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hoshifighting · 10 months ago

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Ways to Have a Man in the Palm of Your Hand.

— Synopsis: In the flow of uncertainty that defined your situationship with Mingyu, you decide to take action, making Mingyu start chasing after you like a loyal puppy. — WC: 3.9k — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, begging on knees, oral (f. receiving), fingering– he watches reader fingering herself, handjob, dick riding, penetrative sex, humiliating, manipulation and etc.

Your life connected with Mingyu's since you both first met through your groups of friends, and a situationship had emerged between you two. It was just sex, with no strings attached and no promises made.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became challenging to keep your heart safe from the unpredictable tides of emotion.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel special. He'd surprise you with homemade dinners, he was attentive, considerate, and made sure to put your self-esteem on the highest with his skillful photography.

The tall and good-looking guy wasn't just amazing during sex; he was an enigma that both fascinated and frustrated you. Mingyu could vanish for days, leaving you on blue. But just as you were about to write him off, he'd resurface, as if nothing had happened. It was a maddening cycle, and yet, you found yourself caught in its web.

Mingyu: Hey! Been swamped asf with work lately. Let's grab coffee or something stronger soon? Let me know when you're free!

You couldn't help but scoff as you read Mingyu's message. His casual tone and nonchalant invitation stirred a mix of irritation and amusement within you. Swiftly typing a response, you questioned his unpredictable appearances.

You: Are you planning on always popping up out of nowhere like this?

Mingyu: I always come back, don't I? So, when are we catching up darling?

Despite the inner conflict and your ego's warning signals, there was an undeniable allure to Mingyu's charm. His words, laced with playfulness, had a magnetic effect that bypassed rational thoughts. With a sigh, you found yourself succumbing to the familiar pull.

The room was filled with the echoes of skin slapping as you both lay on Mingyu's bed, your eyes locked as you two moaned out loud, the crescendo of pleasure punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall.

Mingyu lays beside you, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies. You rose from the tangled sheets, picking up your scattered clothes. Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, an intensity that betrayed a deeper connection than the situationship allowed.

"I really like spending time with you Y/N"

"Me too Gyu."

[...]

Seungkwan leaned in "Okay, spill. What's the latest drama with Mingyu?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Honestly, I can't figure him out. It's like a cycle. We talk every day for a month, hang out, fuck, and then poof! He disappears for a week or more. I don't get it."

Seungkwan chuckled knowingly. "You know, maybe you should try something. Do the same to him, but take it up a notch. Make him miss you even more."

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly taken aback. "Seungkwan, I'm not into playing games or being spiteful. It's not my style."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, hear me out. It's not about being spiteful. It's about making him realize what he's missing. Mingyu knows you'll always be there, right? So, he takes it for granted. Maybe he needs a taste of his own medicine."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Your mouth hung open as Seungkwan delivered his comprehensive lesson in the art of emotional tactics. The confidence in his advice left you both amazed and slightly apprehensive. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you finally asked the burning question.

"How on earth do you know all of this, Seungkwan?" you inquired, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seungkwan leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, my dear friend, when you've been in the game as long as I have and witnessed enough romantic dramas unfold, you start picking up on patterns. It's like a survival guide for the heart."

You raised an eyebrow, still processing the information. "Survival guide, huh? And all this contempt, playing hard to get, and hurting egos – that's your secret weapon?"

Seungkwan chuckled, "Not a secret weapon, sometimes, a little strategic move can make all the difference. Trust me, I've seen it all."

With Seungkwan's advice resonating in your mind like a strategic playbook, you approached the next phase of your relationship with Mingyu, with a newfound determination. It felt like diving into a complex homework assignment, each step carefully calculated to shift the dynamics in your favor.

As you decided to implement the first step, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. You stopped responding to Mingyu's messages immediately and resisted the urge to initiate contact. It felt strange at first, but there was a sense of power in reclaiming your time and not being at his beck and call. Mingyu's messages awaited your attention.

The challenge of making Mingyu realize he could lose you sparked a newfound determination. Your calendar filled up with plans that didn't involve Mingyu. Mingyu, accustomed to your constant availability, seemed to sense the change, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He might have been the object of desire for many hoes, but your indifference challenged his accustomed narrative.

After all, a man is not more important than your personal goals, right?

All while allowing Mingyu to observe your life unfolding without him. The realization that you were not waiting by the phone for him sparked a large curiosity.

Throughout the process, a mix of emotions surfaced. Doubt, at times, whispered in the back of your mind – was this the right approach? Seungkwan's advice, unconventional as it was, had brought a shift in Mingyu's behavior. Now, you wondered how Mingyu would respond to the transformed version of you – a person who refused to be taken for granted.

Mingyu's relentless messages flooded your phone. The janitor, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, discreetly shared the news of Mingyu's visits to your condominium entrance. Three times he had appeared, seeking a glimpse of you, only to be met with the absence of your presence, the deliberate distance, and the air of indifference were beginning to provoke a reaction from him.

You were determined to see this journey through, to understand whether Mingyu's renewed interest was genuine or a fleeting reaction to the perceived loss of control.

The persistent pings of Mingyu's messages had become a constant background noise in your life, infiltrating your workdays and even interrupting the serene moments of your brunches.

"Free today, Ms. Busy?"

"Pls respond to me. :(("

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Wtf…"

"Omggg, when are you going to answer me properly?"

"I'll invade your house."

"Y/N-ieeee, pleaseee!"

"I really want to see you right now."

"You make me so confused :("

The encounter at the pedestrian crossing unfolded in a scene of unexpected tension. Mingyu, spotting you in the midst of your Sunday morning run with Seungkwan, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap that had grown between you. As you halted, waiting for the light to change, Mingyu approached, a mixture of eagerness and confusion etched across his face.

"Hey there! Fancy meeting you here," Mingyu greeted, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Seungkwan, standing beside you, looked on with a side-eyed glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped casually from his water bottle. As the pedestrian light shifted to green, you seized the moment to extricate yourself from the short encounter. "Sorry, Mingyu, I really need to finish my morning walk. Catch you later," you excused yourself, leaving Mingyu standing there, perplexed and surrounded by the bustling activity of the street.

He couldn't shake off the confusion – Why weren't you responding as before? Why weren't you as available as you used to be? Did you at least still like him? It dawned on Mingyu that the game had changed, and he wasn't sure if he understood the rules anymore. The pursuit, once fueled by the expectation of your constant availability, now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The reality of being just one among the many who sought your attention was a bitter pill to swallow.

[...]

The doorbell's unexpected chime disrupted the tranquility of your self-care routine, with moisturized skin and a mind ready for a cozy movie night, you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

As you swung the door open, the sulky face of Mingyu greeted you. A momentary pause hung in the air, your eyes meeting his in silent expectation. Before you could utter a word, Mingyu stepped inside, dropping to his knees and hugging your legs as if seeking solace.

Surprised by his sudden display of vulnerability, you widen your eyes, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. The door lingered ajar, and you managed to close it, arms crossed, a mixture of confusion and caution etched on your face.

Mingyu, still hugging your legs, looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice laden with remorse. "What did I do, Y/N? Why are you treating me like this? I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with a mix of confusion and regret. "I just… I don' understand. I miss you," he admitted, his voice trailing off.

Your initial surprise transformed into a mix of emotions – disbelief, a hint of empathy, and the need to assert your newfound boundaries. Crossed arms and a measured gaze met Mingyu's desperate expression. The sudden intrusion into your personal space prompted a silent assessment of the situation.

"What did you expect, Mingyu?" you countered, your voice steady but laced with the weight of unspoken questions. "You disappear, then reappear, and now you're kneeling in my living room. What's going on?"

"I messed up, okay? I thought I could keep things casual, but I didn't expect to feel like this. I miss the way things used to be between us." he confessed, his voice carrying a raw honesty.

"You ask me to come to your house, and then after you get what you wanted, you let me go. Do I look like a food delivery or something?" you confronted Mingyu, your words cutting through the charged silence that hung in the room.

Mingyu's eyes widened at your accusation, shock and a hint of hurt registering on his face. "No, no, no, Y/N, it wasn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and frustration evident in your expression. "It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient for you."

Mingyu, still on his knees, looked up at you, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want to push you. I thought you preferred it this way."

You sighed, the weight of the unresolved tension palpable. "Mingyu, I can't read your mind. If you want me to stay, you have to say it. Communication goes both ways."

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry. I'll do whatever you want. I didn't see you as just a fleeting thing, and I want to be present."

Mingyu's earnest apology hung in the air, a plea for understanding and a promise to change. As he laid his face on your bare thighs, expressing his sincere regret, you cut through the moment with a tsk sound, a dismissive gesture that left him wide-eyed and caught off guard.

"Poor boy, begging on his knees for attention. What a shame," you remarked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you observed his reaction.

Mingyu, his hands now gripping each side of your thighs, sat back on his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He hadn't anticipated this response, your playful teasing catching him off guard.

"You didn't see me as a fleeting thing?" you continued, your tone mockingly contemplative. "Well, Mingyu, this is quite a sight – you, on your knees, practically begging for my attention. I'd never do something like this."

His widened eyes met yours, uncertainty and a trace of embarrassment flickering in them. Mingyu's bit his lip, cheeks flushing deeper.

"I'll do whatever you want, Y/N. Just tell me," Mingyu replied, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you continued your teasing. "Oh, Mingyu-ah, the mighty one on his knees. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate what you have when it's not handed to you on a silver platter. Now, let's see if you can keep up with your promises."

As you spoke, Mingyu's cheeks continued to flush, a complex dance of emotions playing out on his face. "How can you forgive me?"

Mingyu's question hung in the air, a genuine plea for forgiveness. You paused, considering the weight of his words, before adopting a more serious tone.

"Get up," you instructed him, your voice carrying a command that seemed to catch him off guard.

Mingyu, without hesitation, rose to his feet from his submissive position. His eyes fixed on you. An arched eyebrow and a smirk played on your face, savoring the moment of dominance as you instructed him to follow you.

The atmosphere grew charged with anticipation as Mingyu attentively trailed behind you, his eyes inevitably drawn to your body covered only by a shirt. The click of your bedroom door signaled a shift in the dynamics, and when you turned to face him, his eagerness manifested in an attempted kiss.

Your finger halted his advance, a calculated pause preceding your question, "Do you think you deserve to kiss me?"

Mingyu, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and remorse, shook his head no. Your smirk deepened as you delivered a verdict that left him whimpering.

"Then you won't kiss me today."

A whimper escaped Mingyu's lips, a sound that echoed the frustration and desire that simmered beneath the surface. The unexpected turn of events had left him yearning for a connection, yet you, in your assertive control, denied him that solace.

As the tension hung in the air, Mingyu's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dynamics between you had taken a surprising turn, a power play that left both of you navigating the intricate threads of desire, forgiveness, and the consequences of a maybe – ex-complicated situationship.

With a commanding tone, you instructed Mingyu to kneel once again, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. He obeyed, sinking down to his knees with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. The air in the room crackled with a palpable tension as you laid down the terms.

"If you act like a good boy, maybe I'll forgive you," you declared, your voice carrying a hint of authority.

Mingyu nodded earnestly, a silent pledge to abide by your terms. As you proceeded to remove your shirt, next your pantie, allowing it to fall to the floor, the atmosphere became charged with a new layer of intensity.

"How much do you want this pussy Mingyu?" you inquired, the question hanging in the air as you observed Mingyu's reaction. His shoulders slumped, a subtle expression of desire and longing evident on his face.

"A lot," he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of need and surrender. Your legs spread open, an invitation too tempting, as he feels his mouth waters at the view.

"Open your mouth," you commanded Mingyu, your voice carrying an air of authority. He complied without hesitation, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

As he held his mouth open, you slid two fingers inside, the intimate contact a subtle exploration of boundaries and desire. Mingyu's tongue teased your fingers, a provocative dance that elicited a hiss from you.

"No teasing," you admonished, a note of warning in your voice. With a swift motion, you delivered a little slap to his chin as you withdrew your fingers from his mouth. The air crackled with a newfound tension, a moment that blurred the lines between control and submission.

Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows, as he watched your fingers slowly disappearing inside of your cunt, your fingers and your slick gushes out of you, and all he can do is watch. He sits patiently on his feet, watching your fingers leaving and entering your pussy in a too provocative rhythm. His bottom lip quivering to the desire of eating you out.

"Please Y/N…"

"What?''

"Please, let me eat you out, it looks so good…"

To tease him even more, you fastened your fingers, moaning while your cunt sounded like Mingyu's favorite song, wet, luscious, mouthwatering, appetizing, tempting. He cries out, his hands together on his lap. "Please, I beg you, I missed you so bad."

The room was charged with a blend of anticipation and surrender as you stopped, taking a moment to look at Mingyu's mournful face. The desire in his eyes was palpable, and the silent plea for what he had begged for lingered in the air.

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to fulfill his request. Mingyu, starved and eager, approached the task with a concentration that hinted at a deep desire to please you. As he held you with a gentle yet fervent touch, mouthing your pussy, licking you clean, his focus on your pleasure was unwavering. The way he clung to you conveyed a fear of losing you, made you mewl as he sucked your clit, you held onto the sheets, a silent anchor in the sea of sensations. Mingyu's devotion and the way he concentrated on your pleasure only intensified the building release within you. Like a wave, you're cumming all over his mouth and chin, he hums in response flickering your clit with his tongue.

"Enough." You breathe out, closing your legs. "Strip, and lay for me."

Mingyu rose from the floor, a determined look on his face, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort his knees might be feeling. The sounds of his clothing being discarded echoed in the room, punctuated by the soft thud as he settled onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his warm touch caressing your arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a hint of curiosity and desire lingering in the air.

"Don't touch me," you instructed Mingyu, your tone carrying a note of command as you climbed onto his lap. Leaving him momentarily frozen, his hands hovering in the air, uncertain of where to go.

The close proximity of his cock intensified the wetness between your thighs. Mingyu, eager and responsive, looked at you with a mix of desire and restraint, his hands now cautiously placed together on his chest.

The atmosphere crackled with a blend of dominance and submission as you straddled Mingyu, humping your wet pussy against his cock, your movements deliberate and provocative. His moans in response to your degrading words only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"Oh my god, look at you," you cooed, your voice a mix of mockery and desire. "I just stopped paying attention to you, and you came fucking begging me to talk with you. You're humiliating, Mingyu."

His moans, a symphony of pleasure and submission, filled the room. Mingyu's response to your degrading words conveyed a complex dance of desire and self-awareness. The acknowledgment that he deserved the degradation.

The room filled with a momentary hush as you sank your hips, Mingyu's length now fully inside. He shut his eyes, a silent surrender to the sensations that enveloped him.

The unspoken admission hung in the air—though you wouldn't openly admit it, there was a trace of longing, a subtle acknowledgment that, despite the complexities, you had missed him a little. The air became charged with a mix of desire and restraint as your hips rode him, his length fully fulfilling the connection between you.

His angry tip brushed against that special spot, sending a surge of pleasure through both of you, cause now, you were so tight around him. "I'm going to cum, f-fuck"

"You better not."

The charged atmosphere intensified as you edged Mingyu, denying him release, while simultaneously relishing in the control you held over his pleasure. He gasped for air, his eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to hold back as your dominating presence and the sensations of your movements threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hips moved with a purposeful intensity, driving him to the edge, and his body contorted in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The struggle was evident in the way his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that surged through him.

"I-I can't hold it anymore," he stuttered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

"If you cum, I will-"

The moment of release was inevitable. Mingyu's hot cum filled you, triggering your own orgasm, he cried out your name, making your wall clench harder around him.

As Mingyu managed a string of apologies, you allowed him to slide out of you, leaving his lap coated with both of your arousal, your legs damp with his seed.

The scoff echoed in the room, a mix of amusement and assertion. However, your actions spoke a different language. As you tighten your legs around the sides of Mingyu's legs, restraining his movement, your hands take control, pumping his cock fast. The focus on his red tip elicited a loud cry from Mingyu, his back lifting off the mattress in response to the overstimulation.

The wet sounds filled the bedroom as the intensity of your touch drove him to the edge. Mingyu's hands gripped the pillow beneath his head, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the whirlwind of sensations that consumed him.

As Mingyu's body trembled under the heightened sensations, he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen, a sensation he hadn't anticipated. The overwhelming intensity built up to a point where he couldn't contain it anymore. A primal scream tore from his lips, his body convulsing in the throes of another orgasm.

His cum pooled on his abdomen, a physical manifestation of the powerful release that coursed through him. You observed his trembling body, struck by the raw intensity of his response. Mingyu's reaction seemed to surpass any previous experiences, his vulnerability and ecstasy on display in a way you hadn't witnessed before.

"Sorry, I came without your permission…"

"Enough with the sorry's, Mingyu," you said with a soft smile. "Let's just take a bath."

As the warm water cascaded around you, cleansing away the external worries, you both found solace in the simplicity of the moment. Emerging from the bath, you lay on the bed alone, the silence speaking volumes. Mingyu, holding his shirt, stood in contemplation. His gaze met yours, and he released a breath he seemed to have been holding.

The room felt charged with unspoken emotions when Mingyu finally gathered the courage to ask, "Can we sleep together tonight? Can I stay here with you?"

His eyes held a lot of shyness, and for a moment, you felt a genuine change in the air. You bit your lip, a subtle smile playing on your lips. In response, you patted the bed twice, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Mingyu threw his shirt away with a smile, a blend of shyness and excitement. He settled on the bed, maintaining a cautious distance, uncertain about what the night held. Your gaze met his, and you turned to face him. His eyes sparkled, and with a newfound boldness, he closed the gap and hugged you tightly.

"Don't be away from me again," he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. And for the first time in those weeks, you let yourself savor the sweet taste of his pink soft lips, making him melt in response.

You smiled, your palms sliding gently along his back. The walls that once stood between you seemed to crumble as Mingyu embraced you, his actions speaking louder than any words. In that moment, it felt like a page turned, and a new chapter began.

Well, Seungkwan, you knew a lot. The five ways to have a man in the palm of your hand indeed.

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littleprinces · 7 days ago

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Day 6: Cheating Sex

Danielle x Male Reader

Day 6 Kinkvember

OC Reader

Tonight, I was meeting my best friend, Danielle, or Dani as we called her, at our favorite wine bar. As I stepped into the cozy atmosphere of the bar, I spotted Dani sitting at our usual table, her long chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders.

She looked up as I approached, her emerald eyes sparkling with warmth. "Hey, Jake" she said, her voice a soft melody. "You're right on time."

I smiled and sat down across from her. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," I replied, signaling the waiter for a bottle of our favorite Pinot Noir. As we clinked glasses, Dani's eyes never left mine. "To us," she said, her voice laced with a hint of mischief.

The wine flowed smoothly, and so did our conversation. Dani talked about her latest art project, her hands gesturing passionately as she described her vision. I listened intently, her enthusiasm infectious. However, as the night wore on, the conversation took a more intimate turn.

"You know, Jake," Dani said, her voice dropping to a low purr, "sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we were more than just friends."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, really? And what makes you think about that?"

She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. "Because sometimes, when you look at me, I see something more in your eyes. A hunger."

I chuckled, taking a sip of my wine. "You're playing with fire, Dani. We both know you have a boyfriend."

She shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. "So? A girl can have a little fun, can't she?"

The air between us was charged with tension. Dani's hand reached out, lightly tracing the back of my hand. "I think we should explore this, Jake. Just once. What do you say?"

I looked at her, her eyes pleading, her lips parted slightly. I couldn't deny the pull I felt towards her. "Alright, Dani. Let's explore this."

Later that night, we found ourselves in my apartment. The mood was electric, the anticipation palpable. Dani stood in the middle of my living room, her eyes locked onto mine. "What do you want to do, Jake?" she whispered.

I stepped closer, my voice low and commanding. "I want to see you, Dani. All of you."

She bit her lip, a shiver running down her spine. "And what if I say no?"

I smirked, my hands reaching for the hem of her dress. "You won't."

Slowly, I lifted her dress, revealing her smooth, toned legs. My hands explored her thighs, her body responding to my touch. "You're so beautiful, Dani," I murmured, my hands moving up to her hips.

She moaned softly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Jake... I've never done anything like this before."

I smiled, my fingers moving to the zipper of her dress. "Don't worry, I'll make it worth your while."

The dress slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Dani stood before me in a black lace bra and thong, her body a symphony of curves. I reached out, cupping her breasts, my thumbs brushing against her nipples. She gasped, her body arching into my touch.

"You like that, don't you?" I growled, my voice laced with desire.

She nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Yes... yes, I do."

I guided her to the bedroom, my mouth finding hers in a passionate kiss. Our tongues danced, exploring each other's mouths. I could taste the wine on her lips, sweet and intoxicating.

Dani's hands fumbled with my shirt, pulling it off. I kicked off my shoes and pants, standing before her in just my boxers. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of me, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

I led her to the bed, pushing her gently onto her back. I began to kiss her, starting at her neck, working my way down to her collarbone, her shoulders, her chest. My mouth found her nipple, sucking and nibbling through the lace of her bra.

Dani moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Jake... that feels so good."

I smiled against her skin, my hand moving to her other breast, pinching and rolling her nipple between my fingers. Her body writhed beneath me, her breath coming in short gasps.

I moved lower, my mouth finding the delicate skin of her stomach. My fingers hooked into the waistband of her thong, pulling it down slowly. Dani lifted her hips, helping me remove the last piece of clothing between us.

I settled between her legs, my mouth finding her pussy. She was already wet, her arousal coating my lips as I licked and sucked her clit. Dani's hips bucked, her hands gripping the sheets.

"Oh, God, Jake..." she moaned, her voice laced with pleasure. "That feels so good."

I continued to lavish attention on her clit, my fingers exploring her wetness. She was tight, her muscles clenching around my fingers as I slipped them inside her. I curled them, searching for that spot that would drive her wild.

Dani's moans grew louder, her body tensing as I brought her closer to the edge. "Jake... I'm going to come," she panted, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

I slowed my movements, letting her ride out the waves of pleasure. When she finally came down, she looked at me with dazed eyes. "That was... incredible."

I smiled, my cock throbbing with need. "And we're just getting started."

I positioned myself between her legs, my cock poised at her entrance. I looked into her eyes, a wicked grin on my face. "You ready for this, Dani?"

She nodded, her body trembling with anticipation. "Yes... yes, I'm ready."

I pushed inside her, her tightness enveloping me. We both moaned, our bodies adjusting to the new sensation. I started to move, slow and steady, letting her get used to the feel of me.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, my voice laced with concern.

Dani shook her head, her fingers digging into my back. "No... it feels full. So full."

I laughed, a low rumble in my chest. "Good. Because I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."

I picked up the pace, my cock sliding in and out of her with ease. Dani's moans filled the room, her body moving in sync with mine. "Faster, Jake... harder," she begged.

I obliged, my hips slamming into hers. The sound of our bodies coming together filled the room, a symphony of flesh on flesh. Dani's nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Yes... yes, like that... right there," she panted, her body tensing as another orgasm approached.

I could feel my own release building, my balls drawing up tight. I knew I wasn't going to last much longer. I reached between us, my fingers finding her clit. I rubbed it in tight circles, pushing her over the edge.

Dani screamed, her body convulsing as her orgasm washed over her. The sight of her coming undone was too much, and I followed her over the edge, my cock pulsing as I filled her with my cum.

We lay there, our bodies entwined, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Dani looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and surprise. "Wow, Jake... that was... amazing."

I smiled, my fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "I told you I'd make it worth your while."

We spent the rest of the night exploring each other's bodies, our desires, and our limits. It was a night neither of us would ever forget.

#girl group smut #female idol smut #kpop x reader #kpop smut #newjeans smut #danielle smut

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acoazlove · 2 months ago

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After Starfall

Azriel x reader

Summary: After starfall with your family is perfect.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: fluff

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Loud giggles filled the room, mixing with the quiet music.

Drink in hand while dancing with Mor. The aftermath of watching Starfall was far better than the show itself. Being with your family, the people who have been through so much to get to this point of happiness, made it far more breathtaking and heartwarming.

