tonight." He flirts, a smug grin on his face.

You grimace because you know he thinks he's so cool, even though you'd rather die than stand here with him right now.

"Thanks." You say flatly, turning back towards the eggnog and pouring yourself another glass. For some reason, Connor takes this as an invitation to step closer, now invading your space.

You don't even bother trying to hide your disgusted expression. His cologne is attacking your nostrils, and it doesn't even smell good.

"That skirt looks amazing on you." His eyes unabashedly drag along the skin of your legs, making you shiver in disgust. He takes it too far when his hand comes up to brush your arm.

"You come here with anyone?" He coos, leaning against the food table like he was hot shit or something.

You couldn't stand this douche. Just as you were about to tell him to fuck off or something, you feel someone looming over you.

"She did." A gruff voice comes from behind you, and you immediately recognize that it could only be one person.

You whip around, your face lighting up at the sight of Joel.

His expression is settled into a natural scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed at the boy in front of you both. Even though he looked scary as shit, he was so fucking hot.

You're instantly horny just at the sight of him.

Connor scoffs, looking between the two of you, but your eyes stayed glued to Joel.

"Really? Him? But he's like—an old man." Connor spits, which immediately earns a glare from you.

Just as you're about to cuss him out, Joel beats you to it.

"Walk away before this old man breaks your jaw." His voice is stern, not to be tested.

It makes your core tighten with need.

Hearing the threat that he assumes to be all too real, Connor doesn't waste time scurrying off.

You turn back towards Joel, a warm, relieved smile spreading across your face. “Hi,” You whisper, wanting to hug him so bad but holding yourself back because he wasn’t a big fan of PDA. “M'so glad you're back." You do, however, step closer into his personal bubble.

His face softens when he finally looks down at you, and you can almost swear you see his lips curling up into a smile.

"Yeah, me too, kid." He husks out, looking between you and the bowl of half-empty eggnog. "Enjoyin' yourself?" He asks with somewhat of a disappointed look on his face, clocking that you were a little tipsy.

"Now I am." You answer truthfully, beaming up at him. "Have you been here the whole time? I was looking for you earlier but I couldn't find you."

Joel shifted on his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Just got here. Tommy was talkin' my ear off at the door." He explained, an exasperated look on his face.

You laughed and nodded, knowing you both shared that experience.

"Are you having a good time, though?" You ask, actually curious because he seemed like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his short hair. "This Christmas holiday crap is givin' me a fuckin' aneurysm." He huffs out with complete honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Really? Why?" The shock and bewilderment in your voice isn't lost on Joel.

He sighs out, knowing you're about to explain the magical spirit of the season or whatever.

"The blizzards, people spazzin' out over gifts, all 'cause some fat guy is coming down chimneys—s'all just ridiculous."

You want to giggle at how actually annoyed he sounded, but you hold it down.

Grouchy old man.

"I'd let you come down my chimney," you flirt, but then correct yourself. "I have let you come down my—"

Joel shoots you a glare, daring you to finish your sentence.

You know when to cut your losses, so you don't.

"Well, speaking of gifts," You start, rummaging in your bag to pull out your present for him. You hold it up, the pink wrapping paper making him cock an eyebrow. "Merry Christmas, Scrooge."

Joel feels an unfamiliar feeling swimming around in his stomach at the sight.

He slowly takes the box from you, looking at it like it was a puzzle.

He really wasn't expecting anything from you. But he supposed people who have had the other persons genitals inside them should probably give them something for Christmas.

He finds himself very pleasantly surprised.

After a moment, he finds something to say.

"Couldn't find some manlier wrapping paper?" He coughs, his voice low but it's obvious he's joking with you.

You roll your eyes and scoff. "Just open it!"

Joel somewhat grins at your impatience but finally starts to open the box.

That grin drops off his face after he sees the contents, an immediate bittersweet feeling swelling in his chest.

You're watching his face so intently, so scared that he didn't like it based on his reaction.

Joel pulls out the watch from the box, clutching it tightly. He's not saying anything, so you hear yourself start to ramble.

"Do you like it? I just saw that the watch you wear is broken so I figured I'd get you a new one. If you don't like it I can take it back."

You're starting to crumble underneath the weight of his silence, anxiety bubbling in your gut. Just as you're about to ask him if he's okay, Joel finally looks back at you.

"S'real great. Thank you." His tone is genuine, you can tell he's telling the truth. But why does he look so pained?

"Of course." Your murmur, your eyes searching his. After a moment of silence, you clear your throat. "There's one more thing, actually."

Joel's shoulder slump. "You got me another present?" He asked tiredly, looking at you with disbelief.

A guilty smile paints your face before you gesture for Joel to follow you. "It's upstairs. C'mon."

He doesn't know how much more his heart could handle.

Reluctantly, he follows you up the stairs, wondering why you had a gift waiting for him in Tommy's guest bedroom.

You open the door and close it behind you both, purposefully not turning the lights on.

Joel walks into the center of the room, standing aimlessly and confused as to why you hadn’t flipped the light switch yet.

But then he hears the rustling of clothes and when you eventually turn the lights on, you're wearing nothing but a bra and panties.

His cock immediately gets hard.

"What do ya think you're doin'?" He whisper yells, trying to keep his eyes on your face but that proves to be impossible because your tits looked so good in lace.

"What? You don't like it? I bought it for you." You give him a 360 and he has to brace himself against the bed.

Fuck you looked good.

He sits down on the mattress, dragging a hand down his jaw in thought.

He's debating if he's really about to fuck you in his brother's house.

Why were you always making him go against his morals?

A few seconds of silence pass between the two of you before Joel snaps his eyes back to your figure.

"C'mere."

Got 'em.

You squeal excitedly before running over, slotting yourself between his legs and placing your hands on his shoulders.

In turn, his large hands come out to hold your hips, his gaze zeroing in on your perfect-looking cleavage that he was now eye-level with.

Just as he was about to slide his hands up to grope your breasts, you sink down to the floor.

Joel's puzzled as he watches you get on your knees, looking up at him with those mischievous eyes. He truly has no clue what you're up to, that is, until you bring your lips to the bulge in his jeans.

You place the softest kiss on his clothed hard-on, earning a groan from him.

Now he knows what you're trying to do.

He juts his hand out, holding you firm by your shoulder.

"You ain't gotta do that, sweetheart." Joel says softly, probably the softest you've ever heard him say anything.

Your body erupts in goosebumps when you hear the endearing pet name slip so effortlessly from his lips.

"I want to—been wanting to since, like, forever." You murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his inner thigh.

Joel wasn't sure what to think right now.

His past romantic experiences taught him that blowjobs were a hassle for women—something that they did only if they felt they had to.

But here you were, looking up at him with those wide eyes and wanting nothing more than his dick in your mouth.

You surprise him everyday.

His dick has literally never been harder, especially when you finally start unzipping his pants to let it spring free.

You gaze up at him again, waiting for his green light.

Joel had one hand white-knuckling the edge of the bed, while the other gently caressed the side of your head.

He offers a short nod of approval, already trying not to come just by the sight of his cock so close to your face.

You waste absolutely no time in grabbing the base of his dick with both hands, gingerly licking at his tip to warm him up.

Joel throws his head back, groaning at the feeling.

You tilt it up so you can drag your tongue all the way up his shaft, then bring your mouth down on his tip.

"Fuck," Joel curses, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping back open, not being able to look away from you.

Tears are falling from your eyes the farther you go down on him, the sensation of his head poking the back of your throat was making you dizzy.

But you don't stop. You're eager to please.

Your hands pump at the length you can't reach, while your warm mouth and tongue swirl around him.

You're too good at this, and Joel knows he's not gonna last long.

He can't help it when his hand in your hair turns into a fist, tightly gripping the strands like he was afraid you might go somewhere.

You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair forwards, forcing you deep on his cock. You bet he didn't even realize what he just did, based on the way his chest was heaving and his face looked so lost in pleasure.

You gag and more tears spill from your eyes, but you don't even dream about lifting off. If Joel was getting off on this, you were going to do more of it.

You moan, still keeping his cock in your mouth as you try to go even deeper down on it.

"Oh fuck—" Joel suddenly yanks your mouth off his cock, breathing heavily as he stares down at you.

You cough and sputter at the loss, looking up at him with that same fucked out expression you had last time.

"Why?" You manage to whine, wondering why he stopped you before he came.

Joel doesn't answer—instead he picks you up by your armpits and places you on the bed.

The quick change almost gives you whiplash, but Joel's surprisingly steady and husky voice guides you.

"On your stomach, pretty girl." He mutters as he taps your leg in a gesturing manner.

...Was he trying to kill you with that bedroom voice of his?

A whimper crawls its way out of your throat, your body having an audible reaction to his sweet words.

You flip over onto your stomach, instantly arching your back for him.

Being the impatient man he was, he rips your panties and throws them to the side in a lust-driven blur.

You literally didn't even care. Sure, they were new, but you'd just find another pair. The only two thoughts in your mind right now was Joel and Joel's dick.

Something warm and soft prods at your entrance before slipping to wedge between your folds, gathering up your slick.

You try to push back on it, but Joel holds you still, making you lose the rest of the small amount of composure you had left.

"Joelpleasefuckme," You sob, your cunt weeping for his cock. "need you so bad it hurts,"

You reach back, your hand finding his that was holding your hip and squeezing it.

Joel didn't want to admit to himself how much he loved the neediness in your voice, your obvious desperation made him harder.

"M'gettin' there, don't gotta beg me baby." He mutters, his hand that you grabbed intertwining with your fingers. His other hand was rubbing circles in the skin around your hips.

You feel that same sensation of his tip, but then Joel also brings his chest down to engulf your back.

You're already trembling, but when he begins to pepper kisses down the nape of your neck and back, all while slowly sheathing himself inside your pussy...

You effectively lose your mind.

"OhFUCKJoelloveitsomuch," You blabber, not having enough strength to hold yourself up anymore so your head drops into a pillow, muffling your moans.

Effortlessly, he pulls you back up so that your back is flush with his chest, his one arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you secure.

You rest the back of your head on his shoulder as she starts rocking into you, letting your body go limp because you know he's got you.

"Can you take it or do I need'a stop?" He asks, his tone making you dizzier.

You frantically nod, turning your head to the side to look at him. "I can take it, promise I can," you muster out between moans. "please don't stop—want your cock in me forever-"

Joel chuckles.

God, he really never stood a chance against you.

"I don't know about forever sweet thing, but I'll see what I can do for tonight, yeah?"

You giggle airily, like you weren't all there, nodding your head in acknowledgement. Your eyes are closed for a second but you feel his lips on yours, hungrily taking whatever they wanted.

You passionately return his kiss, mewling into it because his lips paired with the slow thrust of his dick was enough to drive you crazy.

The stretch of his cock is as close to heaven as you're ever gonna get.

His speed picks up which means your moans get louder, and Joel has no choice put to bring his other hand up and cover your mouth.

There's still a party going on downstairs, after all.

"Gotta be quieter baby," he pants, even though he's not slowing down his speed at all.

You whine into his hand, surprisingly loving the feeling of it because it's like he's swallowing you whole.

You feel that tight coil in your stomach slowly start to come undone, and you know you won't last long now. You try to tell Joel, but his hand is muffling your noises.

All the sudden, he speaks in your ear—his voice low and raspy. "Don't want you doin' this with anyone else, hear me?"

...Well.

You weren't expecting that.

His words probably made you soak the sheets because of how wet you became.

He sounded so stern when he said it too, making your heart flutter even more.

You nod, tears pouring from your eyes. He lets his hand off your mouth for a moment and you immediately jump at the opportunity to speak.

"Only want you, only ever wanted you, Joel—m'all yours, always been yours," You mewl after gasping for air, your body jolting with each of his deep thrusts.

"Fuck," Joel swears, quickly but carefully putting you down only to flip you over onto your back. Now in missionary, he buries himself all the way inside you again before dropping down so your faces are centimeters apart. "All mine, huh?" Joel reiterates, and you can't tell if he's mocking you or maybe asking for clarification.

Probably the ladder.

You agree nonetheless, a string of yes's spilling from your mouth.