Mor somehow always managed to get you to your feet during this time, despite always starting the night telling her, ’Not this year.’ But she still manages to get you up anyway—probably because of the alcohol.

So here you are, you and Mor, drinks sloshing precariously close to the edge of your glasses, laughing, spinning, and tripping over each other. Dresses swaying with every step, smiles never leaving your faces.

Amidst it all, you felt a pair of eyes following your every move. The eyes that belonged to the love of your life. His attentive nature, always making sure you’re safe and okay, and maybe also admiring his beautiful mate.

Azriel hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you. When you had put on your dress—the same color as his siphons—he contemplated skipping the festivities to rip it off you and devour you then and there. But you were far too excited to notice the change in your mate's scent, so he decided he could wait till after.

Much to his brothers’ annoyance, he couldn’t keep a conversation going for more than a few seconds. Your laughter bouncing off the walls always managing to pull his gaze back to you.

A loud, overly dramatic huff was heard from beside him, drawing Azriel’s focus over to his left, where Cassian had a furrow between his brows. “Did you not hear me?” he asks incredulously. A snort comes from his right: “He’s too busy stalking his mate.” Rhys teases, while swirling his drink, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Always one to stir the pot.

Azriel’s face scrunched imperceptibly upon hearing that, “I was not stalking her.” He all but spat the word back at him, “I was watching her.” A bark of laughter left Cassian, “Sounds like the same thing to me.”

“You don’t even know where Nesta is.” Az threw back at him. An offended noise left his brother at that, and a grumbled remark, that caused a chuckle to leave Rhys. But Azriel didn’t hear since he was already out of his seat, making his way over to you.

Babbling drunken nonsense with Mor as she spun you for probably the fourth time in the last two minutes, which caused you to stumble back a few steps, hitting what felt like a brick wall. As you turned around, your smile threatened to split your face in two when you comprehended that it was in fact your mate and not a brick wall.

Whether you realized you had sent your excitement and joy down the bond or not, it still caused his heart to skip a beat. His own dimpled grin grew in response.

”Azriel!” You threw yourself onto him, his arms wrapping around you. The rumble from his laugh was felt from your face smooshed into his chest. “Hi, Angel.” The term of endearment in his deep, husky voice made you feel all fluttery, so you pulled away to get a better look at him.

You yourself had hardly been able to keep your hands and hungry gaze off of him the first half of the night. The silky black shirt, buttoned down so you could see his toned, tattooed chest, the black dress pants that hugged his ass just right, and his onyx hair pushed back a little, compared to his usual tussled curls that fell across his forehead. He looked delicious. So much so that you felt a little drool pooling at the corner of your mouth.

A low laugh left him as he angled your chin to meet his gaze. Eyes, the most gorgeous combination of gold and green. “Can I steal you for a dance?” Your smile grew if that was even possible. “Uh-huh.” was your only reply, as you grabbed his hand.

You threw a glance over your shoulder to signal that you were going to go dance with Azriel, but instead you managed to catch a glimpse of a stumbling Mor making her way over to Feyre. You escorted your mate out onto the balcony for a little more privacy.

As you got in position, it came naturally: a scarred hand pressing into your lower back, pulling you in close, your hand on his silk-covered shoulder, and your other hands clasping together.

Tonight wasn’t like all those times you had to waltz around the hewn city, acting like you couldn’t stand one another, faking so much hatred that became nearly unbearable. No, tonight was just the two of you swaying back and forth. About the love you shared and all those years of pining after one another before you bit the bullet and finally confessed those feelings.

Your head slumped forward, ear resting right over your lover's heart, the rhythm the best music one could ask for. Warmth and adoration being sent down the bond on both sides. This part of the holiday was the best, even if Mor teases you for it.

Eyes flutter close as his night-chilled mist and cedar scent fills your nose. “You smell good.” Words subtly slurred from the alcohol you consumed. A huff of laughter exited through Azriel’s nose, and he pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead as a reply. “You look stunning, my love.” His voice like liquid honey, a shiver running up your spine in response.

Pulling your head back to look up at him, smile growing once again, eyes now heavy lidded. “I love you.” words barely above a whisper. His molten, golden gaze softened. “I love you too, Angel.”

His large hand cupped the side of your face, and a contented sigh leaves you as his lips meet yours in a slow kiss. Your own hands trailing up his chest to rest on the nape of his neck.

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a/n: There might be some spelling mistakes, so let me know. This idea popped into my head a couple of days ago, so I thought I might give it a go. I hope you liked it! <3

#azriel × reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader fluff #azriel fluff #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar x reader #acotar

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nottsbitch · 3 months ago

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The Alchemy - T.N.

Based on the Taylor Swift song

✩✩✩✩

To say that you were stressed was an understatement. You were currently in your seat at the Quidditch World Cup, where your boyfriend, Theo, was about to begin playing the biggest game of his career.

“Calm down, would you?” came from Draco on your left. Next to him was Daphne, and on the other side of you were Blaise and Pansy.

You glanced around at your friends, their presence offering a mix of comfort and distraction. Draco, with his usual air of nonchalance, was trying to ease your nerves, while Daphne’s calm smile was a soothing contrast to the chaotic energy of the stadium. Blaise and Pansy were on the other side of you, their faces set with a mix of anticipation and support.

“I’m trying,” you said, gripping the edge of your seat. “But it’s easier said than done.”

Pansy leaned in, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You know, I’ve seen Theo practice, and he’s exceptional. If anyone can handle this pressure, it’s him.”

Blaise nodded in agreement. “Pansy’s right. Theo’s worked incredibly hard to get here. Just focus on the game. He’ll give it his all.”

Draco gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “Remember, it’s just a game. It’s important, yes, but it’s not the end of the world. He’s already made a huge achievement by getting this far.”

Daphne’s voice was steady and calming. “And no matter what happens, you’re all here to support him. That’s what matters most.”

As the announcer’s voice boomed, signaling the start of the match, the stadium’s roar grew louder, drowning out all other sounds. The players took their positions, and you watched, heart racing, as the game began.

Draco, Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy cheered enthusiastically as the teams flew across the pitch. The intensity of the game was reflected in their faces—Draco’s eyes were sharp and focused, Daphne’s were filled with quiet confidence, Blaise was almost vibrating with energy, and Pansy was practically bouncing in her seat.

The match was competitive, with both teams demonstrating incredible skill. Theo’s team was holding their own, but it was clear the game was going to be a nail-biter. Every goal, every maneuver, every close call had you on edge.

At one particularly tense moment, Draco turned to you with a grin. “Remember how you said you didn’t want to be here for this? You’re doing great.”

You managed a shaky laugh. “I think I’m the only one who’s more nervous than he is.”

Blaise chimed in, “That’s probably because you care so much. It’s a good thing. Theo's lucky.”

The game continued with relentless energy. The Seeker from Theo’s team was weaving through players, searching for the elusive Golden Snitch. The tension was palpable as the Seeker and the Snitch seemed to be locked in an almost eternal dance.

Then, in a flash of gold and green, the Seeker’s hand closed around the Snitch. The whistle blew, and the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer. The match was over, and Theo’s team had won.

You jumped up, your emotions spilling over as you celebrated with Draco, Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy. The sense of shared joy and relief was overwhelming. Theo’s victory was not just his; it was a testament to the support and belief of everyone who had been with him on this journey.

In that instant of triumph, the world seemed to narrow down to one person—Theo. The moment he saw the Snitch in the Seeker’s hand, his eyes locked on yours, cutting through the chaos and noise of the celebration.

With his heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through him, Theo pushed through the crowd of players and supporters. Every step was a surge of pure focus as he sought you out. His face was a picture of exhilaration and relief, his eyes scanning the stands until they found you.

Ignoring everything else, Theo sprinted towards you, his gaze never wavering. As he reached you, he threw his arms around you, pulling you into him. Before you could say anything his hands were on your face pulling you in for a long-awaited kiss. When you pulled away his breath was heavy and quick, his voice trembling with emotion.

“I did it! We did it!” he shouted, his voice choked with tears of happiness.

You hugged him tightly, tears streaming down your face. “You were incredible! I knew you could do it!”

Theo held you close, his eyes shining with the intensity of the moment. “I couldn’t have done this without you. This trophy is ours.”

Draco, Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy joined you, their cheers blending with everyone else's in the stadium. “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Daphne said warmly.

Pansy nodded, her eyes sparkling. “You were amazing out there. This is a dream come true!”

Blaise clapped Theo on the back, grinning broadly. “You’ve earned this moment. Enjoy every second!”

As the celebration continued around you, the sense of joy and accomplishment was overwhelming. But you couldn't focus on anything beside the man next to you and the smile on his face.

✩✩✩✩

#hp universe #theo nott imagine #slytherin #enzo berkshire #draco malfoy #tom riddle #theo nott #slytherin boys #matteo riddle #harry potter #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott one shot #theodore nott imagine

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rikicentral · 3 months ago

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Frustrated

Riki stormed through the front door, frustration evident in his every step. Dance practice had been a disaster; he couldn’t nail a crucial move, leaving him exasperated. As he entered the apartment, he walked straight past you and headed for the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting soon after.

You were already settled on the couch, the movie playing softly in the background. You glanced up as he disappeared into the bathroom, sensing his tension but unsure how to approach him.

After a while, the shower turned off, and the bathroom door opened. Riki emerged wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his damp hair falling over his forehead. The frustration was still apparent in his posture, but his appearance signaled a shift from his earlier intensity.

He walked over to the couch and sank down heavily. You decided to take a chance and moved to sit on his lap, hoping to offer some comfort.

As you settled onto him, Riki’s hands instinctively gripped your waist, his fingers pressing in with a firm, almost urgent touch. He pulled you closer, the heat between you rising as he adjusted his position beneath you. His earlier frustration seemed to channel into a more intense need.

You could feel his arousal growing beneath you, and he shifted slightly, pressing you against him with a deliberate rhythm. His hands roamed up your sides, exploring your body with a purposeful touch.

He leaned in and captured your lips in a heated kiss. The kiss was intense and demanding, his tongue exploring yours with a passionate rhythm. You responded eagerly, deepening the kiss as your hands roamed over his bare chest.

Riki’s hands began to roam more freely, moving down to your thighs, his touch firm and insistent. He gripped your thighs, his fingers pressing in as he guided you to move against him. His hands then traveled to your butt, squeezing and groping with a rough but passionate touch.

“You have no idea how annoying today was,” he muttered between kisses, his voice a mix of frustration and desire. “I just couldn’t get it right.”

You gasped as his rough hands explored your body, the friction between you creating a slow, tantalizing rhythm. His hips began to move in response to your movements, pressing up against you with a steady, urgent rhythm.

His touch grew more intense as he continued to explore, his fingers digging into your thighs and butt, guiding you with a demanding force. He pressed you closer, his movements becoming more deliberate as he channeled his frustration into the physical connection.

“Feels like you’re the only thing that can get me to forget about today,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a mix of need and relief. “Just being close to you makes everything better.”

Riki’s movements became more focused and deliberate as the pleasure built between you. His grip on your thighs and butt was firm, his touch growing rougher as he guided you with an urgent rhythm. His hips moved in a steady, forceful grind, each thrust driven by a mix of desire and need.

His hands continued to explore your body, groping and squeezing with an intensity that matched the pleasure of the moment. The connection between you was electric, every touch and movement heightening the intimacy and passion.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “I needed this… I needed you.”

As the climax approached, Riki’s movements grew more desperate. His grip on you tightened, his hips bucking with a fervor that spoke to his deep need. The pleasure between you reached a fever pitch, each thrust and movement sending you both spiraling toward a powerful release.

In the final moments, Riki’s body tensed, his grip on you becoming almost painfully tight. The release was explosive, a wave of intense pleasure that left you both gasping and spent.

The frustration that had driven him melted away, replaced by a deep, physical connection.

As you both caught your breath, Riki’s grip loosened, his touch now gentler as he pulled you into a tender embrace.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. You lay together on the couch, the movie still playing in the background but now forgotten. The rawness of the experience had left you both emotionally and physically spent, a testament to the deep connection and understanding between you.