"Yeah, just for me." He pants, slamming into you with more vigor than before. Your cunt is constricting around him like a vice, he's—not planning to last much longer either.

"M'gonna cum," you whine, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support.

When Joel hears this, he drops a hand down to rub at your clit, making you come undone altogether.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck waitwait Joel-" You feel something..unique boiling, but then Joel's expert fingers release the flood gates.

You scream as you squirt all over his cock, your entire body writhing with the overstimulating pleasure.

Your juices soak him. When he see's this, he comes immediately.

He groans as he finishes inside you, unloading into your snug cunt. The feeling is incomparable for the both of you.

Once the haze of perfect pleasure dissipates, Joel realizes what he's just done.

"Shit," he grits, pulling out and watching his seed drip from your hole. "Fuck."

You manage to sit up on your elbows, looking up at him with teary eyes. "Don't worry," Your voice is quiet and cracked—you just had the squirt fucked out of you, after all. "I've been on the pill since we had sex the first time."

Joel looks down at you, stupefied.

Eventually, he feels his heart start beating again and huffs out a sigh of relief. "Thank christ." He leans back against the headboard, raking a hand through his hair and thinking about how that was a fucking close one.

You're lying next to him, still trying to catch your breath. "That felt so good," You manage to murmur, your body still shivering from the after shocks.

After you catch your breath, you turn your head to look up at him. "M'serious about what I said, about bein' yours."

He looks at you and your serious face for a moment, then brings his hand down to gently ruffle the top of your head.

"Yeah, I know you are." His texan drawl prominent.

"I'd let you brand me with a fire poker if thats what you wanted." You say flatly, no joking tone in your voice whatsoever.

Joel is taken back by the sudden jump in intensity, assessing you to make sure you were being for real.

You were, and when he realizes this, he shakes his head. "You've lost your damn mind." He grunts, dragging a hand down his face.

You shrug.

"I think a ring would do the trick." Joel mutters, not meaning for it to have some kind of underlying message or anything. But you're quick to jump to conclusions.

"A ring?" You squeal, moving to lay on his chest which earns a huff from him. "Didn't know we were already goin' steady like that, Miller!" You tease, the giddiest smile on your face.

"I didn't mean—quit. You know what I was sayin'." Joel grunts, looking at you with an unamused expression.

You don't quit though.

"My ring finger is a size 6, would love 2 carats but if you can swing for 3 that would be perfect—also, I hate silver bands, it has to be gold—but make sure it's not that super yellow fake gold, I like more rustic looks, I mean, if that wasn't obvious-" You cast him a glance, alluding to the fact that he was rustic looking.

Joel rolls his eyes before gently nudging you off him, getting off the bed and walking over to your clothes that you discarded a long time ago.

You continue rambling from your position on the sheets, staring up at the ceiling as you recited, in extreme detail, how you loved oval shaped diamonds the most.

He walks back over and manhandles you to sit up. "Lift up your arms." He mutters, putting your sweater back on you.

"Hm, gettin' some serious deja vu right now." You murmur, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, hush." He grumbles before sliding your tights and skirt back on as well.

The act is so kind and heartwarming. You mumble a thank you before standing up, almost falling back down because your legs were still a bit weak.

Joel made a motion like he would've caught you, reaching his arms out. "Careful." He warns, planting a hand on your lower back for stability. You giggle and nod, regaining your ability to walk slowly but surely.

You guys tried to discretely walk back down the stairs, but with Joel's hand on your back and your happy expression--it wasn't hard for people to guess what happened.

***

A couple days had passed since Tommy and Maria's party.

You were finishing up some hand-made Christmas cards on your desk when you heard a knock at your door.

"Coming!" You shout, leisurely making your way to the front door.

When you open it, no one's there. You look around, only seeing a familiar male figure walking away in the distance. When you step outside to shout after him, you feel yourself kick something.

Upon looking down, a small velvet box lays at your feet.

You pick it up carefully, opening it to reveal a gold ring placed so delicately inside. The small note inside reads:

Merry Christmas. -Scrooge

[theonottsbxtch]

EL COQUETO | FC43

an: welcome back as we write about my n.1 pookie, i've got some more works planned for him BUT i've just gotten to france so imma be very busy rip, based off of this request

summary: when franco catches feelings for a journalist who is persuaded he doesn't really want her.

wc: 7.6k

The paddock was alive with energy, buzzing with the hum of engines and the chatter of the press as they swarmed around the new driver. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, a slight swagger in his step and a dazzling smile that had already made him the focus of every camera. He was the story of the weekend: Franco Colapinto, the unexpected mid-season replacement, here to shake up the grid with his flashy driving style—and, evidently, his unapologetic charm.

He caught sight of her, raised an eyebrow in recognition, and made a beeline toward her with the confidence of someone who knew he’d be welcome, even if he hadn’t been invited.

“Hola,” he greeted, his voice carrying a thick, rolling Spanish accent that seemed to coat every word in warmth. “You must be my next question of the day. They warned me about the best journalist here—of course, I was told to behave.”

She gave him a practised smile, cool but polite. “Franco, welcome to the team. How are you feeling about joining mid-season?”

His eyes sparkled, unfazed by the businesslike tone. “How am I feeling?” He leaned in just slightly, as though sharing a secret. “Well, right now, very lucky. They said I’d get tough questions, but they didn’t say the interviewer would be… distracting.”

She fought the urge to look away, just barely managing to keep her composure. “So you feel ready for the pressure, then?” she asked, refocusing, though the tiniest hint of a blush warmed her cheeks.

“For the track? Yes, I am prepared to race anyone.” He paused, letting his gaze linger on her a beat too long. “For the interviews? That remains to be seen. Perhaps you can teach me how to handle that part, sí?”

She could sense her colleagues nearby, some watching with open amusement as they caught his flirtatious energy. Franco was as smooth as they came, that much was certain. But she wouldn’t be the one to crack first.

“I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” she said, tilting her head, her voice steady, though her heart raced. “Now, back to the race. What are your goals for this weekend?”

His grin broadened, but he played along. “Goals for the weekend,” he echoed thoughtfully, shifting back into the question. “Win a few hearts, break a few records—no particular order.” He winked, and she felt a laugh bubble up before she stifled it, opting instead for a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I hope you’re ready for the competition,” she managed.

He shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “With you here, qué competencia?”

She gave him a pointed look, resisting the smile tugging at her lips. “You know, charm doesn’t score you points on the track.”

“Ah, no?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Then I suppose I’ll have to win the hard way.”

Just then, a flash of cameras went off around them, the media eating up every angle of Franco’s arrival. He seemed entirely unfazed, even performing slightly for the flashes. The crowd around them surged with questions about his plans, about what his first practice would look like, about his last season in Formula 2. But Franco’s attention was still locked on her, and he hadn’t missed a beat.

“So,” he said, with that soft smile of his, “do you think I’ll be able to charm Formula One, or will they be immune to my Argentian ways?”

She gave him a dry smile. “You might have your work cut out for you. It’s not a stroll through Argentina, after all.”

He laughed at that, clearly enjoying her wit. “You’re tough,” he said, a touch of admiration sneaking into his voice. “I can see why you’re the best.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Flattery won’t distract me from the questions, Franco.”

“No? Not even if I try very, very hard?” he asked, drawing out the words with a grin. It was ridiculous, really—the way he leaned into every word, the way he seemed to shine in the spotlight. But there was something endearing about it too, something that felt… unexpectedly genuine.

“Not even then,” she replied, her tone light but steady. “Let’s talk strategy. What’s your focus for your first race?”

He sighed, shifting slightly but keeping that glint in his eye. “Fine, I’ll behave,” he said with a sigh, straightening up to answer. “My focus is simple: get the car under me, push it to its limits, and aim for a strong finish. Maybe even a few surprise overtakes. I’ve been itching to get back on the track.”

It was the most serious answer he’d given yet, and she noted the shift in his voice—a hint of intensity breaking through the smooth, easy charm.

“And your teammate?” she pressed, sensing she’d found the thread to pull him out of his flirtatious veneer. “Are you prepared for the rivalry?”

Franco’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment, a flicker of something sharper in his eyes. “My teammate…” He paused, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. “He’s William’s best. I’ll learn from him, give him the respect he deserves. But I didn’t come here to play second.”

She watched as someone next to her scribbled down his answer, though her mind wandered slightly, wondering at the complexity beneath his charm.

“Good to hear,” she said, offering a small nod. “We’ll all be watching to see if you live up to that confidence.”

“I live up to my promises,” he replied smoothly. Then he leaned in one last time, lowering his voice just for her. “One of them being to get at least one smile from you by the end of the weekend. I’ll start with that goal.”

Before she could reply, he gave a casual wave to the crowd, moving on to the next journalist as though he hadn’t just made her heart skip a beat with his easy, disarming confidence. She watched him go, flustered despite herself.

One thing was certain: Franco Colapinto was going to be a story.

When the time came, the race had barely begun, but her eyes were already glued to the screen, following the sleek white-and-blue car with Franco’s number emblazoned on the front. Despite her best efforts to stay neutral, to approach this like any other weekend, there was something magnetic about watching him. Franco Colapinto, the audacious rookie, who’d barely spent a week with the team and had taken to the grid without a single day of training in an F1 car.

From the start, it was clear he was playing it differently. He didn’t charge forward recklessly like other rookies might have, eager to prove themselves. Instead, Franco took a few cautious laps, feeling out the car, testing its responses. She noticed how his style evolved lap by lap, each one more aggressive, his moves sharper. He was adapting, learning the car right there in the thick of the race.

As the race progressed, he began to gain ground. Corner after corner, he squeezed every ounce of performance from his machine, edging closer to the pack with each lap. By mid-race, he was overtaking the backmarkers, slipping past seasoned drivers who had years on him, and the commentators were buzzing.

She caught herself smiling, feeling a strange, almost foolish pride as she watched. The memory of his easy, arrogant grin flashed in her mind, his voice low and teasing: “Do you think I’ll charm Formula One?” She’d laughed it off, but he had something special, didn’t he? That hunger for the track, the sheer nerve to go head-to-head with anyone in his way.

Then, as if her thoughts had summoned trouble, the camera cut to his car—a close-up on his visor as he fought for P12. Her heart caught as he made a daring move, threading his car through a razor-thin gap into the next turn. It was reckless, and yet somehow—somehow—he made it stick.

“P12!” The radio crackled through his team radio, their voice as surprised as she felt. For a rookie with zero F1 experience, it was practically a victory.

She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. The chequered flag fell, and Franco’s car slowed down, his voice breaking through the team radio with a triumphant laugh, half-sighing, half-cheering in disbelief at his own result.

When she saw him back in the paddock, she managed to slip past the swarm of journalists waiting to pounce, positioning herself where he’d inevitably cross her path. She didn’t want to admit how much she wanted to hear his version of the race firsthand, to see if the adrenaline still sparkled in his eyes the way it had behind the visor.

When he finally caught sight of her, his face lit up. “Ah, my toughest questioner returns,” he said, the grin wide as he raked a hand through his hair, still tousled from the helmet. “So? Impressed?”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her expression composed. “Not bad for a first race,” she said, voice calm but betraying the slightest hint of a smile. “Though I have to say, you took some pretty risky moves out there.”

Franco laughed, that low, familiar chuckle that could disarm anyone. “You sound like my engineer. But I had to make it interesting, didn’t I?” His gaze softened slightly, the playfulness ebbing for a moment. “I did better than you expected, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, leaning in just a bit. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head, though.”

He feigned a wince. “Ah, so I’ll have to work harder to impress you, then.”

With that, she couldn’t hold back the smile any longer. “Perhaps,” she said, voice softer. “But you’ve made a start.”

She followed the rest of the press corps into the media pen, her notebook in hand, watching as Franco slipped into his role with practised ease. The other drivers, still catching their breath, answered questions in measured tones, clearly exhausted. But Franco was… well, Franco. He leaned back against the barrier, relaxed, a half-smile playing on his lips as he answered questions, some about his lack of training, others about his shockingly high finish.

She hung back at first, observing him as he effortlessly charmed each journalist in turn, flashing that disarming grin and making even the toughest questions seem like casual conversation. But when his eyes caught hers across the small crowd, he subtly waved her forward, his grin widening.

“Ah, finally,” he said, his tone playful as she approached. “I was starting to think you were hiding from me.” The other journalists shot her curious glances, some smirking at Franco’s obvious interest.

She managed to keep her expression neutral, clearing her throat and lifting her voice to a professional tone. “Franco, congratulations on P12. Quite a debut.”

“Gracias, cariño,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “For a moment, I thought you didn’t think I could do it.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly take the most traditional route,” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You had us all on the edge of our seats with those overtakes.”

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice to just above a murmur, his gaze fixed on hers. “I thought about what you said. ‘Charm doesn’t score points.’ So I had to give you something else to smile about.”

She could feel her cheeks warm under his steady gaze, and she fought to keep her expression cool. “Don’t flatter yourself, Franco. I’m just here to report the facts.”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, though a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Well, the fact is, I went from P20 to P12 on my first day. But somehow, I think I still haven’t impressed the person who matters most.”

“The person who—?” She trailed off, exasperated. “Franco, you were the story today.”

“Was I?” he asked, the innocent tone entirely ruined by the mischief in his eyes. “Because if I’m the story, you’re the reason it’s a good one.”

Before she could protest, he glanced over her shoulder at the next journalist, nodding politely. Then, in a flash, he was back to her, clearly undeterred. “When can we continue our interview?”

She forced herself to keep her composure. “I think you’ve given me more than enough material for one day.”

“A pity.” He shook his head, though his grin was unmistakable. “Then maybe next time, you’ll be a little more impressed.”

She watched him walk away, shoulders loose and steps casual as he moved from one group of reporters to the next, answering their questions with the same easy confidence he’d shown with her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze, the lingering effect of his words making her pulse quicken.

“Wow.” The journalist next to her, a seasoned reporter with a wry smile, gave her a knowing look. “You okay there? He has that effect, doesn’t he?”

She blinked, quickly snapping out of her daze, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. “I—yeah, I don’t know what’s going on,” she muttered, shaking her head, trying to compose herself. But she could still hear his words ringing in her ears, his playful teasing, the warmth in his gaze. “The person who matters most.”

“Oh, I think I do.” The other journalist smirked, nodding in Franco’s direction as he laughed and clapped a fellow driver on the shoulder. “It seems Franco over here has a slight crush.”

She scoffed, though it came out more flustered than she’d intended. “Franco has a crush on every woman he talks to. It’s his… thing since he got here.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe so, but I’ve watched him all day and that was different.”

Her colleague’s words only made her cheeks grow warmer. Was it that obvious? She was used to managing tough interviews, unflappable under pressure, and here she was, thrown off by a driver who hadn’t even been in Formula 1 for a full week. But somehow, Franco’s charm wasn’t just some casual game to him; it felt more… intense. And he’d directed every bit of that intensity straight at her.

The journalist chuckled. “Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the attention—it’s not every day a rookie looks at you like you’re the finish line.”

She glanced away, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. She didn’t want to admit it, not to her colleague, and definitely not to herself, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her, like she was more than just another journalist, more than just one of the many people crowding his spotlight.

“Well, let’s hope he stays focused on the real finish line,” she replied, aiming for a casual tone that didn’t quite land. But she couldn’t deny it—Franco Colapinto was becoming more than just the story of the weekend. He was starting to feel like her story, too.

Later that evening, she sat in her hotel room, trying to unwind from the chaos of race day. The lights of the city glimmered outside her window, but her mind was still caught on Franco—his effortless charm, that maddening smirk, the way he’d singled her out, even with half the media pen watching. It was absurd, really. She’d covered far bigger stories, spoken with veteran champions, and yet one rookie had managed to leave her feeling more flustered than she’d care to admit.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her phone, halfheartedly catching up on messages, until a notification popped up that made her heart skip.

Francolpainto has sent you a message.

She hesitated, a mix of curiosity and nerves swirling in her stomach as she opened it. The message was simple, casual—like he hadn’t already spent the whole day keeping her off balance.

Franco: Hola! Are you at the hotel?

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a quick reply.

Her: Yes, I am.

The response came almost immediately.

Franco: Perfect! I’m downstairs in the lounge. Come have dinner with me?

She stared at the screen, her mind racing. It was tempting—she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t. But she knew his type all too well, didn’t she? The charming new driver who flirted with every journalist, every fan, anyone who would listen. She could already imagine him saying the exact same things to another reporter tomorrow.

No, she couldn’t let herself get pulled in. Not by someone who was probably just looking for a bit of attention.

Her: Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. Long day.

She set the phone down, hoping that would be the end of it, but a new message came through almost instantly.

Franco: Too bad. I was hoping I’d finally get a smile out of you without a hundred cameras around.

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny the small flutter his words sent through her. He was persistent, that was for sure.

Her: You’re very determined, Franco. But I have to ask—do you make this invitation to all the journalists?

A pause, just a few seconds longer than his usual quick responses. Then, his reply appeared, simple and direct.

Franco: No, just the one who keeps me on my toes.

Her: Pity, this one isn’t intrested.

She set her phone down after typing that, ignoring the little thrill that shot through her when he messaged her again almost immediately. Franco’s charm was undeniably effective, but she wasn’t about to let herself become just another name on his roster of admirers. He’d have to do a lot more than offer a casual dinner invite if he wanted her attention.

Franco: Really? You’re going to turn me down just like that?

She smirked at the screen. Of course he wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

Her: Really. I’ve seen you in action today, Franco. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to keep you company.

A longer pause this time, as if her words had taken him off-guard. When he replied, his tone was more thoughtful.

Franco: That’s not what I meant. Today was… different. I don’t want to go to dinner with just anyone. I want to go with you.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she forced herself to stay firm. She typed a quick reply, keeping it casual.

Her: Nice try. But I’ve seen the way you charm everyone you talk to. You’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want me to believe that.

A few minutes passed, and she wondered if maybe he’d let it go. But just as she was about to put her phone down, another message appeared.

Franco: Okay. Fair enough. How about this: tomorrow, after practice, let me show you what a real date looks like. No crowds, no cameras. Just you and me.

She hesitated, feeling the pull of curiosity mingled with doubt. She knew he could be as persistent as he was charming, and there was something intriguing about his willingness to push past her refusal.

Her: Why should I believe this isn’t just a game to you?

His response came quickly this time, almost earnest.

Franco: Because no one else makes me want to try this hard. I’m not playing around here, cariño. Tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.

She smiled, a little thrill rushing through her. For the first time, he seemed genuinely off-balance, unsure, and she couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Her: We’ll see if you mean that. Good luck tomorrow, Franco.

Franco: Gracias. And just so you know… I’m not giving up that easily.

The following week, she found herself in the bustling paddock of the Baku, her eyes catching sight of Franco’s car parked in the paddock. She had to admit, he’d stayed true to his word since their last exchange, staying out of her messages—though his lingering glances and smiles across the paddock hadn’t exactly disappeared. If anything, he seemed more determined, more focused. It was all part of his act, she reminded herself. And yet, there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

She was busy gathering notes when she felt a familiar presence beside her. Franco had sidled up, hands tucked into the pockets of his team jacket, his easygoing grin making her pulse quicken in spite of herself.

“Back to cheer me on, sí?” he asked, eyes bright with that familiar mischief.

She held back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m here to cover the race, Franco. Your cheering section is back there.” She nodded to the growing crowd of fans waving his name on signs with Argentinan flags just a few metres away.

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “They’re great, sure, but I was looking for one particular fan. The one who told me I’d have to work harder if I wanted to impress her.”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping out of earshot of the nearest camera. “Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“Every word,” he said, his gaze steady. “I thought about it all week.”

A small thrill ran through her, though she kept her voice steady and her tone cool. “Well, if you’re serious, you’ll have to do better than last week’s P12. Otherwise, it just looks like more talk.”

His expression shifted, his easy grin giving way to a flash of determination. “If it’s a higher position you want,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “then I’ll get it. Just keep watching.”

She crossed her arms, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be watching, Colapinto. Don’t disappoint me.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something that felt genuine, earnest. “I don’t plan to,” he murmured, stepping back with a wink before heading toward his car.

As he disappeared into the garage, her heart raced. Franco Colapinto, the rookie charmer, was setting out to prove himself to her. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to seeing if he could keep his promise.

She sat in the media centre, eyes locked on the screen as the race unfolded. Franco’s car was easy to spot, weaving its way through the pack with a precision she hadn’t expected. He was starting further up this time, P18, but it was still a long shot to even think he’d break into the top ten. Yet as the laps ticked by, he held his ground, pushing, clawing his way forward with a tenacity that had everyone watching in awe.

“Impressive for a rookie,” she overheard another journalist mutter, and she felt a strange pang of pride.

Halfway through the race, Franco made a daring overtake, squeezing past two midfield drivers into P10. She sat forward, barely breathing. He wasn’t just hanging on—he was gaining, going after every single opportunity on the track with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

He’d promised her he’d finish higher than last week, and she’d thought it was just talk, maybe a little playful charm. But here he was, proving her wrong lap by lap.

By the time he made it to P9, she was leaning forward in her seat, clutching her notebook tightly. And then, with a bold move on the final few laps, he passed another driver, slipping into P8. Her heart raced as she watched him hold his ground, fending off the competition, determined to keep the position he’d fought so hard for. The chequered flag dropped, and Franco crossed the line in P8.

She exhaled, a rush of surprise and admiration flooding through her. She’d known he was talented, of course—he wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise. But this? Climbing ten positions in a single race, all for a chance to prove himself to her? It was more than she’d expected.

As the race ended, she moved through the paddock, her mind whirling. Franco Colapinto, the charming rookie who flirted with everyone, had just delivered one of the most impressive drives of the day. For her. And she wasn’t sure if she was more impressed with his skill or his determination to keep his word.

She barely had a chance to catch her breath before she was back in the paddock, microphone in hand, ready to take on the post-race interviews. As she waited for Franco, she replayed his climb through the ranks in her mind—his nerve, his timing, the way he’d handled himself on the track. It wasn’t just impressive; it was astonishing. And as much as she tried to shake it off, she couldn’t ignore the small thrill that ran through her at the thought that he’d done it, in part, for her.

Finally, Franco appeared, still in his race suit his face glistening with the sheen of hard work. There was a slight glimmer of triumph in his eyes as he spotted her, a grin spreading across his face. He walked over, ignoring the other cameras and reporters, his gaze focused squarely on her.

She raised her microphone, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “Franco Colapinto, P8—your second race in Formula 1, and already a massive improvement from last week. Can you walk us through it?”

He took a quick breath, then leaned in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Well, you know, someone told me I had to get higher than P12 if I wanted to impress them,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady on hers. “So I did it for them. Great motivation.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to stay focused. She could feel the eyes of the other journalists and team members on them, her colleagues probably smirking at his obvious attempt to fluster her, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Impressive,” she said, keeping her voice level. “And this ‘motivation’—I assume it’s the same one who’s kept you on your toes all week?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, unabashed. “Absolutely. Turns out, when someone challenges me, I take it seriously.” He shifted his stance, his gaze softening just a fraction. “And if they ask, I’ll do it again.”

A few people around them chuckled, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. This wasn’t the usual post-race banter, and he didn’t seem interested in giving anyone the typical driver answers. He was speaking to her as if they were alone, and for a brief moment, she almost forgot the cameras.

“Well, whatever you’re doing,” she replied, finally letting a small smile slip, “it seems to be working. P8 is no small feat.”

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Then maybe next week, you’ll set the bar even higher for me?” His voice was low, just enough for her to hear.

She felt her resolve waver slightly, but managed to maintain her professionalism. “We’ll see, Colapinto. For now, let’s just focus on how you plan to keep this up.”

He chuckled, shifting his grip on his helmet. “Oh, I think I have all the motivation I need right here.” With one last grin and a wink, he turned to greet the other journalists, leaving her to process what was easily the most disarming post-race interview she’d ever conducted.