#riki smut #niki smut #n1k1smut #ni ki smut #rikicentral #ni-ki smut

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bucks-babe · 4 months ago

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Not Like This

Summary: A night at the bar doesn’t go the way Bucky or you ever thought

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: established relationship, Bucky trying to get Steve a date, angst, attempted drugging with the intention of SA (nothing happens though), mentions of a knife/stabbing (doesn’t happen), smut, but like angsty smut not the sexy smut, Bucky being a huge idiot, lack of communication, dub-con/bordering non-con at times, degradation, oral m!rec, subspace, manhandling, very mean Bucky, safeword being called, crying, spanking, self-hatred, insecurities, self-reflection, aftercare, scared Bucky and reader, overstepping boundaries, communication at the end, some fluff

A/N: This is my gift to @buckys-wintersoldier for her birthday! This fic contains topics that maybe sensitive to some people. This is your last warning. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Updates are posted to my side blog @bucks-babesideblog

“This is getting hard to watch, Buck.” You grimace and turn your head towards your boyfriend. Steve stands on the dancefloor in a futile attempt to talk to the girl he’s been eyeing up for the past hour and a half. Bucky takes another swig of his beer before meeting your eyes with the same grimace. “ You should go and help him.”

“And what am I supposed to do, doll?” Bucky leans back in the booth, left arm resting behind your head as he whispers in your ear. A shiver passes through your body and your thighs clench involuntarily. His scent mixes with the faint smell of his last beer and the crowded bar’s sweaty stench.

“Go play wingman, apparently you were great at it in the 40’s.” You playfully nudge him away, mostly because you can’t think straight when he’s pressed so close to you, your body craves his already and you don’t need to make it any harder for yourself. “While you’re at it, I’ll get myself another drink.”

Bucky grumbles as you stand up without giving him a kiss. “Make sure you put it on my tab, doll.”

You giggle as you spin around to face him, dress swaying as you do so. “You know I will, hotstuff.” You take your seat at the bar and signal for the bartender, turning around to watch Bucky try and get Steve a date. You thank him as he places your drink down, but before you can get up, another man seats himself in the stool right next to yours.

“Hello, gorgeous.” At first you don’t realize that he’s talking to you, too caught up in the way Bucky’s muscles flex as he gestures to Steve. “I say, you’ve caught my eye tonight. Mind if I ask your name? I’m Jake.” It dawns on you that he wasn’t talking to anyone else, only you.

As you go to turn around to decline his horrible attempt at flirting, you see him slip a pill into your open drink out of the corner of your eye, so fast that none of the other patrons nor the bartender saw, but you did. Ice shoots through your veins. He tried to drug you. What do you do now? Leave? That would look suspicious. Call the bartender and say that it wasn’t the right drink? No, he heard your specific order.

“Umm,” you trail off. At first you were gauging how far you would have to run to make it to Bucky, but then you saw the pocket knife bulging out from underneath the man’s shirt. “Sorry, I’m here with my boyfriend.” Good, let him know I’m not alone.

“Him? Well he seems quite friendly with the lady in blue over there.” You don’t turn to look, not trusting to take your eyes off of him. “If I were him, we wouldn’t even have made it to the bar when you’re wearing a number like that.” He lets out a low whistle, eyes hungrily raking up and down your body.

You want to yell out for anyone to come over, but you’re too scared when you know that he has a knife. Yes, Bucky is a super soldier, but Jake could stab you faster than Bucky could reach you. “We have an open relationship actually.” Open relationship, really? Why would I fucking say that?

“So you’re telling me that I have a chance.” His beatty eyes lock in on your cleavage and you shift around uncomfortably. “Why don’t you have a sip of your drink? You seem pretty tense over there.” You pick up your drink with shaky hands before bringing the straw to your lips. You pretend to take a small sip which makes Jake smile, showing off his smoke stained teeth. “There you go, good girl.” Where the hell is Bucky? Come on, please come back.

You’re practically shaking in fear as his sweaty palm lands on your knee, creeping up to your thigh. Behind you resides Bucky who has overheard most of the conversation. Anger doused his entire body. He didn’t see Jake drug your drink or how scared you were, too caught up in your words. Open relationship? Letting him call you good girl? Touching you?

You almost shriek when Bucky’s metal hand grabs your wrist, pulling you away, but you instantly relax when you notice that Bucky’s come to save you. The fear still lingers under the surface but it feels like you can breathe without a heavy weight on your chest. “Thank god, Bucky. I-” He cuts you off as he spins around, flesh hand wrapping around your neck.

“Thank what? I leave you for five minutes and you turn into a little slut, huh?” Your eyes widen. There’s no way that he thinks that you wanted to even talk to that man at the bar. Before you can answer he lets your neck go and continues to drag you along. “Keep your fucking mouth shut. You want to be a little slut,” he pushes you into the passenger seat of his car before slamming the door and getting in the driver seat. “Then you can keep your mouth stuffed with my cock.”

He doesn’t even look at you as he slides his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi hard cock. He doesn’t see the tears welling up, or how you’re silently begging for him to comfort you, hug you. To tell you that everything is going to be okay, you’re safe and he loves you, but no, Bucky is furious at you.

You feel yourself start to slip into subspace, the fear of your previous situation in addition to Bucky’s harsh words have you floating off into space. You want to please him, show him that he’s the only one you want, but you also don’t want to have sex right now. Either way, he grabs the back of your head and forces you down on his cock before slamming his foot on the gas, making you lurch in the car.

“Keep your fucking head right there. You’re gonna let me use you however the fuck I want since you seem to think that you’re not mine and I’m not yours. You really fucking think that I would want another pussy? Another mouth? Oh, shit. Choke on that fat cock. Think Jake can fill up your mouth like this?” For just one moment, you forgot about Jake, about what could have happened to you, but at the mention of his name you try to pull off, suddenly not wanting to have your boyfriend’s cock in your mouth.

“Don’t fucking run away from me. Never gonna share this perfect body. Shit, can feel you slobbering on my nuts. Bet you fucking like it too, being my little cocksucker.” No, you don’t like it, at least right now. I just want you to hold me.

“You’re so fucking good at this. Already gonna cum, ready? Fuck, gonna make me crash the fucking car just from some head. K-keep going, shit.” Tears stream down your face, partially from all your emotions bubbling over and partially from the brutal facefucking. His flesh hand grips the back of your neck and rails your head, spit and tears everywhere, makeup completely ruined, black streaks running down your face.

He cums with a shout, balls pulsing on your cheek where he holds you down. The breaks squeak as he pulls into your shared driveway, ripping you away from his dick. “You look fucking pathetic right now. Trying to get another man’s cock and then gobbling down mine it’s your only purpose.” You can’t find any love in his eyes, only rage and lust. More tears fall down your cheeks.

“B-b-buc-” You try to speak but your voice is hoarse from his cock ramming down your throat.

“Just get upstairs. On the bed, face down, ass up, naked.” If his jaw clenches anymore you’re sure he’ll break some teeth.

“Please, just let me-” He cuts you off again after you’re able to speak.

“Do what I said or else it’s gonna be much worse for you. I don’t take well to insolent whores.” Why can’t you see I need you?

Without another word, you head to the bedroom, trying to wipe away your makeup but only smearing it around even more. You don’t have any more fight left in you. All you want to do is forget the whole night, but you know that it’s nowhere near over. You do as you were told, grabbing the stuffie Bucky won for you at the carnival over a year ago and clutching it to your chest.

You gulp at the sound of Bucky’s clothes dropping to the floor. “Don’t make a sound.” It’s the only warning you get before his hand smacks against your ass, hard. You bite the stuffie, more and more tears falling from your eyes. He slaps your ass over and over again, no doubt leaving bruises. By the end, you’re so deep in subspace that all you want to do is please him.

It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to have sex, that what you want from him is his warmth and comfort. If you make him happy then he will take care of you after. You need to please him, make him proud of you. Just take the punishment. Don’t make him angrier.

Without warning, he slams into your cunt, driving in and out with no regard for your pleasure. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, and you could tell just based on his thrusts. He was using you to get himself off. This is what Jake planned on doing to me, isn’t it? You bite onto the stuffie harder. It hurts, but it feels so good. This is what I deserve.

He cums in your pussy but doesn’t stop moving. The added lubrication makes his thrusts easier and the pleasure starts to build in your stomach. Trying to hide your moans as you near the edge only for him to pull out and slap your ass again and again before railing you again. You try to reach a hand back, maybe to get him to slow down, maybe just because you needed to feel some sort of tenderness, but he only pushes your hand away.

Any thoughts of Jake leave your mind with every plunge of Bucky’s cock. You melt into the mattress, focusing on the pleasure Bucky’s bringing you. He loves me, that’s why he’s so mad. “Fuck, pussy’s so fucking good, never want to leave her. M’going to fuck this little cunt all night if I want to.” Do I want that? It feels so good, but I want him to cuddle me.

You can feel your orgasm build up in your stomach, threatening to burst at any moment. “Can I cum?” It’s the first words you’ve said since he started fucking you. For a fleeting second you think that he’ll pull out again and take your orgasm away, but he only fucks you harder, right hand coming down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles. It hurts in the best way, throwing you over the edge as you cream all over his dick.

“Good girl, no one else can make you cum like me, can they?”

Those two words take you right back to the bar, where the threat of what Jake could have done is still fresh. “RED!” Mid orgasm, your mind reels in fear. Bucky pulls out immediately, all the rage coursing through his body leaving at once. You collapse on the bed, curling into the fetal position, still clutching the stuffed animal to your chest as sobs take over your body.

Bucky shakes as he watches you fall apart. He has no idea what really happened at the bar but he knows that he pushed you too far. He replays every word and act that occurred in the past hour. How he didn’t let you talk, how you looked so small, like you were trying to curl into yourself, how he didn’t even look at you as he shoved his cock down your throat. All the names he called you, the roughness, the lack of care.

He tries to reach out to you, but you jerk away, sobbing harder. Panic swells in his chest. What did he do? How could he hurt the love of his life? Bucky gets off the bed and heads to the bathroom, getting a damp washcloth and walking over to your side of the bed, crouching down so that he is at eye level with you. “Doll?” You whimper in response yet meet his eyes. “Can I clean you up?” You give a small jerk of your head, all you can muster.

Bucky’s heart drops to his stomach as he sees your swollen cunt. He caused that. As gently as he can, he wipes away his cum and your juices before tossing the rag across the room and settling next to you, leaving space so that you can decide if you want to cuddle with him. You crave his warmth so you curl yourself into his side, sighing at the comfort his skin brings.

Self hatred licks at his spine. He wants to run away, not giving himself the chance to do anymore harm, but you need him and he can’t let you down again, not after what he did. Eventually, your sobs ebb and your tense body relaxes. “He tried to drug me.” You say it so quietly that if Bucky didn’t have enhanced hearing he wouldn’t have caught it.

He jolts away, ignoring your whimper at the loss of contact. The morsel of responsibility that was keeping him next to you vanishes. He treated you like a whore, thinking that you were flirting with another man, when in reality you were just trying to keep yourself safe. Bucky stands and paces the room, darker and darker thoughts run through his mind.

“He what?” Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t fathom what he just put you through after one of the worst experiences of your life just happened. You needed him and he wasn’t there in the way you needed.

You try to keep the tears at bay, but you can’t help it. “He slipped something in my drink when he thought I wasn’t looking. I was so scared and you were so far away. I-I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I stalled him long enough I would be okay until you came back.” You shrink into yourself again, the stuffies head tilted at an odd angle at the force you were applying.

“And then I, I let myself, I should have-” He can’t think straight. Anger flairs inside of him. At himself, at the man at the bar. “I’m so sorry.” Tears stream freely down his face as he rounds to where you lay, dropping to his knees.

“Please hold me.” Bucky jumps back into bed, he was fully ready for you to kick him out, hit him, make him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, but not for you to want him to touch you again, not after the pain and fear he inflicted. “I just want to be held, want you to love me.”

“I do love you, sweet girl. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have listened to you, should have seen how uncomfortable you were, but I was so caught up in my own head, that you were looking for someone else because I wasn’t good enough.” He hastily wipes his tears away before wrapping his arms around your frame. “And that is no excuse for what I did. I let my own insecurities blind me and I hurt you as a result.”