Later that night, she was back in her hotel room, unwinding with a cup of tea, trying to shake off the lingering thrill of Franco’s performance—and his audacity in the post-race interview. She still couldn’t believe how he’d shamelessly directed half of his answers at her, leaving her just as off-balance as he had on the track. But as much as she tried to dismiss it, her thoughts kept circling back to his determination, his promise that he’d push harder just because she’d challenged him.

Her phone buzzed with a message, and she glanced down to see it was from the William’s Instagram Account.

Team Rep: Hey, what’s your room number?

She frowned for a moment, surprised by the casualness of the message. But teams occasionally followed up with journalists for clarifications or comments, especially after high-profile performances like Franco’s. Assuming they needed to drop off some post-race press notes or team statements, she quickly typed back her room number.

Her: Room 914.

Team Rep: Perfect. Thanks.

Not even a minute later, she heard a quiet knock on her door. She glanced at the time, wondering if the team rep had come by himself. But when she opened the door, the hallway was empty. Instead, resting on the floor in front of her was a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers—vibrant, unruly, and charmingly imperfect, wrapped with a small card slipped between the stems.

Her pulse quickened. She didn’t have to check the note to know exactly who had left them.

Still, curiosity got the best of her, and she crouched down, carefully lifting the bouquet to pull the card free.

“To my motivation: thank you for the push. Let’s raise the stakes again soon. — F.

A soft, reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She felt the warmth creeping up her cheeks, aware that Franco Colapinto had managed to surprise her again. It was a move so bold, so unexpected—and, somehow, more genuine than any casual dinner invitation could have been.

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to fight the smile any longer. As she placed the flowers on the table, their vibrant petals catching the soft light, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco would pull next to prove himself. Because one thing was certain: he wasn’t giving up. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want him to.

She couldn’t resist. Picking up her phone, she sent a quick message, keeping it light, casual.

Her: Cute.

It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Franco: Oh? You find me cute?

She rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat as she typed back.

Her: No, the flowers were a cute move.

A beat passed, and then came his reply, playful but edged with a hint of something more.

Franco: Well, then… would you let the guy behind the cute move take you out for dinner?

She hesitated, fingers hovering over her phone. She knew what this looked like—a line blurred between work and something personal, maybe too personal. And for him, a rookie who’d just broken into the sport, one misstep could easily become a distraction he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just her reputation, but his too, and the stakes felt higher than either of them probably realised.

Her: I don’t know, Franco. There’s too much on the line.

A pause, longer than his usual quick responses, and for a moment she thought maybe he’d let it go. Then his reply came through, brief and simple.

Franco: Okay.

She stared at the word, an unexpected pang of disappointment catching her off guard. Franco, usually so persistent, so bold, had accepted her hesitation without a fight. But as much as she wanted to push away her own reservations, she knew she was right. Still, the thought of him backing off now left her feeling… unbalanced.

Setting the phone down, she let out a sigh, glancing over at the flowers resting on her table. A small part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she’d made the wrong choice.

Four weeks later, they were back at the track, Austin, the usual energy humming through the paddock as teams and drivers prepared for the weekend ahead. She found herself scanning the garages, a little spark of nerves in her chest that had nothing to do with work. Franco had kept his distance over the past few weeks—well, as much distance as someone like him could manage. He was still his playful, charismatic self with the press, charming everyone in sight, but there was something different. He hadn’t followed up on his dinner invitation, hadn’t tried to push beyond her boundaries. She told herself it was for the best. Still, a small part of her couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been too cautious.

Just then, she spotted him near the team’s garage, leaning against the wall in his race suit around his hips, deep in conversation with one of his engineers. When he looked up and saw her, his face lit up, a grin breaking across his face as if no time had passed. She felt a little of that old thrill in her chest as he walked over.

“Hola, stranger,” he greeted, hands tucked into his pockets of his team jacket, his voice as warm and casual as ever. “Miss me?”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “You were just here four weeks ago, Colapinto. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her that familiar, playful look. “Four weeks is a long time, don’t you think?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit of the tension from the past month melt away. Whatever her own doubts, Franco hadn’t let her brush-off change him—he was still here, as charming and persistent as ever. And somehow, that lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“Have you been behaving?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Or should I be prepared for more unexpected flower deliveries?”

Franco’s grin grew wider, his eyes flashing with that spark she was growing dangerously used to. “Depends. You miss them?”

She laughed softly, looking down to avoid letting him see her smile. “I’d hardly admit that if I did.”

He leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering. “Good thing I’m a patient man, then. Because I’m not done yet.” There was a softness to his tone, a hint of something genuine beneath his usual confidence, and it made her heart skip a beat.

Despite herself, she found comfort in his persistence, in his way of toeing the line between serious and playful without putting any pressure on her. For all his charm, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He was waiting, leaving the door open if she ever wanted to step through.

As he turned to head back toward his car, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a wink. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, cariño. I’ll be around.”

And with that, he disappeared into the garage, leaving her standing there with a soft smile, feeling just a little lighter, a little braver.

She found herself glued to the screen as the race unfolded, Franco’s car darting through the pack with all the finesse and raw determination she’d come to recognise in him. Starting from P17, he had a long climb ahead of him, and as the laps ticked down, he kept gaining ground, his timing sharp, his decisions bold. He was relentless, working his way through the grid with an intensity that kept her at the edge of her seat.

By the halfway mark, he was already up to P12, and she could feel the anticipation building among the journalists and crew around her. Franco wasn’t just driving; he was fighting for every single position, taking advantage of each moment with an almost calculated risk. And he was doing it with the confidence that had both frustrated and charmed her from the start.

Then, in the final laps, with a daring overtake on the inside line, he claimed P10. A top ten finish. It was almost too perfect—his words from the last race echoing in her mind as he crossed the line: “If they ask, I’ll do it again.”

The paddock was buzzing with excitement as she made her way toward the media pen, preparing herself for the post-race interview. She tried to tamp down the flutter of nerves, reminding herself that he’d been charming his way through interviews with her for weeks now. But there was something different this time, a spark of pride mingled with her excitement, and she couldn’t wait to see him walk in.

When he finally appeared, the smile on his face was brighter than she’d ever seen. Still in his race suit, a towel on his head, he strode over to her with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. She raised her microphone, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“Franco Colapinto,” she began, her own smile betraying just a hint of the thrill she felt. “P10 from P17—congratulations. Tell us, how did you manage such an impressive climb?”

He grinned, leaning casually into the microphone. “Well, you know me. I like a good challenge,” he said, his gaze holding hers for a second longer than necessary. “And I couldn’t let down the one person who told me I had to keep improving.”

The implication wasn’t lost on anyone listening, and she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She rolled her eyes slightly, playing it off as best she could. “Seems like you’re making a habit of climbing positions to impress,” she replied, keeping her tone light.

Franco’s smile softened, turning almost genuine. “For some things,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear, “it’s worth the effort.”

She swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words, but managed to pull herself together, keeping the interview rolling. “Well, you’ve certainly earned that P10. What’s the plan for next time? Any more surprise performances in store?”

“Oh, definitely,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “But let’s say I’ll aim higher than P10 next time. If someone out there is willing to set a new challenge for me, I’ll be ready.” His words hung in the air, a subtle invitation that made her heart skip a beat.

She couldn’t hold back her smile as she wrapped up the interview, his gaze lingering on her with that same unspoken promise. And as she watched him walk away, her heart raced with the thrill of what might come next, realising that maybe—just maybe—she was ready to see where this challenge would lead.

As Franco walked away, she felt the lingering warmth of his gaze, that same thrill coursing through her that she’d tried so hard to brush off. But now, it seemed, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. The interview had felt like more than just a casual exchange; his words, his look—there was something real beneath the flirtation, something she found herself wanting to chase.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of post-race coverage and media duties, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes had held hers, steady and genuine, as he’d promised to aim even higher. It was only when she caught herself looking around the paddock, almost instinctively, that she realised she was seeking him out. By then, her professional caution had faded, replaced by something far less reasonable but far more enticing.

She knew she was violating so many unspoken rules as she made her way around the paddock, ducking out of the more crowded paths and slipping past the occasional lingering crew member. A pang of guilt buzzed at the back of her mind, but it was no match for the magnetic pull drawing her toward his driver’s room.

She stopped outside the door, exhaling a shaky breath as her pulse raced with a mix of nerves and anticipation. The hallway was quiet, the sounds of the bustling paddock fading away. Before she could second-guess herself, she raised her hand and knocked softly.

The door opened, and there he was, in a grey tracksuit and plain black top, his expression shifting from surprise to that warm, familiar smile that had always managed to disarm her.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “I didn’t expect my motivation to show up in person.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding her smile. “I figured I’d come to make sure you’re planning to keep your word. That climb to P10 wasn’t exactly a small feat.”

His smile softened, and he stepped aside, wordlessly inviting her in. As the door clicked shut behind them, the noise and pressures of the paddock slipped away, leaving just the two of them. The look he gave her—warm, unguarded, and almost vulnerable—made her heart skip a beat.

She’d broken so many of her own rules just to get here, but in this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to regret a single one.

Taking a moment to look around, she noticed his bags were packed and ready for the triple header and that there was nowhere to sit.

She sat on the edge of his bed, trying to look at ease despite the heat rising in her cheeks. Franco stood in front of her, close enough that her knees brushed his legs. The room felt charged with his presence, the quiet intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmured, leaning down a bit. The way his dark eyes lingered on her, sweeping over her face and holding her gaze, sent a rush of warmth through her.

She felt a smile tugging at her lips, trying to keep her voice steady. “Figured I’d make sure you’re holding up after all that hard work.”

He chuckled, his voice low, with just a hint of playfulness. “Oh, I’m holding up just fine.” He reached out, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb linger just a moment too long against her skin. “In fact, I think I’m doing better than fine.”

Her cheeks flushed even deeper, but she held his gaze, determined not to let him throw her off-balance—at least not completely. “You know,” she said, trying to match his tone, “you don’t have to turn everything into a line, Colapinto.”

Franco tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Only with you, cariño.”

She let out a soft laugh, her heartbeat picking up as he moved closer, until he was standing right between her legs. She felt his fingers trace gently along her jawline, his thumb tilting her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.

“Not used to being flirted with, cariño?” he asked softly, his voice smooth and teasing.

She swallowed, feeling her blush deepen as her usual composure slipped. “No… not like this.”

“Shame,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek as his eyes searched hers, warm and intent. His voice softened, and the playfulness gave way to something more genuine. “Because I’m just getting started.”

She felt her breath hitch, her pulse racing as his words sank in, leaving her both disarmed and impossibly drawn in. And in that moment, she realised that every wall she’d put up around him was slipping away, piece by piece.

For a moment, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, the air between them thick with anticipation. Then, she noticed the small silver chain dangling from his neck, glinting faintly against the fabric of his black top, and without thinking, she reached up, wrapping her fingers around it gently.

Franco’s gaze flickered in surprise, his breath catching as she tugged on the chain, pulling him just close enough that their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through her that made her heart pound. His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned in, their breaths mingling in the charged silence.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, soft and exploratory, but the warmth in his response was immediate. His hand slid up her back, pulling her closer, and she felt his fingers tangling in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his touch gentle yet confident.

She didn’t realise how tightly she was gripping his chain until she felt his hand cover hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles as if to say, I’m here.

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, Franco looked at her, hand caressing her cheek, his smile soft and real, devoid of his usual playfulness. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her stomach flip.

“You know," he started, his voice dipping into that smooth, charming tone, “I thought I never had a chance with you. You made me work for every single look, every smile…” He shook his head, his hand still resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath her jaw. “I was convinced you’d never actually let me get this close.”

She felt a warm, amused smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him, his words genuine but tinged with that familiar, playful charm. Watching him, her heart surged with an undeniable impulse, one she didn’t want to ignore any longer. In one fluid motion, she slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his again with a fierce, unrestrained intensity that sent sparks through her.

Franco’s surprise melted instantly, his hands slipping from her cheek to either side of her hips, matching her passion. The kiss deepened, turning slower, almost reverent, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She could feel his pulse racing under her hands, his warmth overwhelming in the most exhilarating way.