He trails off before speaking the words that he has been too scared to ask before, but he knows the answer to. “You didn’t want to have sex, did you?” It’s framed as a question, but he says it like a statement, because he knows that you didn’t. Not at the time, mostly because of his own rage, but if he would have thought about more than himself he would have.

“I wanted to please you, though. Thought if I took my punishment that you wouldn’t be mad at me anymore.” Bucky feels his heart break in two. You didn’t have to answer his question. His stomach churns at the fact that the only reason you went through with anything was because you thought that you needed to, for him to treat you the way you deserve, with love and devotion.

You don’t blame him, maybe it’s because you still are so deep in subspace, but either way, he’s taking care of you now. “You never have to do something you don’t want to do just because of me. You know that right?” Clearly, he made you feel like you had to.

“Please, it’s not just your fault. I could have tapped your leg three times, I could have said our safeword long before you fucked me.”

“But I didn’t even let you fucking talk.” You see the hurt in his eyes, not at you, but at himself.

“My hands were free. I could have tapped you at any time. This isn’t just on you. We both fucked up.”

“The only reason you didn’t was because you felt like you had to please me though.” Why is he so desperate to put all the blame onto himself?

“Partially, but also because I wanted to forget about what happened. I thought that if we had sex that your touch could wash away his. But when I knew it couldn't, I should have stopped you.” Both of your eyes were red and full of tears. “Neither of us are exempt from the blame, okay?”

Bucky nods his head, not fully believing you, but not wanting to fight about it. “Can we take a bath and cuddle? We can talk about it tomorrow. I just want to be held right now.” With shuddering breath, Bucky nods his head and picks you up, taking you to the bathroom to get the tub ready.

You both have to work to get past this, to understand what you both could have done better to prevent it from happening again, but you still trust Bucky with your life. There is no love or trust lost between the two of you. It happened and you can’t change that. You doubt that you’ll be going to any bars soon, and there’s going to be a lot of trauma that you’ll both have to work through. Him with his insecurities and you with how easy it would have been for someone to take advantage of you, how you didn’t communicate your needs. But you have Bucky and he has you, and he is going to do everything in his power to make this up to you, that this never happens again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #buck

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itsgodepi · 1 month ago

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First Winners | MV33

Summary: After a challenging first season, you return to the Formula One world with renewed determination and lots to prove. You and Max have finally left your rivalry behind and the future has never looked more promising. Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader Note: this is the second and last part of a collection called Chasing Firsts, being First Loser the part 1 of it. It can be read as a standalone but you'll understand things better if you have read part 1. Word Count: 11k Warnings: emotional distress, mentions of injury Also on AO3

“Sorry!” you shout, breathless, as you sprint across the track, heart racing with effort and pure excitement.

It is one of those nice sunny days, where the sky is clear but the air remains refreshingly cool, just right for the snug embrace of the race suit. Ahead of you, the drivers are already standing on position, their brightly colored team gear popping against the backdrop of the asphalt.

Formula 1 Gulf Air Bahrain Grad Prix 2022.

Just reading the huge sign placed in front of the group makes your skin tingle, the thrill of the season ahead and the weight of what had come before thrumming in your heart.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Lando’s voice rings out, dripping with playful mockery, his face lighting up with exaggerated shock.

The teasing begins immediately as you half-run to your place, playful cheering and clapping for your ‘long-awaited’ arrival. Your eyes find Max across the group —his signature grin spreads wide, eyes sparkling with amusement. You wave off their jokes with a smile of your own, shaking your head and quickly unknotting the sleeves of the suit from your hips. Not even five minutes have passed.

"I had to take shots for the opening titles and all that stuff!” you explain, slightly out of breath as you slide into your spot.

Your position is on the left side, wedged between Yuki Tsunoda and the McLarens. Behind you, the Alpine drivers stand a step higher, getting settled in for the photo. Daniel is quick to throw an arm around your shoulders, shaking you from side to side with an exaggerated cheer while you try to fix yourself.

“Welcome back! We missed you”

You look up at him, your lower lip pushed out in a joking warning “Don’t say that! I’ll cry!”

Daniel just grins. “Oops. My bad,” he laughs, releasing you and falling back into position.

The photographers quickly signal they are ready.

You also draw a smile for the cameras, despite the emotions that start bubbling inside of you. The uncertainty, the fear that your racing career was over and you wouldn’t get into a Formula One car ever again. You weren’t even lined up for a reserve driver role, left scrambling after Hass had terminated your contract late in the off-season. Every seat was covered.

And yet, her you were again, this time wearing AlphaTauri’s colors.

The world seems to blur around you, your eyes stinging as you try and fail to blink back the tears welling up. You turn around, pressing your hands over your face in a desperate attempt to pull yourself together. You can hear the confused murmurs around you, drivers shifting slightly as they notice the photographers stopping their work.

“What’s wrong?” someone asks, but before you could respond, Alex Albon’s voice rings out above the chatter, announcing to everyone within earshot, “Aw, she’s crying!”

That was it —every driver and staff surrounding you turned into a mix of soft chuckles and sympathetic coos. You feel a hand gently land on your head from the spot behind yours, Fernando, offering a quiet, steady reassurance. Daniel also shifts beside you, using his body to shield you from the cameras as he begins to draw comforting circles on your back. You let out a shaky breath.

Some things never change, you think. At least, this time, they’re happy tears.

A couple days later, you find yourself standing among the drivers in a more composed manner. The pre-race buzz growing loud around you.

Max comes to stand beside you, flashing a grin and checking “How are you feeling?”

You cross your arms in front of you, glancing at the grandstands and staff rushing around. Everything had to be perfect for the first race of the season.

“Honestly? Weird,” you admit, scrunching your nose “It’s just... I don’t know”

Carlos, catching the tail end of your confession, chimes in “You’ve already been through the hard part,” he casually shrugs “Now’s just like last year”

You grimace, changing the weight from one leg to the other. The problem is that this could not be a repeat of last year, and yesterday’s qualy was clearly not helping that resolution. Sixteenth, for godness sake.

“Yeah, but with the new team...”

“Ah, don’t worry!” Lando chimes in, flashing you a cheeky smirk “No one will even notice the change, just a different shade of blue.”

He wasn’t wrong. In your almost identical white race suit, only the blue details and deep red logo of Hass had been swapped for the completely dark blue parts of the AlphaTauri emblem. They could have easily photoshopped you into the start of the season’s group photos.

You are fast to quip back “Says the guy who’s been a walking papaya for three seasons straight!”, nodding at his McLaren gear.

“Excuse me, it’s four seasons,” Lando corrects, mock-offended as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Have some respect!”

Carlos snickers, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, look at him, he’s a senior now”

“Whatever” you shake your head, waving a hand in the air to dismiss their corrections. “But yeah, I was hoping for a darker color or something. They had some nice blue ones back when you were in it” you add, glancing up at Max.

The Dutch, who had been quietly hearing the conversation, raises his eyebrows slightly. His eyes shifting between you and Carlos, his old teammate, trying to recall those days in Toro Rosso.

You, on the other hand, remembered it vividly. That lanky teenager with rosy cheeks and a wide grin, who shyly laughed off the harsh questioning from the media and was still learning how to handle the spotlight that never seemed to leave him. Max Verstappen, then the youngest driver in Formula 1 history, had merely been a young boy thrust into the cutthroat world of racing, where every mistake felt magnified and the pressure was unyielding.

And now, here he was, standing tall and confident next to you on his eighth season. He had transformed into a fierce competitor, coming off a runner-up finish in the previous World Championship and now fiercely hungry for his first title.

Max sure had grown a lot.

Just a few minutes later, a staff member gently interrupts your conversation, guiding your group toward the red carpet as the national anthem prepares to play. The Red Bull driver helps you weave through the crowd all the way to the front, and finds a spot right next to you as they finalize preparing the ceremony. The atmosphere around you hums with excitement, fans' cheers growing louder as everyone settles into place for the race presentation.

It doesn’t take long for someone to notice that Max has given up his prime position at the center, as the race pole winner, for a place next to you. But by then, he’s already achieved his goal: calming your nerves with a few light-hearted quips, leaving you smiling even as he’s more or less escorted back to his position.

Still, after the ceremony comes to an end, the Dutch manages to find his way back to you. Just to wish you good luck one last time. Max tries to do so seamlessly, thrusting himself into the sea of people and matching your pace as you walk back to your car —despite his own resting in the front row. The Red Bull mechanics waving their arms and making signs behind him, their expressions a mix of frustration and amusement, likely thinking he has forgotten his starting spot.

“Be careful, though, no ending up in the curb today,” he calls out, a playful grin lighting up his face when you near the crowd of white and blue AlphaTauri personnel “You’re not a rookie anymore!”

Your eyes widen when his words sink in, instantly transporting to last year events and how mad you had been at him. Those interviews and press conferences where you had been at each other neck, especially at the one Max references.

He had pushed you to the edge —both metaphorically and on the track—, so calling him a rookie was the softest thing he was going to get from you.

Max lets out a hearty laugh at your reaction, taking a couple steps back in his car’s direction. You roll your eyes, shooting him a playful middle finger which is thankfully hidden by the crowd of people still swarming the grid. No need to give the media something to buzz about before the race had even begun.

In a twist of irony, despite Max’s playful warnings, it’s him who ends up in the curb in the season opener. Well, not exactly like that, a fuel system failure forces him to retire just a few laps from the end. But naturally, when he wanders into the AlphaTauri garage afterward to congratulate you on your impressive debut, you can’t resist the jab.

Max sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I deserved that." But his smile is genuine, a glint of pride in his eyes as he pats your back. "Nice job out there."

It feels good. Really good.

Qualifying may have been rough, and your aggressive overtakes might’ve drawn some criticism, but that day, you managed to score your first points for AlphaTauri and secure your highest finish yet. Eighth place. Not bad, not bad at all.

You know you can’t promise this kind of result in every race, but it still feels like a statement. A message to all those who had questioned the team’s decision to sign you, who flooded the internet with doubts about your abilities. They chalked up your signing to desperation, to picking the only driver left on the market.

Now, with a hard-earned finish in the books, you feel a sense of vindication. You have proved you belong here.

Honestly, part of you understands their doubts. Not a single rumor had circulated about you being an option for AlphaTauri—or any other team—after a long break and the presentation of the new cars for the season. It had seemed clear: you had lost your opportunity in the F1 world, like many others. Once you stepped out, it felt like there was no coming back.

Yet, just two weeks before the start of the season, you were walking into AlphaTauri headquarters to finalize your contract.

From that moment, everything became a blur—papers to sign, photos to take, and a whirlwind of patience required to navigate your new life. Patience with your new team, with the bosses, and as always, with the media.

In the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, the car starts having issues as soon as qualifying starts. The steering is a mess, failing to respond to every single one of your manoeuvres, and the engine loses power lap after lap. The result: the withdrawal of your car just before the end of Q2.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, repeating it like a mantra. You’ll make do with what you have. You’ll forget everything when the lights go out. Even relaying a more polished version of it to the reporters.

It is March anyway, more specifically Drive to Survive new season’s release week, so they don’t care that much about your Qualy. Their focus lies elsewhere: namely, your huge rivalry with Max Verstappen, the centerpiece of Netflix’s media campaign.

A rivalry that does not exist anymore.

“I mean, I understand the interest,” you accept, taking a sip from your newly acquired Red Bull can-shaped bottle to organize your thoughts. “Max was having an amazing sea-”

Your sentence is abruptly cut off by a hand falling on your shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. You turn back in surprise to see Max himself making his way past, his PR minder close behind.

“Sorry, sorry,” he shyly smiles, noticing he has distracted you from the question

You wave it off “It’s alright”, looking back to the camera

“We were actually talking about you,” the reporter interjects, seizing the chance to bring the two of you into the spotlight, already moving his microphone towards Max.

Max raises an eyebrow, a mix of confusion and caution on his face. You can sense the tension; it’s no secret that you have not been nice to each other in past interviews. Glad it is not like that today.