Without breaking the kiss, she leaned back, drawing him down with her onto the bed. She felt his weight settle gently over her, his hands bracing on either side of her as he kissed her with a hunger that felt both new and inevitable. When he finally pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over hers, his voice was breathless, a bit dazed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his fingers tracing down her arm as he held her gaze, a vulnerable softness there she hadn’t seen before.

“Good,” she whispered back, her own voice unsteady, feeling as though her walls were completely gone now. “Because I don’t plan on making it easy for you.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned down, his mouth finding hers again with an eagerness that left them both completely lost in each other, as if the rest of the world had faded away.

Maybe he was worth the wait.

the end.

[mv1simp]

Based on darling 🍑 🛒 anon’s request: max x inexperienced best friend!reader who hears him complaining about how hard it is to find a girl who’ll match his freak in bed 😼

Birthday Sex ♥️

Max Verstappen x Best Friend!Reader

don’t need candles or cake, just need your body to make (birthday sex, it’s the best day of the year, girl)

As Max’s best friend since childhood, you know him better than anyone. You’re determined to find the best birthday gift after he’s outdone you the past three years. Just when you’ve given up all hope of beating him you overhear him complaining that none of his recent girlfriends let him hit it just the way he likes. Bingo - you’ve just thought of the perfect gift!

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom!max, inexperienced best friend!reader who gets railed lol, size kink, anal, creampie, sloppy drunk sex!!, WC 3.3k

You slump your head down on the table and groan, making your best friend Selena quirk as brow at you as she sips her strawberry iced matcha. Across the room, the elderly librarian scowls and points to the sign clearly labelled “University Library - Quiet Zone for Finals Study”. You roll your eyes and drag Selena away to some dusty bookshelf’s well away from the old crone. You still haven’t found a present for Max? Your friend muses as she noisily slurps her drink, eyeing the dubious titles on the ancient books. Shaking your head, you whine about how you’ve spent weeks thinking of what to gift the F1 driver. You and Max have been best friends since childhood, having grown up literally 2 doors down from one another. After getting over the initial boy/girl germs phase, you’d both connected over a like for video games which had turned into a loyal and supportive friendship into teens and adulthood. And of course, you both strongly believed in work hard, play hard, and frequently would be seen doing multiple shots together out in the Monaco clubs after a race weekend or post exam season.

Despite all the time you’d spend together, things had never crossed the line past friendship. It was always heavily speculated in the media, of course, as well as constant teasing from the other paddock members and your friends and family, but both you and Max dismissed it. He treated you like one of his guy friends, inviting you over to game or come onto his private jet with his other mates to fly out for a race weekend. And of course, being good friends with a millionaire driver meant being spoilt, especially on your birthday. Max always picked up on your hints and outdid himself every year. Last birthday you’d had not one but two custom made jewellery sets delivered from Cartier when you’d mentioned them in passing, and the year before that unlimited VIP box seats to your favourite soccer team and access to his private jet to get you there.

So that’s why you’re desperate to find Max the perfect present for his birthday this year. You want to spoil him just like he spoils you! But he’s been busy with his new girlfriend, a Spanish model he met in St Tropez, and you in the final semester of your English Lit degree and you haven’t had a chance to hear what’s he’s been interested in lately.

You’ve thought up countless ideas, but what do you get a man who literally can afford anything he wants? You’ve cycled through all of his likes, finding that he already owns everything you could possibly buy. Your friend Serena is useless as she watches you plead up at the ceiling (dramatic, sure, but desperate times call for desperate measures) asking for any Gods watching above to send you a sign of the right gift. You could always just get him a vibrator, she joked as she slurped her iced coffee. You know, like the one I got you? Have you been using it? Seriously, we need to end this dry spell and get you dicked down- At that point the old crone of a librarian had let out a scandalised gasp as she overheard and kicked the pair of you out.

You’ve almost given up completely and drop by his apartment a few days before his birthday, ready to just directly beg him to tell you what he wants and put you out of your misery. You let yourself in, already familiar with his spare key hiding location for years. And then you stumble across a conversation that’s not meant for your ears as Max’s deep voice carries around the corner. He’s on video chat with one of his mates playing an e-sim racing game, but they’re definitely not talking about racing strategy.

I don’t know mate, why is it so hard these days to find a chick who’ll let you hit it raw? one of his friends complain over the speakers. Your eyes widen, hand rushing up to stifle your gasp as you realise they’re talking about what they like in the bedroom. You and Max had never talked about something like this, and you’re about to turn and leave - when your best friend says something you’d never expected him to say. He snorts, murmuring that sure, getting to finish inside was good but the real challenge was convincing a girl to let you fuck her up the ass.

His friend laughs on the screen, wholeheartedly agreeing, saying Ah, I see even a F1 driver can’t find a girlfriend who’s into that freaky shit, huh? You miss Max’s reply because his cats, Sassy and Jimmy, have started to walk over to you curiously. You hightail it out of his apartment, desperate not to get caught eavesdropping with your blushing face and jumbled thoughts. You only let yourself calm down once you’re in the safety of your much smaller apartment, sinking into your sofa and recounting what you’d heard. You and Max had never ever talked about sex, even though he treated you like his guy friends, that was a line you’d just never crossed. You’d never have guessed he was into something so naughty like not using protection or…what had he said? Up the ass?

You’re not 100% sure on what he means, with your rather…limited sexual experiences. While Max regularly slept with multiple different flings and models, your hook ups could be counted on one hand. You’d lost your virginity, of course, to an awkward college boyfriend that Max had hated and eventually told you to break up with. But apart from a few sloppy handjobs or quick drunk blowjobs, you really hadn’t explored much else. You were jealous of how much more experienced Max was than you, having sometimes overheard him and his latest girlfriend celebrating a race win from a neighbouring hotel room. But it looked like despite all of the girls he’d been with, he wasn’t getting the satisfaction he wanted in bed. And apparently what satisfied the Dutch Lion was fucking girls who let him take the condom off or use their ass to his liking.

Determined to find out more about what exactly Max wanted, you open the private browser of your laptop and type in a porn site you’d looked at a couple times before. You navigate to the tags, scrolling until you see the category you wanted to research. As you wait for the top trending video in the #Anal section to load you bite your lip, suddenly nervous. Why did Max say he wanted that? It sounded dirty and painful and just wrong. Was there something you were missing?

Then the video started playing and within seconds you’d lost any inhibitions you had. Hypnotised, you watch the screen where a small, tan skinned girl is face down and ass up, with a much larger man running his tongue obscenely through her asscheeks. She’s moaning wantonly, clearly enjoying it, and then his sizeable dick is bouncing out against her bum, messily pounding her pussy first, and then - and then-

Your doe eyes widen, fixed on the laptop with a gasp as his tip slides past her pussy and into her other hole, the one you hadn’t even known could fit a guy’s dick inside it! You’re enraptured, not wanting to blink as you watch her asshole get completely ruined. Your lace thong is rapidly soaked by your wetness as you start panting, finding yourself turned on in a way you’d never ever been before. This is what your Maxie liked? It was so hot, you think sluttily, shamelessly slipping your tiny manicured fingers into your panties to finger yourself at the forbidden thought of you and Max acting out the activities in the video. You cum far too quickly, head tossed back in pleasure. Afterwards, you know you should feel embarrassed and guilty, but instead all you can think about is how badly you want to try having sex with your other tight hole.

And you know exactly what to gift your best friend. Max deserves to get exactly what he wants, after all.

Soon you’re watching dirty video after video every night, telling yourself you need to practise the positions and expressions yourself. But really you’re just addicted to the moaning of girls getting their asses abused by huge cocks, or having the coy smirks wiped off their faces and instead rolling their eyes back as their pussies are pumped full of cum. The bullet vibrator Serena had gifted you as a joke now finds itself making its way in between your dripping thighs, as you cum nightly to the fantasy of being able to provide Max with that pleasure. If his latest girlfriend of the month wasn’t willing to put out for him, you certainly had no problem helping your best friend out instead.

You make sure you’re ready by the time his birthday party rolls around, being celebrated in style aboard his yacht that’s docked in Ibiza tonight. You’ve chosen your outfit carefully, a tight red minidress that shows off your plump ass and tits, complete with strappy high heels. It highlights your ample curves, very different from his usual fling’s stick thin figures. And speaking off - you knew that he must have broken it off with his latest girlfriend judging by the fact that she wasn’t here tonight. Your suspicions are confirmed when a mutual friend tells you he dumped her just two days ago, citing a difference in personalities. More like a difference in kinky preferences, you thought deviously. You just needed to confirm that Max was willing to cross the line of no return in your friendship. Judging from the way his gaze had turned dark and hungry when he’d seen you step onto his boat, roaming over your figure, you were pretty confident that you’d be able to proceed in unveiling your gift.

As the party continues well into the night, you join everyone in dancing and drinking, using the tequila shots as an excuse to why you’re suddenly grinding your fat ass back into Max’s crotch amidst the crowded makeshift dancefloor. When you hear Max laugh in delight, strong hands possessively curling around your hips to keep you against him, you know he wanted you, too.

So when the last of the partygoers are heading off the yacht to join the others in the Ibiza clubs, you take Max’s hand in yours to tug him away, back onto the other side of the yacht where you’re well away from anyone’s eyes and facing the night ocean. He willingly goes, checking out your curvy ass from behind, his own face flushed from the drinks he’d had. You’re tipsily giggling that he had to open your present! as you gently push him onto the outdoor couch, plucking your cutely wrapped small gift box and offering it to him. As he opens it, you eagerly sit down by his side, pressing in close to his warm, toned chest with the excuse of its cold, Maxie.

You don’t miss how his gaze drops to your plush tits, which bounce with every movement and show off your hardened nipples as you’d chosen to only wear a skimpy lace bralette underneath. He easily plays along with your excuse, wrapping his thick arm around you to pull you onto his lap and settle against his broad figure. You giggle again when he finally opens the gift box, only to find it…empty? He looks up at you, laughing as he assumed you’d forgotten to pack your present in your drunk antics tonight.

But the plan in your mind is razor sharp as you breathily press kisses to his stubbled cheeks, making his lustful gaze flicker to your lips as the tension between you two grows. You whisper that you hadn’t forgotten, in fact, you’d gotten him the perfect gift, exactly what he’d been complaining to his gaming friends about not being able to find. The present was just inside you, was all!

Max is still adorably confused, not entirely sure what you were referring to as you slide off his lap after pressing a barely there kiss to his lips. He watches you curiously as you press your blushing cheeks into the sofa and stick your thick ass up in the air. Your already tiny minidress slides down your hips, exposing your soaked, lacey thong that barely covered the true surprise - a cute heart shaped butt plug. Max’s jaw drops and for a minute he thinks he must be dreaming, or had gotten super drunk, or this was some sick joke his friends had set him up for. Until you seductively jiggle your hips at him, fat ass bouncing, your sweet voice almost innocently asking if he likes his gift?

Oh, I fucking love it, sweetheart he assures you with a wicked grin, once he realises just what you were giving him. It’s so much better than anything I could have asked for. Your pleased giggle quickly turns into pleased moans as he plays with the toy, teasing you by slowly pulling it out a bit before sliding it back in. He pulls his raging erection out of his pants, telling you to come here and suck me off, getting his cock ready to fuck you. You obediently lick up and down his length, covering it with your messy drool and lip gloss, making sure it’s as wet as possible. His muscular neck is thrown back against the sofa as he moans above you, a strong hand tangled through your curls as he tries to control the pace but can't resist your talented mouth teasing his over sensitive tip. He almost cums from your enthusiasm, hips stuttering and he swears in dutch as he has to forcefully pull on your dark locks to move your plush lips off him. You cheekily grin up at him, winking, asking was that too much for him?

He tosses you around in half a second, making you giggle into the soft pillow as he raises your ass into the air, growling that he’d have done this a long time ago if he knew what a needy slut you secretly were. You shake your hips enticingly at him, ass bouncing, enjoying how his sexy voice got even deeper and accented when he was dirty talking. Swearing at your tempting display, he delivers a strong smack to your cheeks, and then a second one for good measure, before nudging his cockhead up against your dripping slit. He hushes your whines, telling you that he needed to get a taste of your pussy, the one he’d been dreaming about when you’d stay the night after a late movie and rub your ass into his erection in your sleep, edging him for hours. Did you even know how many times he had to go jerk off to the mental image of your ass in the shower?