“About Netflix and all that” you finish for the reporter, noticing he wasn’t going to

“Oh, right, did you see the posters by the entrance?” Max suddenly remembers, a clever shift in the conversation. Like you, he must have been receiving this type of questions all weekend. “They look straight out of a movie! The one where you are jumping out of the car is the be...”

“Of me?” you cut in, pointing to yourself in disbelief.

“Yeah, it's you! From back in Austria, I think” Max confirms with a nod, taking a step toward his waiting interviewer. That’s when the crash went down “They’re just by the gate, next to the security. You should check them out.”

And just like that, Max has deftly diverted the spotlight and got you both off the hook from what could have been an incredibly uncomfortable interview. Sometimes, his media training does work wonders.

Later, he even sends you a photo of the poster, and you have to admit it: you look amazing in them.

Sunday morning dawns, and your sixteenth position on the grid is turned into a disappointing nineteenth due to necessary changes in your car's components. Last place. You don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that you hardly get to feel the weight of starting at the back, since the steering wheel starts throwing every known error at you the moment you drive out of the pit lane for the formation lap. The radio crackles to life in the middle of your panic, informing you that the car is also smoking.

Just like that, your car is deemed unsafe to drive, and you are left to spend your second race seated in the AlphaTauri garage watching Yuki, your teammate, raise to P7.

This time, it’s you who walk over to the Red Bull garage after the race, hoping to congratulate Max on his amazing race and to escape the celebratory cheers in your own. The moment is far more fleeting than when he had come to see you in Bahrain. Max all smiles and adrenaline, skin glistening with champagne as he pulls you into a brief half-hug in the crowd of mechanics, before he’s whisked away to a meeting room for a post-race debrief.

He’s the winner, after all, and the season seems to look better for him with each passing race.

Meanwhile, for you, things only going downhill from there on. You’re doing terrible in qualifying, and fixing it in the race turns into an almost impossible mission as the rest of the cars swarm past, easily overtaking you even in the slowest sectors.

Those words of encouragement from Bahrain morph into doubtful glances once again. It doesn’t matter that you beat your own record with a seventh-place finish in Imola or that you manage to get within the points in Spain after a grueling race. The media decides to deem that performance “inconsistent” instead, and it stings.

Then comes the Canadian Grand Prix, a moment that seals your fate. You had climbed the grid from seventeenth place with sheer determination and some questionable overtakes, you were pushing it to the limit and the strategy was looking so promising. Lap 58 and you had managed to reach P9.

But as you exit the pits on your final set of tyres, everything comes crashing down.

“There we have it. Comes out of the pits on cold tires and goes straight on into the barrier” the sportscaster's frustration is almost palpable as they show the footage of your onboard camera “Such a shame”

The clip replays in your head and the TV on a constant loop. The way you accelerated and simply lost control, as if it were your first time in a Formula One car. Do you even know how to drive? —it’s basically what Esteban Ocon had screamed over the radio during your battle in the opening laps, and at this point, you’re starting to believe it yourself.

Your phone buzzes over the hotel bed, pulling you out of the haze. It’s Max.

Didn’t see you back at the garage. Hope you’re alright.

You leave the message sitting there, unread, unsure of what to say. It’s the first time you’ve skipped seeing him after the podium, breaking what had quietly become a tradition between the two of you since the Abu Dhabi GP. Max comes to your garage when you secure a decent finish, and more often than not, you head over to Red Bull to celebrate his wins. But yesterday, you couldn’t face it.

A few minutes later, another buzz.

Got a plane back to Monaco with a few of the guys. You’re welcome to join.

Thought it might be better than flying alone.

You hesitate, the idea of being around the other drivers feels exhausting right now.

It alright, Max. I already got the flight back.

Thanks

His response is instant.

If you change your mind, we’re leaving in a couple hours. Just let me know.

After the summer break, you return to the paddock with a new mindset. You have made a decision to not to care anymore. Not about the whispers, the criticism, or the endless pressure to prove yourself. Last year, you achieved a dream you had been chasing since you were a child—your first season in Formula One. And yet, instead of soaking in the accomplishment, you had spent every race weekend consumed by the opinions of others.

You are not going to make the same mistake this year. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your time in Formula 1, it’s those opportunities like this, to redeem yourself, don’t come twice. So, you are decided to block out the noise. If people want to talk, let them. You have a job to do: racing.

But life has a way of throwing curveballs.

It’s Qualifying day at the Belgium Grand Prix, and the paddock is alive with the usual pre-session buzz. The weather, typical for Spa, is unpredictable —dark clouds loom over the track, threatening to turn the session into a chaotic lottery as the track slickens.

Unfortunately, you have found yourself being kicked out in Q1. You were pushing, clocking good lap times, but the worry about your wheels slipping on the wet asphalt held you back from going full throttle. As the session concludes, you can’t shake off the disappointment.

You discuss possible questions with your PR minder while waiting for your turn in the media pen. Your gaze drifts occasionally to the large screen nearby, watching the remaining drivers test the limits of their cars in the second session.

Suddenly, your stomach drops, and your heart races as you see a car spin out of control on the screen. It takes a moment for your brain to register the scene; it’s Sergio Perez. The monitor shows him losing grip during a fast lap, the car sliding wildly before crashing into the barriers. A collective gasp fills the media pen, and your breath catches in your throat.

A couple of hours later, Red Bull officially announces what everyone feared:

“Following a severe accident during Qualifying today, Sergio Perez has sustained a wrist injury that will prevent him from competing in the Belgian Grand Prix. He is currently receiving medical attention, and we wish him a swift recovery.”

The weight of the news hangs heavily in the air, and as fans and media begin speculating who will fill Checo's seat for the race, whispers circulate around the paddock. Some believe Yuki, with his existing experience in the Red Bull family, will be the front-runner for the seat. Others argue that Liam, fresh off impressive performances in F2, might be a bold choice but also an intelligent one.

It is safe to say that, when your name is announced in the following statement, nobody is expecting it.

Your new photo, clad in the Red Bull race suit, plasters itself across every headline, every social media feed. The press loses its collective mind.

From the back of the grid to Red Bull’s frontlines: A risk too far?

The mistake that could cost Red bull the constructors’ title

An erratic driver in a top-tier car. Will she crumble under pressure?

Inconsistent and unreliable. The weakest link signed for Red Bull’s title chase?

Every headline, every article paints the same picture—Red Bull taking a reckless chance with you, questioning your consistency and readiness for the top-tier spotlight. It’s as though no one remembers the flashes of brilliance you’ve shown, only the times you’ve faltered.

You can’t help but notice the lukewarm response from Christian Horner when he arrives to the paddock on race day.

"We’re giving her the opportunity, and she’ll have to show if her performance is up to our expectations." declares the Red Bull principal. It’s not exactly a ringing endorsement. More like a public trial, and you’re the one on the stand.

But Max? Max defends you, openly and unapologetically.

“Everyone’s being so quick to judge, but no one gets on this level by accident” he is asked about innumerable times that morning pre-race, and his response is always firm. Leaving no room for doubts “She’s more than capable.”

It’s a bold statement, one that earns Max a few raised eyebrows and more than enough jokes about needing to be saved from his PR team. But he doesn’t care. He stands by you, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you’ve got someone in your corner.

The pre-race ceremony feels like a fever dream. Drivers and team members pass by, offering fist bumps, handshakes, and quick words of encouragement. This time you are ushered to the front line for the race presentation, to stand next to Max Verstappen because that is your place right now. As his teammate.

"You do look better in blue, I’ll give you that" he whispers with a teasing grin, giving you a playful nudge

“Told you” you smile up at him, genuine happiness pulling at your lips "Guess I’ve got to prove I can drive just as well in it too."

"You will" Max responds, his tone suddenly serious, but there’s no pressure behind it —just belief.

When the lights go out, the roar of the engines swallows your every thought. You’re starting P13 as a result of Checo’s accident, but as the race unfolds, you move higher and higher in the grid. By lap 30, you're in 8th, and there’s no stopping you now. The Red Bull feels like a beast under your hands and you’re squeezing every bit of power out of it, pulling off daring overtakes with a confidence you didn’t know you still had.

Each overtake, each maneuver, pulls you higher up the grid. By the time the final laps roll around, you have somehow managed to slip into P3, a podium spot within your grasp. This is surreal.

Still, Carlos Sainz’s Ferrari is looming large in your mirrors. He’s fast, too fast, and he’s on fresher tires —he is not the one who had to fight half of the grid to get into this position. You know it's only a matter of time before he makes his move, but you defend like your life depends on it.

The Ferrari dives down the inside after the straight, and you can't hold him back any longer. He slips past, his car a red blur as he takes P3. The podium slips through your fingers, but you hold on to P4, pushing the car to its limits until the checkered flag waves.

In the media pen afterward, the energy is electric. You raise with confidence as the reporters wave his congratulations and questions. They press you for details, dissecting every turn, every near-miss. One reporter brings up the moment mid-race where you almost went off-track, and you grin, leaning into the microphone.

“Oh, yeah, look...” you sigh, laughter bubbling up inside you “Max told me to try his settings this weekend and, wow”

The interviewer chuckles at your reaction, but he really doesn’t know the half of it. It's unlike anything you’ve driven before, a razor-sharp font end and a rear looser than you've ever seen. The result of it is an extremely sensitive car, unpredictable, always on the edge of losing control.

“It’s hard to get used to, but you know... you don't argue with someone who's going to be the world champion."

A new announcement comes like a wave crashing over the F1 world a few days later: Sergio Perez will be sidelined for up to five races due to his wrist injuries. The rehabilitation will be long and difficult, but the doctors are optimistic about his full recovery. The news spread like a wildfire, the weight of expectation settling heavily on your shoulders. You’ve had your fair share of ups and downs this season, but stepping in for Checo? That was definitely not on your bingo card.

Arriving at Zandvoort later that week is a surreal experience. This time, you’re not just las minute filling in, you step into the paddock as a —somewhat— confirmed Red Bull driver for the start of a race weekend.

You’re dressed head-to-toe in the signature blue and red, the bold bull logo stamped on your chest for all to see. It feels like a second skin, but at the same time, heavier than you expected. Honestly, the simple attire by itself draws a lot of attention, more than you wanted —though, sorry to disappoint, you’re clearly not Max Verstappen.

At least, when you finally step into the Red Bull garage, the cameras and the blatant stares don’t follow. Your eyes shift through the garage as you try to gather your bearings, taking a deep breath, but someone quickly catches your eye.

Victoria.

The sight of her sent a wave of warmth crashing over you, and you rush forward, surprising her with a hug that she instantly reciprocates. It has been so long since you last saw her, only got meet her a few times during your seasons in F3 and F2 when you came to the Netherlands.

“Oh, look at you!” Victoria whispers, her voice thick with emotion as she buries her head into your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, really proud. This is huge”

“I know, it’s not in the best conditions but-” you lament, voice lightly trembling

“Don’t say that” she pulls away to look you in the eyes, still firmly holding your hands in hers, and you feel like a small teary child again. “You deserve it, this opportunity. Nobody gave this to you, you’ve worked for it”

“I wish you were here,” you confess, letting go of her right hand to wipe the stray tear rolling down your cheek. Victoria squeezes your hand, probably a bit overwhelmed as well, so you decide to lighten the mood a little “Your brother’s too good”

“Are you saying I wasn’t?!” Victoria shots back in faux indignation, giving you a playful light push.

“But you’d at least let me pass.”

“Yeah, I would have,” she states, confidently, her smile brightening the moment “I’m glad you two fixed things.”

The mention of last year’s chaos weighs heavy in the air, you take a deep breath, “Sorry for not coming to see you last year. That was... a hard weekend.”

The 2021 Netherlands Grand Prix was a weekend you'd rather forget. You’d felt exposed, vulnerable, and, honestly, betrayed by Max. Even though you were never more than acquaintances during your karting days, and the fact you had clashed so badly during that season that season, you thought him, more than anyone, could understand what being crossed by the media was like.

At that point especially, when, after weeks of leading drama-filled headlines, that video of you completely broken after your crash with him had flooded every social media platform. He should have known better than to approach you in such a delicate moment.

But, anyway, all of that was now forgotten.

“I know,” Victoria’s expression softens at the memory. Her eyes reflected the same pain you felt, and the understanding between you two was palpable “Max wanted mom and I to check on you since the team was dragging him everywhere, but well, he got to you first.”

That surprises you. You had guessed Max caught wind of the release of the video before approaching you after the race, but you supposed he just wanted to save his ass in what looked like an awful-looking media scandal. Never to check how you were feeling.

Someone media team swoops in just as you and Victoria are settling down, pulling you away for promo videos and media duties. You nod, giving your friend a parting smile, and follow them toward the motorhome where the familiar sight of cameras, mics, and branded backdrops wait for you. The Netflix crew is also buzzing around like bees, documenting your every step just in case you trip.

Max is already there, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, wearing that signature smirk.

“Took your time,” he says, raising an eyebrow as you approach. You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Blame your sister," you say, nodding toward the garage where you last left Victoria. “She’s distracting.”

Max chuckles, pushing himself off the wall and coming closer as the crew sets up for the first video. “Told her to hang around for a bit, hope recording doesn’t take too long.”

You are guided to stand by a table with portable cooking stoves, different ingredients and cooking utensils perfectly laid out for you to use. The arrangement seems to spark a realization in the Dutch’s mind.

“Oh, I almost forgot it. My mother wanted to invite you over to the house for lunch, or dinner, or whenever you want really...” Max trails off, scratching the back of his neck “I’ll just go pick you up at the hotel”

You blink in surprise. Lunch with Max’s family? It’s been years since you and his sister were close enough to even consider something like that. The thought makes you feel warm, almost nostalgic for a time when things were simpler.

“I’d love to, but—” you gesture around, the motorsport chaos swirling around you both, “I’ve got a lot to catch up on, car stuff, strategy... I want to focus.”

“That’s okay” Max nods in understanding, and you notice there’s an ease to your interactions now that wasn’t there before. “But don’t be too hard on yourself, alright?”

From them on, the weekend unfolds with lots of promo recording, meetings with the engineers and adapting to the team.

Qualifying is... bad? Honestly, it is the first time ever in your career you have entered Q3, which, for you is huge milestone, but the high expectations put on you make it seem like an even bigger failure.

Max is second, at least, which can make for an easy race win despite the poor help his teammate can guarantee him.

Race day also brings a whole new set of challenges. The weather at Zandvoort is temperamental, shifting between light rain and slick track conditions, and making tire strategy crucial. The pit calls come fast and frantic, and in the heat of the moment, you make a mistake. You swing in for the tire change and, surprise, the mechanics don’t try to even touch your car, but instead they start standing up and getting out of your way.

It takes you half a second to understand what is happening, but when you see the white overalls, you immediately push the gas pedal. You’ve stopped in Haas’ garage.

The mechanics from both teams wave frantically, guiding you to the correct pit box, but not without some laughter.

“Sorry, too many changes in one year” you mutter into the radio, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks beneath the helmet

Your race engineer is quick to reassure you "No problem," though you can still hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.

Cameras catch the Red Bull and Haas crews chuckling after your departure, and even the commentators can't hold back their amusement.

You get driver of the day too, for some reason.

Later that night, just as you finally collapse onto your hotel bed, exhausted, Max sends you the clip of your pit stop mishap with a string of laughing emojis. You sigh, a tired smile tugging at your lips. You’ll have to get used to these post-race celebrations —Max is on the way to sweep every single trophy this season.

Another win at his home race, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face all night. For you, a consolatory P5. You will do better next time.

Asshole

Go to sleep

Before you can even roll over, the Red Bull driver is already writing back. You pull the covers over yourself and turn off the lights, waiting for his reply to light up your screen.

Can’t

I’m drunk still

Did you get to the hotel alright?

You can almost hear the slur in his words, even through the letters. It takes a second for you to reply.

Yeah, just got here

I’m so tired, seriously, am not fit to party every week

You have to stop winning so much

There’s a long pause, the kind that makes you think he’s finally drifted off. But then your phone buzzes again.

Okay

I won’t win next week

Promise

A smile tugs at your lips at Max’s messages, warmth spreading through your chest at the silly prospect, and you tap out a quick reply.

Like you can help yourself

Good night, Max. Get some sleep.

You fall asleep before you can see his good night message, the events of the day finally taking a toll on you.

In Italy, everything feels different. Max and you fall into an unspoken rhythm thanks to the convenience of being in the same hotel. Every morning now begins with a knock at your door, the familiar sight of Max waiting to walk with you to breakfast, and then sharing a car to the track. This continues at the paddock as well, though Grand Prix’s weekends are always a chaos. You suffer through meetings, recordings and PR obligations side by side, exchanging glances when things drag on too long or when something utterly pointless is said. And sometimes, if you are lucky and the schedules align, you can even get to spend some low time relaxing back at the motorhome. Not because you are obligated, but because you want to

It is a welcome change. You have never been this close to a teammate in your time as a professional and Max Verstappen, contrary to all your previous thoughts about him, seems like the perfect person to have that experience with.

On Saturday, the meeting with the engineers stretches long into the evening. Despite the success of qualifying —better than expected, even, you’ve secured a solid P4, just a couple sports behind Max's P2—, the debrief is exhaustive. The engineers dive deep into every tiny detail: tire degradation, fuel consumption rates, weather forecasts, braking zones, and a million other things you’re digest in time for tomorrow. Your brain is buzzing by the time it finally wraps up.

The hotel’s restaurant has already closed by the time you roll into the lobby, and you both groan in unison as the realization hits —there’s no food in sight. The trainers, ever vigilant, push you both into the elevator, their meal-prep containers left earlier in your rooms supposedly your savior for the night. You know what's waiting for you though, and it's not appealing.

“I can’t eat another freaking rice bowl,” you whisper once the trainers step out on one of the lower floors, the mere thought of it making your stomach turn.

Max chuckles beside you, rubbing his stomach in agreement. “I think I’d rather starve.”

The two of you stand in comfortable silence for a moment, digesting the reality awaiting you. The floors of the elevator flash by on the display, climbing higher and higher toward your rooms.

“I mean...” Max starts, crossing his arms and leaning against the elevator wall with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I did see an open pizza place down the street when we were driving by”

“But tomorrow’s race day...” you mumble, trying to reason with yourself as much as him.

“Yeah...” Max nods, giving you space to mull it over.

The elevator dings and opens on your floor, and Max straightens, preparing to walk out and head toward the sad prepped meal waiting in his room. But just as he’s about to take a step, you reach out and grab the fabric of his shirt, halting him. You press the button to close the doors again, making a quick decision.

“Okay, but you’re not ordering!” you say, a grin starting to creep onto your face.

Max bursts into laughter, leaning back against the railing again. “Alright, alright.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, glancing at the two of you in the mirror. Both of you are still fully decked out in Red Bull merch from head to toe —Max even has his cap with his number 33 embroidered on it. This has to be the stupidest idea ever.

“The fucking Max Verstappen ordering pizza at 1 a.m. on the night before a Grand Prix,” you shake your head, already imagining the headlines. “As soon as they see you, they’re gonna freak o—”

“Like you’re any better!” Max interrupts, a teasing grin on his face.

Luckily, you manage to get through the pizza run with only a couple of selfies snapped by the restaurant owner and a few late-night customers. Once the pizza box is securely in hand, you both make a quick dash back to the safety of the hotel. It’s too late to hide your little escapade from the trainers —the notifications on your phone are already rolling in. But with the scent of freshly baked pizza wafting up to your room, you decide not to care. The film Max picked playing as a mere background as the two of you scarf down the greasy treat.

The next day, the Italian Grand Prix dawns with bright sunshine and adrenaline coursing through your veins. Each lap feels like a heartbeat quickening, anticipation pulsing through you as you steadily climb through the positions. Your focus is razor-sharp, each corner, each straight, a delicate balance of precision and control. Max is just ahead, having commanded the race since the second lap, and after battling off the Ferraris and Mercedes, you’ve finally latched onto his tail. P2.

You push hard, feeling the car respond beneath you with perfect precision, each movement sharp and purposeful. You’ve fought off them off, but they’re still close, their pace threatening to catch up any second. You need to widen the gap —need to create more space—, and you try to close in on Max to let him know exactly that.

But something feels off. Max doesn’t pull away, sometimes to the point you could easily overtake him.

What is happening? It’s not like he’s letting you pass, he is perfectly blocking the path, but why does he seems to already be at his limit?

“News on Plan X?” you ask over the radio, using Max coded name for some privacy. Better not to raise any alarms if they decide to put it up on TV.

“No changes”

You furrow your brows at the quick response of the race engineer. That can’t be. You could —easily— go faster, overtake him. Your pace keeps decreasing with every lap spent behind Max, the difference even making it difficult for you to maintain a comfortable gap between the two.

Maybe they don’t want to tell you there’s a problem? Or don’t see it? Is it his tires? Did he get any damage? —Why are you faster?

Despite the way your instincts scream for answers, you decide it’s better to keep quiet. A double podium is on the line, you can’t be fighting Max. Of course you want to win, to show your worth, but you also have to be a team player and these points are extremely important for Red Bull and, of course, for his championship.

The familiar silver and blue machine looms closer in your rearview mirror in the middle of your internal battle. Lewis Hamilton is relentless, shortening the gap between you with pure experience and determination.

You push down on the throttle, focusing on the track ahead, trying to distance yourself from him as best as you can while protecting Max. You change your line, block him at every turn, do everything to keep him at bay.

But with just three laps to go, despite your best efforts, Lewis finds his moment. He slips past with surgical precision, and the sting is immediate. Frustration surging straight from your heart. Could you have passed Max? Could you have won this race? Yes, says a voice in your head, you could have.

But it’s too late to act on it, you have betrayed your instincts and now you can only watch Hamilton as he pulls away.

P3.

As you cross the checkered flag, though, all the frustration takes a backseat in your mind. Finally, you have made it. You’ve secured a podium, your first one ever.

The moment you park the car in front of the sign with a number 3 and pull yourself out, a tidal wave of emotion crashes into you. The cheers of the crowd, the roar from the team. You can’t even keep yourself upright. Your legs feel weak, your heart thudding wildly in your chest.

You lean into the car, burying your head in your hands, your helmet still on as tears flow freely, the overwhelming joy and relief of this moment too much to hold in.

Before you can fully grasp the moment, you feel strong arms wrap around you, pulling you upright. Max is there, his face alight with pride and joy. He helps you remove your helmet, the tears still rolling down your cheeks, and pulls you into a tight hug. His laughter bubbling through the noise.

"You didn’t want to win, huh?" Max yells over the cheers, a wide grin on his face. "No more parties, you said? You were tired!"

His joy is contagious, and for a moment, you forget the exhaustion, laughing through your tears.

When he finally breaks away from the hug, it’s only to lift you onto the front of your car. You try to protest —it’s his victory, after all, not yours— but Max doesn’t give you the chance. He lets go of your hand and steps back toward the barriers, your helmet still in his hold as he cheers for you alongside the team. Leaving you to bask in your moment.

Your dream come true.

The celebration is everything you had imagined and more. The deafening roar of the crowd, the weight of the trophy in your hands, and the surge of pride coursing through your veins feel surreal. It’s all too much and yet exactly what you’ve dreamed of. The champagne flies in all directions, and Max and Lewis make sure to drench you in it until you're soaked to the bone.

By the time you make it to the post-race conference, cleaned up as best as you could, your skin still feels sticky, and your hair —well, that's a lost cause.

“An incredible race today!” the presenter congratulates you at the start of your round of questions, “It’s been a long journey to get here, hasn’t it? We’ve been waiting for you”

“I know!” you laugh, nerves still fluttering, but adrenaline keeping you afloat. “Finally got a race with nice weather. I’ve always hated the slicks, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“But you’ve always been good on rainy days,” Max interjects from his relaxed spot on the sofa, picking the mic unprompted for the first time

“What are you talking about? I almost ended up on the gravel in Spa last year,” you throw him a sideways glance, incredulous “Two times!”

“No, I meant, like, back in karting,”

“Ah, seriously?” you sigh, exasperated but amused, finally catching onto where he’s going with this. Max lets out a low chuckle, and you turn to Lewis and the interviewer “You know why he’s saying that? It’s because when that inchident thing with him and Charles happened, I was third all through it.”