You moan in pleasure as he fucks you sloppily, whispering about the time he hadn’t been able to resist and pulled your panties down in your sleep, wanting to jerk off to the real thing and leaving his cum all over your caramel skin. Th-that’s soo hot, Maxie you whine, already feeling fucked out of your mind. Go-go on, cum instead me, you say breathlessly. I started the pill just for your present tonight!

Groaning at your naughty confession, he pumps one last, deep thrust before he's tensing above you, a bruising grip on your hips as he holds you still to drain his load deep inside you. He's panting deeply as his head comes to rest on the back of your neck, the two of you enjoying your blissful comedown together for a few minutes. You can’t believe how heated things have gotten tonight after being friends for years. We could have been hooking up this whole time, it was so good Maxiee you whine against his lips as he presses his tongue into your pouting mouth.

Chuckling at your eagerness, he filthily whispers that you could start by giving him the next part of his birthday gift, hmm? You nod breathlessly, unable to say no to your precious Maxie. He palms your juicy asscheeks with his large palms, squeezing at your flesh greedily. Soon enough he’s fingering your tight, winking hole from above you, telling you to hold your asscheeks apart for him as he messily spits right over where he plans to fuck you. Just the tip, right, Maxie? You repeat again, feeling unsettled with not knowing what he was doing behind you, when he stopped to stare at your cute little hole for a few minutes. Your blushing face is still buried into the cushions as your nails dig into your bouncing ass and hold it apart for him. I've never had anything...inside there before, you say, cheeks warming. So you can't stretch it out, okay, I read that it-

Yeah, yeah baby Max says distractedly, hypnotised by your inviting tight hole that is filling him with a growing desire to ruin it every passing second. Whatever you say. Dousing himself in lube from the supply he keeps stashed in between the couch cushions, he approaches you from behind, his erect cock standing stiff as you jiggle your hips. His tip nudges against your back entrance, making you moan excitedly at foreign but tingly feeling. Then he’s thrusting his leaking cockhead in and out of your hole, and you’re babbling incoherently, your face turned to the side as you gasp mouthfuls of air. Oh, it feels sooo good, mmhhh, yes Maxie-

He growls approvingly at your desperate whining, smacking your red asscheeks again and again to make them bounce. Feels amazing, right baby? he hums into your ear, pressing his abs down against your back. The new position makes his cock accidentally slide in just a little more and you arch your back more when the tingly feeling gets stronger as he slips a large hand around to toy with your sensitive clit. You’ll let me put in just a little bit more, right baby? Max whispers huskily, his hungry eyes taking in your drooling, fucked out face. You were in so much bliss he doubts you’d be able to say no to anything he asked for. O-ok, a little bit more- Ohh! Oh fuck!

You cry out as he doesn’t hesitate to slip inside you even further. It’s a good thing you can’t see the filthy mess behind you because Max has bullied an easy third of his rigid, veiny shaft inside your gummy walls. He groans against the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he praises how good you take his fat cock, better than any of his girlfriends. He knows just what to say to have you seeing stars as he continues to shove more and more of himself into your tight hole. Fuck schat, giving me the best birthday treat ever, I’m gonna be addicted.

You’re on Cloud 9-, pink tongue poking out of your mouth and drooling all over the cushion, pretty doe eyes rolled all the way back as Max pounds into your all too willing body. You can barely reply coherently when he croons that he’s just gonna slide a bit more in, that’s right, just like that, you can take it for him, right?

His whole cock is buried inside your ass now, beads of sweat running own his toned abs. And soon you’re screaming his name as he greedily fucks you, grunting with pleasure at each thrust. You can only cross your fingers and hope none of your friends come back from the club early.

—————————————————————————

A/N: back to my old FILTHY ways after writing a 9.5K mafia fic just to give u all whiplash will finally be posting part 2 of earned it v soon with dedicated hot husband max hehehe 😝

[dollzites]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ “YOU’RE INSANELY ADORABLE LIKE THIS”

୨ৎ pairing: boyfriend!seunghyun x fem reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff! slight suggestiveness

୨ৎ from myeong: ahhhh!! my first ever love. I’m so happy to be writing for him. thank you for requesting and I hope you can enjoy x

a soft sigh left your lips when you turned to look towards the smaller clock that was neatly placed on the wall, something that seunghyun just had to have for some odd reason. something about ‘it makes the room pop!’ which you never understood his artistic ways. all that mattered to you was him coming home soon from his long hours of shooting for squid game season 2. although you were insanely excited about this opportunity he had to come back into the spotlight and show off his acting skills, you missed him dearly. finding yourself going through your camera roll of all the pictures you’d taken of him mostly off guard doing whatever it was that he enjoyed doing and some of them he took of himself on your phone just so you could have them—which was your favorite. a smile tugging at your lips when you heard the familiar sound of the passcode being punched in and you knew it was him. quickly turning off your phone and tossing it to the side you lifted your body and ran towards the door where he would be coming in at, slightly jumping up and down from the excitement that was running through your veins. getting a glimpse of his tired eyes your lips formed a frown but was quickly turned upside down when he smiled at you, shyness coming over you.

“well? is my girl gonna come hug me or not?” and without another word spoken you ran into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist knowing that he would catch you and keep you safe within those strong arms you adored so much. what seunghyun loved the most about you was your caring, affectionate, and shy personality. although you two had been together for almost a year now it was something new with him every single day and that’s what kept the relationship alive and well. you both learned something new about each other and so far? his favorite? was your shyness. you kept your face hidden in the warmth of his neck while his hands stayed put on your waist. feeling him take off his shoes and walk into the living room where you just were moments before. he took a seat on the couch and leaned back against the soft cushion with a sigh, gently pulling on you to look at him.

“you know I like it when I can see your face, hm? you’re being so shy right now.. missed me?” all you did was nod but kept your arms wrapped around his neck, wanting to keep close to him as much as you could. taking in your favorite scent of his cologne and shampoo. “I missed you so much. I know you’ve been busy shooting but I can’t help but to miss you and need you here with me.” you softly whispered not even wanting to say such a thing in the first place. his deep chuckle filled the room and you whined in response knowing he was about to tease you for being such a needy girl. slowly but surely you finally lifted your head to look at him which was a mistake because once your eyes found his beautiful large ones it felt like you were stuck. couldn’t move but it was the greatest feeling. every single time you were like this and all you could feel was shyness and embarrassment come over you. seunghyun knew it and lifted a large hand to cradle your face keeping you right where he wanted you to be, “you’re insanely adorable like this.” is all he said before leaning in to press his lips against your own in a sweet but passionate kiss. your smaller hands found his warm wrists and held onto them tightly as if he would disappear once you let go. once he pulled away you went to hide your face in his neck again but he quickly stopped you from doing so and that’s when you felt his warm soft lips against your neck. you squirmed from the feeling and he kept you in place on his lap.

“stop squirming silly, you’re so cute did you know that? such a cute girl. you’re my girl. all mine and only I can make you like this.” he said in between kisses that he continued to place against your neck, which was correct—only seunghyun could make you feel this shyness. “seunghyun..” is all you could say not wanting to embarrass yourself any further and that’s all he needed to hear to stop and stare at you for a few moments wanting to take in the cuteness that he was seeing. it only made you feel more flustered and shy and he knew that, that’s why he did such a thing. looking away from him he quickly grabbed ahold of your jaw and forced you to look at him again his head shaking with a slight ‘tsk’ leaving his lips. “want to see my cute girls face. especially when you’re so flustered like this.” is all he said before pulling you into another kiss, lifting you and himself off of the couch and heading into your shared bedroom.

[incognit0slut]

Doctor Reid

PART 2 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Established Relationship Your boyfriend finally agrees to indulge in your fantasy by playing a very different kind of doctor, but on his own terms.

Content: (18+) 4k, roleplay, lingerie, finger sucking, nipple play, fingering, female oral, edging, soft!dom as per usual and him being what you guys like to call ‘a little shit’ a/n: season 12 Spencer can stay between my thighs all day every day. also, i have no knowledge on any medical terms this is just ✨vibes✨

10:34 AM

The box was heavier than you’d expected. It had been weeks since you’d ordered it—weeks of wondering if this would even get here without some awkward explanation. You’d agonized over every little detail, scrolling through pages of different costumes, wondering which stethoscope looked the most real.

And now it was finally here.

You didn’t waste a second. Your fingers worked quickly, ripping through the tape and cardboard until the contents spilled out. A crisp, folded white coat with perfectly pressed lapels and a stethoscope. And it was a real one, with cool metal tubing that felt heavy and authentic in your hand. Everything looked even better than you’d imagined.

You barely took the time to fold back the box flaps before hurrying to the next room, where your boyfriend sat comfortably on the couch, idly thumbing through a book.

“Spencer!” Your voice practically sang in excitement. “It’s here!”

He glanced up and lowered his book. "What's here?"

You grinned, bouncing on your toes as you closed the distance between you. "The doctor is officially in," you declared, holding up the white coat like a trophy, the stethoscope dangling from your other hand.

You watched as realization dawned across his face as he blinked a few times, processing the items in your hands, before letting out a soft, amused huff.

"Wow," he said slowly. "You really went all out."

"Of course I did,” you affirmed, grinning from ear to ear as you held the coat up to his chest, sizing him up as though he were already playing the part. “And it’s perfect.”

He leaned back into the couch, trying to put some distance between him and your infectious enthusiasm. “You know I’m not much of an actor.”

“Baby,” you drawled out, emphasizing the pet name with that affectionate tone you knew worked like a charm on him. It was the same sweet voice you used when you wanted something, the kind that could coax just about anything from him. “You’re not trying to win the Oscars, it’s sex. I promise you’ll like it.”

He shook his head like he was the most put-upon boyfriend in the world, letting out a mock sigh of exasperation, though the faint smile playing at the corners of his lips betrayed him. He closed his book and set it aside.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said at last, dragging the word out as though it physically pained him to say it. “If we do this on my own terms.”

“Your own terms? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see. And,” he reached out, pinching the collar of the coat between his fingers. “I’m not wearing that.”

You pouted. “What, you don’t want to look like a real doctor?”

“I think I can pull it off without the costume.” He flashed you a smile. “I’m technically still a doctor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Your multiple doctorates don’t exactly qualify you for this, Doctor Reid.”

“I thought having six degrees would be enough for anything.”

“Too bad none of them is needed now,” you shot back, poking a finger at his chest playfully. “The role I’m thinking of requires a different kind of expertise. More…” You paused, pretending to mull it over, “Hands-on. Less theoretical.”

The laugh he let out was short and incredulous, his eyebrows raising as if he couldn’t believe your persistence. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

You sighed dramatically. “Babyyyy.”

“You know, one of these days that tone isn’t going to work on me.”

“Oh, please, you love it,” you taunted, leaning in closer. “And don’t act like you’re not curious about this.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head, weighing the pros and cons, debating just how far he’d let you push him. And then there it was, that spark in his eyes. Faint but undeniable—the one that told you he was already half convinced, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Alright, fine,” he finally conceded. “I’ll play along.”

The grin you wore was at least a mile wide as you shoved the stethoscope into his hand.

1:52 PM

“Okay. I’m ready.”

Spencer looked up from his stack of papers, and as soon as he saw you standing there, dressed in nothing but lacy lingerie that clung to every curve, his mouth fell open. He blinked, trying to process the sight. Because yes, while you looked incredibly sexy, he was still baffled.

“Since when does a patient wear... that?"

You stepped closer, letting his eyes follow your every move as you shrugged with a hint of feigned innocence in your smile. "Well, I thought I'd save you some time, you know? Make it easier for your examination."

"Mm-hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his desk. "I'm not so sure this is standard procedure. I think you might be bending the rules here."

"Maybe. But I'm sure Doctor Reid can make a special exception, right?“

You shifted slightly, arching your back just enough to draw his attention. His eyes dropped to your chest, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he noticed the way your nipples strained against the sheer, barely-there fabric of your lingerie. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile, but it broke through anyway. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.

“Of course,” he finally replied. “I think I can be persuaded.”

With that, he leaned forward, sweeping his documents to the side in one smooth motion, before patting the now-cleared space on the desk in front of him.

“Take a seat, Miss,” he said, his voice turning low and authoritative that lit a spark of excitement inside you. “Let’s get started.”

You bit your bottom lip, fighting back a grin as the cool wood of the desk pressed against the backs of your thighs. You watched Spencer stand up and slip between your legs, his hands finding your knees and spreading them just enough to close the distance until the heat of his body was flushed against yours.

“So, tell me,” he started, his voice lowering as he fell into the role. “What seems to be the problem today?”

A flutter of nerves danced in your stomach, and suddenly you were very aware of what was happening. You’d initiated this—had begged for it, even—but it was something entirely different now that Spencer was towering over you. The confidence you’d felt earlier wavered for just a moment as his palms ran slowly up your thighs.

“I, uh,” your voice faltering slightly as his hands continued their slow journey. “I… I haven’t been feeling well.”

His fingers brushed lightly against the frills of your lingerie, teasing the lace between his fingers as he maintained eye contact. “Any symptoms I should know about? Dizziness? Shortness of breath?”

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb traced small circles over the fabric. “All of the above.”

“I see.” His eyes flickered down to your lips. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

Slowly, you parted your lips, and the moment you did, Spencer’s hand came up to your chin. He tilted your head back gently, exposing the graceful line of your throat.

“I’m going to run a few tests now.” He paused, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “It might feel intense, but I need you to stay relaxed and follow my instructions. Can you do that, Miss?”

You nodded as best as you could, mouth still open, and he gave you a small, approving smile.

“Stick your tongue out for me, just a little bit.”

You followed his instructions, extending your tongue just far enough to meet his touch. His eyes gleamed with focus as he brought his thumb to your mouth, pressing it lightly against your tongue.

“Hm,” he hummed, his eyes still fixed on your mouth like he was about to make a serious diagnosis. “I think I might be starting to see the problem here. But I need to check one more thing. Can you close your mouth around my finger?”

You complied, your lips wrapping around his thumb, feeling the rough pad of it pressing down on your tongue.

“Good,” he sighed, the approval in his voice like a reward in itself. “Now try giving it a gentle suck.”

You could feel the tension rising in you. Your cheeks hollowed as you did what he asked, and you couldn’t help but think back to the hesitation in his voice earlier, the way he’d claimed he wasn’t sure about this, that he wasn’t good at playing roles. You would’ve laughed if your mouth wasn’t occupied.

But you were an obedient patient, after all. You started sucking lightly, feeling the weight of his thumb resting against your tongue. There was something undeniably arousing about how he watched you, eyes heavy with focus, and that steady weight of his finger as he pretended to assess your reaction.

The first rush of arousal made itself known between your legs. You gradually increased the pressure, and before you knew it, you were bobbing your head. But just as you fell into a steady rhythm, his hand tightened on your chin to stop you.

“Just as I suspected,” he murmured after a moment, pulling his thumb away slightly to speak. “You’re suffering from an acute sensitivity.”

You swallowed, eyes wide as you played along, trying to keep your composure despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Is… is that serious?”

“I’ll need to do a further examination to understand the extent of your condition,” he mused, his eyes flickering between your face and your body as if assessing you before he straightened up slightly. “Let’s check your vitals now.”

He reached behind you, fingers brushing your lower back as he grabbed the stethoscope that had been sitting on the desk all day, the one you’d practically begged him to use. His expression turned serious, as though he were truly diagnosing you, and he leaned in close, pressing the flat side of the stethoscope against the pulse point on your neck.

“Deep breaths,” he instructed softly. You inhaled sharply, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest as the cool metal made contact with your skin. “Your heart rate is definitely elevated.”

He moved the stethoscope lower, brushing it along your collarbone, before pressing it just above your heart. You felt the thump, thump, thump of your pulse echo through the metal.

“Definitely fast,” he noted. “We might need to find out what’s causing such a reaction.”

And before you could respond, without warning, he moved the stethoscope lower, pressing the cold metal against your nipple. You let out a soft, involuntary moan as the sensation caught you off guard.

“Ah,” he muttered, tilting his head as if he were genuinely analyzing your response, his thumb grazing the lace-covered peak around the stethoscope. “I think we’ve found one of the pressure points.”

You watched as his fingers trailed up to the edge of your lingerie, dragging his knuckles along the lace before he tugged the fabric down, letting your breast spill free. Without a word, he pressed the stethoscope directly against your bare nipple. The sudden contact made you jolt, your back arching as a quiet whimper slipped from your lips, and your nipple hardened instantly under the cold metal.

“Heightened sensitivity to stimuli.” He moved the stethoscope in small circles. “Very, very responsive.”

His eyes flickered down as he used his free hand to tug down the other side of your lingerie, exposing your other breast. You tried to keep your cool, tried to pretend like his touch wasn’t turning you inside out, but it was getting harder by the second. And God, he knew it. The way he played with your other nipple, rolling it slowly between his thumb and forefinger like he had all the time in the world, was enough to make your thoughts scatter.

You tried so hard to keep your composure, but then he gently pinched and tugged on your sensitive nub, and a soft, breathy whine escaped your lips before you could stop it. With a satisfied grin, he pulled away.

You blinked, momentarily dazed. “What—?” you breathed out. “Why did you stop?”

“Medical procedure,” he said simply, his tone so casual it almost made you forget the heat of his touch moments earlier. “It’s important to give the patient time to stabilize.”

You shot him a bewildered, almost exasperated look that said are you serious right now? But he just smiled that slow, self-assured smile of his. He was clearly enjoying this far too much.

“We’re doing this my way, remember?”

You huffed in mock annoyance. “Really? That’s how we’re playing this?”

He brushed his lips on your shoulder. “That’s how we’re playing."

5:22 PM

“Doctor Reid?”

Spencer glanced up from where he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. He raised an eyebrow, casually stirring a hefty amount of sugar, the spoon clinking softly against the mug. “Hmm?”

The coolness of the counter pressed against your back as you watched him. “I think it’s getting worse.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just let his gaze rake over you, taking note of the way the thin fabric of your lingerie clung to your skin.

“Worse, how?” he finally asked, setting his mug down.

“It’s… spreading.”

“Spreading?” He mused. “Where, exactly?”

“Everywhere.” Your fingers nervously toyed with the hem of your lingerie, lifting it just enough to show a glimpse of bare skin beneath. “I really need your help, Doctor.”

His eyes immediately zeroed in on the sliver of skin you revealed. You watched as the realization flashed across his face. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was fighting back a satisfied smirk, and you knew then that he’d taken the bait—he had to confirm just how bare you really were.

“Come here,” he ordered softly. He stepped back from the counter just enough to make space. “If it’s spreading, I have to conduct a full-body assessment.”

You slowly made your way to him with shaky legs.

“Up,” he instructed, giving the counter a gentle pat before letting his hands settle on your hips. “Sit.”

The cool marble touched the backs of your thighs as you hoisted yourself up. Then, without warning, Spencer’s hands were on your legs. He grabbed your calves, and before you could even catch your breath, he maneuvered your knees apart, placing the palms of your feet flat onto the countertop.

His eyes dropped between your legs, and the sight of you completely bare, your pussy lips glistening under the dim light, confirmed what he’d suspected. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he took in every detail, the way you were flushed, open, and dripping.

“Is there a reason,” he began slowly, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft, detached tone. “Why you’re not wearing anything underneath?”

“I… I thought it might make the examination easier.”

He smiled. “How considerate.”

Then with painstaking slowness, Spencer used both thumbs to part your folds, spreading you open completely to his gaze. It was almost clinical, the way he did it, as if he were studying you like some fascinating experiment. And it was working. You could feel the heat of embarrassment rushing in your veins. God, he had you spread open like this in your kitchen counter, and all you could think was how absolutely shameless this was.

He took his time, of course. Because why wouldn’t he? Spencer Reid didn’t rush experiments. No, he would spend all the time in the world analyzing, learning, committing every detail to memory. And right now, that focus was on you. He dragged his fingertips through your arousal, spreading it leisurely over your folds like he was testing its consistency, as if that slick heat was something he could measure and quantify.

And all you could do was hold your breath.

“I have to say,” he started again, his voice low and taunting as his fingers slid back and forth slowly, grazing just over your entrance without actually dipping inside. “You’re overly lubricated. Are you always like this?”

You exhaled a long breath, trying to steady the rapid rhythm of your heart. “Y-Yes.”

Spencer's smile deepened, his gaze never leaving your face as he pressed just a bit harder, testing your reaction. “Interesting. Do you get this wet from just a little touch, or does it have to be… more?”

“J-Just a little,” you admitted, hips instinctively shifting toward his fingers.

“Mmm,” he hummed approvingly, and finally—finally—he let his finger slide just inside your entrance, only to stop right there, buried to the first knuckle. He didn’t move any further. “Is that all it takes? Or do you need more to truly feel the effects?”

“I...” You let out a whimper when his finger twitched inside you. "M-More."

“And how much more, exactly? One finger? Two?”

“Two,” you gasped, every coherent thought slipping away under his touch. “Two… Doctor.”

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips, and without another word, he obliged, slipping a second finger inside you. The stretch made you bite back a moan as you felt every inch of him dragging against your inner walls. You couldn’t help the way your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers, pulling him deeper as your slick arousal coated every thrust.

“You’re even more responsive than I thought,” he noted, adjusting his angle to brush against that sensitive spot inside you. “Your partner must enjoy this… a lot.”

He was playing his role all too well. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as his speed picked up. "He... He does," you breathed out. "He—he loves it."

Spencer hummed thoughtfully. "Good," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "Because this is a very special condition that requires a great deal of attention. And I'm sure that you need all the attention you can get, don't you?"

“Yes,” you sighed, nodding frantically as the pleasure built in steady waves. “I… I need it.”

"I thought so. Patients with your symptoms typically respond very well to intensive treatment."

With that, his fingers began to thrust deeper, faster, harder. The sensation of his long fingers stretching you had you moaning as you felt every drag, every inch while he continued to work you open. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more intense, he pressed a thumb firmly against your clit.

“Oh, fuck.”

He circled your swollen nub in slow, delicious patterns, and your body clenched around his fingers. This was it. You could feel it. The way your pulse pounded in your ears, the heat pooling deep in your core, every sensation building higher and higher. You could feel that sweet, sweet edge approaching, so close you could practically taste it—

And then he stopped.

Everything. Stopped.

“Spencer!”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t rush to soothe the ache in your body. He simply slid his fingers out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“Open your mouth.”

You parted your lips, and he slipped his fingers inside, letting you taste yourself. The mix of your own slick and the heat of his skin made you moan softly, your tongue swirling around his fingers

“You see, you can be very responsive,” he commented in a low, measured tone. “But I think we should take a break, rushing the treatment would only compromise the results.”

He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like he wasn’t purposefully doing this to drive you insane. You wanted to laugh, and you did. But it was a defeated, breathless sort of laugh around his fingers, because you knew the man settled between your thighs still held all the power over you.

08:56 PM

“Babe?”

He laughed softly, not even glancing up from the book he was reading. “No more Doctor?”

You ignored the amusement in his voice as you walked up to the bed where he lay sprawled out, so casually composed, flipping another page like he hadn’t spent the entire day driving you mad. You reached the edge of the mattress, shadow casting over him, and his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours.

“I wanna cum.”

Spencer’s smile widened, the kind that made your stomach flip with both excitement and irritation, and he placed the book down beside him. His hand reached out lazily to brush your thigh.

“Yeah?” he drawled, tilting his head to the side. “Does my sweet girl want to be taken care of?”

You nodded eagerly. “Please.”

“Well, I do like it when you ask nicely,” he muttered, one hand sliding up to grip your waist. “And you’ve been very patient all day.”

“I have.”

“I think you deserve it.”

“I do.”

He let out an amused laugh. “Alright, lay down on the bed.”

You didn’t hesitate. You quickly shifted, lying back against the pillows. Spencer’s hands were on you immediately, gripping your thighs and dragging you toward the edge of the mattress. The room spun for a moment when he settled onto his knees. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, his fingers squeezing your calf as he pressed a soft, teasing kiss against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Comfortable?”

You nodded, and just as the breath left your lungs, his fingers brushed against the slick, wet folds of your pussy. He traced the outline of your lips gently, gathering the moisture that had been building all day.

“Poor baby,” he cooed sympathetically, his breath ghosting over your wetness. And just when you thought you couldn’t take another moment of teasing, he pressed his tongue flat against you and licked a long strip from your entrance to your clit.

A desperate whine escaped your lips. “Please…”

Spencer didn’t miss a beat. He licked another long, languid strip to your clit, swirling his tongue around it before flattening it again, dragging slowly just to savor the way you trembled beneath him. One of his hands gripped your thigh firmly, keeping your leg steady over his shoulder, while the other slid underneath, lifting your hips closer to his mouth.

And when he finally wrapped his lips around your clit again, pulling it into his mouth with a gentle suck, a choked moan tore from your throat.

“Spencer,” you whimpered. “Oh god…”

The vibration of his low groan reverberated through you. His fingers gripped your thighs tightly, holding you open and pinned beneath him. You weren’t sure what was more overwhelming. The sensation of his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit or the wet, obscene sounds of him slurping against your soaked folds. Either way, it was driving you wild, pushing you closer and closer to that edge where everything blurred and all you could do was feel.

And then his tongue shifted, dipping lower to probe your entrance. He pushed inside, exploring, seeking, like he was determined to reach every possible inch of you. And damn it, it felt like he could. Each thrust and twist of his tongue sent a surge of delicious heat through your body, and you couldn’t help the way your thighs trembled against his shoulders, squeezing him tighter.

You could barely breathe as the tension coiled tighter, so fucking tight you thought you might snap. And he knew it—he could feel it, the way your walls clenched around his tongue, the way your thighs trembled against his shoulders. And still, he didn’t let up, thrusting his tongue into you deeper, faster, while his nose rubbed insistently against your clit.

He kept going, over and over, tasting you like you were the only thing that could satisfy his hunger. It was too much and yet not enough, and soon you couldn’t stop the desperate chant of his name spilling from your lips. You weren’t even sure what you were pleading for anymore—more? mercy?—all you knew was that you on the brink of falling apart.

One last stroke was enough to shatter you completely.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly you came, but with the way he was working you over, you didn’t stand a chance. The moment you felt yourself tip over, everything broke—your body tensed, your back arched sharply off the bed, and a loud moan tore from your lips. It was like your body had a mind of its own, hips grinding desperately against his mouth as if seeking every last bit of friction you could steal.

And when you finally came down, you were a breathless, panting mess. Spencer gave your clit one final, teasing suck, before he pulled back. He crawled up your body, hands sliding up your sides to push your lingerie higher. Gentle, warm kisses tickled your stomach as he threw you a smug look that only he could pull off.

“How was that,” he murmured, pausing to kiss just beneath your ribs. “For your little fantasy?”

Mind-blowing. Intense. Better than I imagined.

“Well,” you managed to say, fingers tangling into his hair. “If that’s how you plan on treating me, Doctor, I might just have to get sick more often.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin, and he nipped gently at your side.

“I think it’s best for you to do a regular check-up, then,” he teased, letting his lips ghost over your skin as he crawled further up, settling his body over yours. “Doctor’s orders.”

You couldn’t stop the soft, breathless laugh that escaped your lips as you pulled him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his mouth.

You’d be more than happy to comply.

[nickmarini]

Ayden’s Build 

TL;DR: Barbarian 1, Druid  2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 8 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 9 (Peace Domain). Feats: Squire of Solamnia, Remarkable Recovery, Warcaster, Knight of Crowns, Spelldriver, Tough.

Building Ayden was a joy and a journey. To begin we were told we had 20 levels to work with and stats of 20 across the board. The only thing I knew about Ayden from the session 0 was that he was going to be a Cleric of the Everlight and that I wanted to make him the best support character I could. I also knew that the Dawnfather was aware of the mission briefing and so would have directed his growth to the task at hand. 

Stats of 20 meant multiclassing into any class was possible and that any ability score based bonuses or proficiency based abilities were going to be very good. I figured that with a warlock and a sorcerer we’d have some pretty good counterspelling and 9th level spell access, so I didn’t worry myself about either of those, instead focusing on making sure we all survived. 

The Dawnfather and The Everlight share 2 of 3 Domains. Life and Light. The Everlight’s 3rd domain is Peace. The Peace Domain cleric is an excellent subclass and its 6th level ability, Protective Bond, was something I knew I wanted to build around. The ability to take hits for, and aid, my siblings while teleporting around the battlefield is an excellent support ability and it also lets allies in the bond do the same, fostering sibling unity and cohesion.

With the Dawnfather having Nature as his unique domain separate from the Everlight, and literally sending himself to Exandria to infiltrate a city full of the greatest mages of the age, the Oath of Ancients Paladin seemed like an obvious path. It is the nature Paladin, (his domain) and 7 levels gives you both Aura of Protection and Aura of Warding. This means as Ayden moves through the battlefield with Protective Bond he will be granting allies +5 to saves from his cha as well as resistance to damage from spells. Incredibly good going up against the wizards of Aeor he knew he would encounter. I didn’t want to go to 10 with Paladin because I didn’t want to be immune to frightened. I just felt that fear played too large a role in the reasons the gods were here and although aura of courage is probably my favorite ability going back to 3rd edition, I felt like it wasn’t right for Ayden. He had to fear in order to reinforce his need to hope. 

These two classes were set relatively quickly and then I began looking at how else I was going to build him out. 

I really liked the idea of being able to grant my allies some extra attacks and so I was looking at battle master to get commanders strike and goading attack as well as maneuvering attack to help take hits for and position my allies. Action Surge is also a great ability that could really come in handy if I needed to save someone and needed one extra action to do so. 

I was also looking at the 2nd level Divination Wizard ability Portent. The ability to fully dictate 2 rolls is very powerful in certain circumstances, especially if the numbers are very high or very low.

Both these seemed good but weren’t feeling totally right from a character perspective. They felt too forced.

As I was playing around with these two classes I was also building Aydens backstory. I really liked the idea of him being agriculturally focused, as this aspect of the Dawnfather is actually his youngest. Sun begets days, and thus time and seasons, and as civilization evolves agriculture follows. The fighter levels lent the idea that he has spent some time training under a knight or some such warrior, and I knew that he would eventually find his way to Trist to begin his tutelage and become her cleric. I liked there being these different eras of his life. 

It was around this time that I got an awesome email asking me to describe Ayden visually so that the incredibly talented Hannah Friederichs and Cael Lyons could begin to bring Ayden and the Dawnfather to life. I wanted Ayden to be a simply dressed with a shield he took from his mentor, but no sword for striking. They sent 4 sketches and told me I could mix and match as I desired. Image #1 however was exactly as I had envisioned him. It was the simplest and had this depth to his eyes that told the story of a much older soul in this 15 year old body. It was so perfect that it made me realize I had been going in the totally wrong direction with fighter and wizard. The concepts of nature and agriculture were suddenly staring me in the face. It was not wizard, but druid, and his mentor could have taught him to be a paladin as easily as fighter, but if he is the bringer of agriculture who has he brought it to? A remote tribe still hunting and gathering was the answer. Barbarian therefore replaced fighter. I can’t tell you how influential the sketch I received was. It felt like a bolt of lightning suddenly clarified everything. 

I was for sure cleric 6, Paladin 7 and now looking at druid and barbarian. 

I didn’t know Druid subclasses very well but Circle of the Stars jumped out from the pack just with its name. The Sun after all is a star. When I read its 2nd level abilities Starmap and Starry form it was so obvious. I can cast Guiding Bolt to set up those attacks I wanted to grant, and I can glow instead of wild shape and either heal more or have a massive bonus to maintain the concentration spells I knew I wanted to cast. For the keeper of time to know how to read the stars just felt right. It also feel right that the druids of a tribe that had been hunting and gathering during the tumultuous Calamity would have learned to navigate by the stars, a singular constant in an every changing age. 

Barbarian has a number of interesting subclasses but none felt like they clicked. 1 level of Barbarian though, for a character with 20 dexterity and 20 constitution, catapults your AC to 20 and it also gives you a proficiency in Constitution saving throws if you take it as your first class, again reinforcing those concentration rolls. He was found as a child by this barbarian tribe and his first class is also his first community. Barbarian was the strong foundation I would build upon. 

I was now Cleric 6, Paladin 7, Druid 2, Barbarian 1. Reorganized to be the order Ayden would have taken them in it becomes the following:

Barbarian 1, Druid  2 (Circle of the Stars), Paladin 7 (Oath of the Ancients), and Cleric 6 (Peace Domain)

4 more levels to distribute. As a player who has mostly played 3.5 (I think downfall just about doubled the amount of 5E I have played) feats are my absolute favorite things, so getting to multiples of 4 in class levels to grab some was something I wanted to do (also I didn’t have to worry about ability score increases)! I had already given one feat up by taking barb and druid but I made up for it with the human variant. I also took the Knight of Solamnia background to give me Squire of Solamnia, the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns which would give me the ability to grant attacks to my allies without needing battle maneuvers. 

So I upped paladin from 7-8 for a feat and then decided to take Cleric from 6-9 because it gave me a feat and access to the spell Dawn. I mean the Dawnfather should be able to cast Dawn after all! 

Now to feats

1) Background: Squire of Solamnia to give me the prerequisite for Knight of the Crowns

2) Human Variant: Remarkable Recovery. I knew I’d be taking extra damage so having 5 extra hp from any healing I get might just be the difference. It also plays into his background. He had to leave the Barbarian tribe he brought agriculture to because his skin could not retain the ceremonial tattoo ink that would have symbolized his initiation into the community. 

3) Cleric 4 Warcaster to get advantage on those concentration checks, that along with proficiency and starry form of the dragon means I need to take 28 damage (56 if it’s a spell) to even have to roll, and when I do I get advantage and proficiency on the check. Getting me to lose concentration is gonna be a task. 

4) Paladin 4 Knight of the Crown getting to grant an attack proficiency times per day combos wonderfully with Starmaps free guiding bolt, conveniently also proficiency times per day. 

5) Cleric 8 Spelldriver I’m gonna be casting a bunch of spells so the ability to cast multiple each turn is going to make my support spells come out much faster. I have a big fam to take care of!

6) Paladin 8 Tough I really went back and forth between this and Inspiring Leader. Granting all my siblings 25 temp hp is amazing but ultimately I decided that as I’d be tanking a bunch of damage I’d need toughness. Toughness gave me 15 more hp than Inspiring leader would have, and I ended up going down to 14 at one point so it was a decision that very much paid off by a single HP! Don’t wanna pop a deathward if you can help it!

Last but not least we were granted 2 magic items. One very rare and one uncommon. For my uncommon I chose a cloak of resistance, a parting gift from the tribe that Ayden could not join. This upped my saves to 11s or 17s and took my AC to 23. For his very rare magic item I took a spellguard shield, inherited from the knight who brought him from the remote tribe to Trist‘s school, giving me advantage on saving throws vs spells and magical effects and inflicting disadvantages on spell effects targeting me. Combine that with resistance to spells from Aura of Warding and that’s a nasty nasty combo v wizards. 

All in all Ayden’s build is an incredibly hard to target tanky support character who can move through the battlefield protecting his allies and being an absolute nightmare for enemy spellcasters. The only thing I really didn’t fully consider was just how much damage he would take from Warding Bond which totally bypasses all those wonderfully crafted defenses. As crazy as it is, I think we barely got to scratch the surface of Aydens full potential and it’s probably good those mages decided to cast spells at everyone else because Ayden was going to be a tough character for a spell caster to crack. The Commanding Rally did get to shine allowing characters who specialized in weapon attacks to get a little extra out of those 20 level commitments. Ayden’s build was crafted to keep his siblings alive and let them shine as bright as possible together. I’m very proud of him!

If you read all this then you’re as nerdy as me and deserve a reward!