You can almost see the journalists in the room perking up, pens poised with renewed energy. You’ve never really talked about this before —there was no need, especially since the main character on it hadn’t mentioned you either—, so this was probably news to everyone.

Honestly, you weren’t sure Max even remembered you being there.

“And you know,” you continue, getting into the swing of things, “those two were driving like we were playing Mario Kart or something. Max pushed Charles out to seventh. Charles came back up and almost crashed into me. That was a disaster!”

The interviewer grins, playing along with the banter. “Did you also end up in a puddle?”

“I actually won, since they were both disqualified,” you reveal, shaking your head as you look back at Max. His fond smile swiftly drawing one on your lips.

The Singapore Grand Prix looms large, buzzing through the paddock with one question on everyone’s mind: will Max bring home the championship today? Five races before the end of the season? It’s a delicate balance. For Max to seal the deal, he not only needs to win but also relies on Charles to have a disaster of a race —preferably a low grid finish or, better yet, a DNF. And with Singapore’s notorious twists and unforgiving barriers, it's not out of the question.

The fact that both of you are starting at the front of the grid, while the Ferraris languish in fifth and sixth, only heightens the expectations. It feels like everything’s falling into place. Maybe, just maybe, tonight will be the night Max brings home the title he’s fought so hard for.

“How am I going to sleep tonight?” you murmur as you pull the room key from your bag. You’re restless, still wound up from the qualifying session. “I’m all like, I don’t know. I feel like I could run a marathon right now”

“Not going to follow you on that one,” Max chuckles, low and tired, stretching out his arms as he follows you out the elevator “Sorry”

The hotel corridor is quiet, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpet as you make your way to your room. You look around. It’s a nice hotel this one, with a good gym and a big room. Such a shame the weekend has been so chaotic.

“Must be nice being so relaxed”

“Wasted all my nerves in Qualy,” he replies, shaking his head with a grin. The soaked track, the stifling humidity—it had all made qualifying feel like a war zone. Max had been knocked off pole a few times, twice by you. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you, can’t have you stealing the championship”

You pause, halfway through opening your door, and turn to look at him, incredulous. “You asshole, I’m like 200 points behind you!”

“Yeah, sure, sure” the Dutchman concedes sarcastically. “Just know I’ll be watching you”

Rolling your eyes, you lean against your door, pushing it open with your back. The door swings inward, but instead of stepping inside, you instinctively reach out, arms open. Of course, the goodnight hug —a routine that feels oddly familiar now. You can't quite remember when it started, when Max began waiting for you at the paddock or leaving you at your door every night. But as his arms wrap around you and you're pulled into his warmth, you realize you don’t really care.

“You’ll do great tomorrow”

“You too,” you whisper back into his shoulder, and a tiny smile draws in your lips just thinking about your next words “Mister World Champion”

“Don’t say that yet, you’re going to jinx it” Max susses you, jokingly, pulling back slightly but still holding onto you. Your arms rest comfortably over his shoulders.

You chuckle, looking at him straight in the eyes. “I told you, Max, there’s no way to jinx it. If it’s not tomorrow, it’ll be the day after. I just know you’re going to win so much that you’ll—”

“That I’ll get tired of it” Max finishes, in a whisper. The memory of the night you told him that, after his loss in last years’ championship, fresh in his head. “And you know, the same’ll happen to you. Just look how great you’ve done this year, with only—”

“You are just saying that” you interrupt him, grateful for his encouragement but also realistic. Just a few races are left for you to enjoy being in a title winning team, or simply on a team. Your one-year contract, once again, ticking by in front of your eyes.

“I don’t have to say it, you’ll see it” he assures you, his confidence radiating in every word. “But you won’t get tired, you’ll want win after win, after win”

You both laugh at that, maybe because it's the truth or because you are both basking in the promise of such futures. Of such fantasies.

Silence falls between you, the air grows thick with unspoken words. You gaze into each other's eyes, those familiar galaxies pulling you closer. Why does he have to have such pretty eyes?

And before you know it, you both lean in, the world around you fading away as your lips meet for the first time. Soft, tentative, but with so much want.

Max pulls back just a fraction, looking a little breathless, but then he gently nudges you toward your room, his body still hovering close to yours as he keeps the door open.

“The security cameras...” he chuckles when you glance up at him, clearing the confusion swirling in your eyes.

You can’t help but smile, the giddiness of the moment washing over you. Unable to resist, you bring him close again, your hand finding its way to his cheek as you lean in, capturing his lips with yours once more.

Sometimes, Max’s media training really does work wonders.

When you and Max arrive at the paddock the next afternoon, you feel like you are floating in a bubble of excitement. The usual chaos of race day is buzzing around you—engines roaring, engineers shouting, and the media snapping photos—but all of that seems distant. You exchange glances filled with unspoken affection, a spark of joy igniting between you at every second you get to spend together. It doesn’t matter if it’s during the endless drivers’ meeting or the PR duties, it’s nice being nice to him.

The media, ever-watchful and ever-mistaken, reads the chemistry as confidence, speculating about the brilliant strategy from Red Bull that has practically secured Max’s first championship. And yes, there’s truth to that, but the reality is that Max is simply too happy about finally kissing you.

The Dutchman makes a small detour to your driver’s room a couple minutes before you have to head to the track, a mischievous grin spreading across his face when he finds you alone. Without a word, he pulls you in for a quick, sweet kiss, the kind that leaves your heart racing and your cheeks flushed.

“What was that?” you laugh, your hands playfully resting on his chest as you look up at him, curiosity dancing in your eyes. “Do you do that with Checo too, huh? For good luck?”

“No, just you,” he replies, his tone light and teasing. Then, he leans down again, his hand caressing your face as he pecks your lips.

Yet, just as the kiss deepens, a knock on the door and a voice calls out. The race start.

The race is a delicate balancing act from the moment the lights go out. Max launches into the lead, commanding the front of the grid with the ease of a seasoned champion, while you follow close behind. Every lap is executed with seamless coordination between the two of you, the Red Bulls in perfect sync, widening the gap from the rest of the field. The strategy is clear—avoid the battles, manage the tires, and let the Ferraris and everyone else fight among themselves. Both of you know what’s at stake: the championship.

Your engineer's voice crackles through the radio at intervals, feeding you updates on tire wear, fuel management, and gaps. You can see Max upfront doing the same, his moves calculated and fast. There is no room for errors.

The laps tick down, the race dragging into what feels like an endless cycle of corners and straights. But everything changes when you hear the voice of your race engineer again, this time with a note of concern.

“Carlos closing in behind. In DRS range.”

Your heart skips a beat, though you keep your hands steady on the wheel. It’s clear he’s not going to let you both just cruise to victory.

Max is still ahead, but you know he's starting to struggle. He’s been pushing, maybe too hard, and the tire degradation is catching up to him. You can see it in the way his car shifts through the corners, just a little slower, a little more unstable. He’s giving it everything, but the gap with the Ferrari is closing, and fast.

You know the moment is coming. The moment you’ll have to make a decision, if they don’t make it for you. In the pitwall they seem to have reach the same conclusion, relaying both Max and Carlos gap to you every few seconds.

Carlos makes a try to overtake you, once, twice, without success. You are blocking him, but can’t do so for much longer while you have Max at an arm's length.

Your race engineer comes through the radio, again, the tension in his voice this time unmistakable “You can push”.

Permission.

Your heart sinks. The conversation from yesterday replaying in your mind.

As the next lap approaches, you take a deep breath and swing out of the slipstream, pulling alongside Max. There’s a brief, silent moment of understanding between you. It’s not a fight, just necessity. And with a heavy heart, you make the overtake cleanly, taking the lead.

You glance in your mirrors again, catching sight of Max falling back. The tires are gone, and the Ferraris are right there to capitalize. Within a lap, Carlos gets by, then Charles. Max is slipping, and you can feel the weight of it settle in your chest.

Later in the day, the headlines say you have feed the Lion to the vultures. You knew Max was a hard time and, despite it, you just let him go. Like deadweight.

There’s a brief second of silence on the radio before your engineer confirms, “Good job. Keep pushing.”

Now it’s just you, leading the race, with Carlos right on your tail.

The roar of the Ferrari engine fills the space behind you, the threat of him overtaking growing with every lap. You push harder, your tires squealing as you take the corners, doing everything you can to hold onto the lead. But the Ferrari is relentless, inching closer, until finally, in a desperate late-braking move, Carlos gets past you. Almost crashing into your car.

The disappointment hits you instantly, but you can’t dwell on it. You’re still in second, still in the running, but the possibility of Max winning the championship slipping away gnaws at you.

Lap after lap, you fight to stay close to Carlos, but the gap widens. Max is slipping further back, and by the time the checkered flag waves, he’s dropped to sixth. You cross the line in P2.

Your highest finish yet, but it feels hollow.

Parc fermé is a blur. You climb out of the car, handing over your helmet and gloves without even thinking, your body running on autopilot. The podium awaits, but you feel none of the excitement you imagined you’d feel standing on the second step. The cameras flash, the crowd cheers, yet your mind is elsewhere.

After the podium ceremony, you’re guided back to the garage, drenched in champagne but weighed down by disappointment. The team welcomes you back with smiles, their congratulations sincere, but you can see it in their faces —the unspoken acknowledgment of what just unfolded on track. The championship remains in a limbo.

You change into a clean race suit, steeling yourself for the media. The cooldown room had already been hard enough with all those cameras in your face, capturing your every twitch, and you’re not sure how much more you can hold together.

You don’t really think about it as you make your way to the opposite part of the garage and knock on his door, a hand pressed to your chest.

There's no response. Maybe Max hasn’t made it back to the garage.

Still, you decide open, just in case.

Your eyes widen when you see him, not sure if you are ready to face him. But your heart wills you to take a step inside. Max is sitting in the corner, slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands. The sight hits you hard. Memories from last season, of you sitting in his same exact position, flooding your mind.

Without a word, you reach into your suit and pull out the handful of candies you grabbed earlier. It’s not much, feels silly to do even, but right now it's the only thing you can offer. You place it gently on the table in front of him, just as he had once done for you.

Max looks up, his eyes tired but warm. A tight-lipped smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You try to reciprocate it, yet only a grimace comes out.

The engineers and mechanics start calling for you to head to the debrief from outside, and you look at the door and back to Max. You want to give him the same space he gave you, to be as understanding as he had been last year, but you feel rooted to the spot.

Max finally speaks, his voice is soft “Congrats on P2.”

“The first loser” you correct, with a shrug of your shoulders, a tight smile on your lips. The old joke weighting in your heart.

And Max smiles, for real this time.

That’s when it all hits you. The weight of the race, the decisions, the pressure —it all crashes down at once. Tears start welling up in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice breaking. “I’m really sorry Max, I don’t want to go back to fighting again”

Max is on his feet in an instant, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a warm, firm embrace. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, his voice soft in your ear. “It’s not your fault. You did what you had to do. Don’t cry, I’m not mad.”

“But, I shouldn’t—, I—”

Max just holds you tighter, sussing your cries, one hand gently stroking your hair as you cry into his chest. Your hands clutch at his fireproof shirt, desperate, like he might slip away if you let go.

“And I didn’t even have nice candies for you! I-” you sob, pulling away from his chest long enough to gesture to the table, your voice catching in your throat. “Just the ones for the throat. This is so bad, I’m so sorry”

Max eyes widen with surprise as he takes in your teary outburst, a chuckle slipping out of his lips, but there’s no teasing in it —just something tender and understanding.

“Don’t laugh!” you protest, fresh tears brimming in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry” the driver helplessly smiles, pulling you back against his chest and letting you cry. After a moment, he adds quietly, “If it means anything, I bought the candies like way before I gave them to you. In a nice store I found"

You pull away, confused, your brows furrowing.

“What?” Max questions with a sheepish smile “You thought I had a nice bag with your favorite candies just laying around in my room?”

You lower your eyes as you mutter “Thought it was from a fan or something”, a pout forming in your lips

“No, no” he shakes his head, rubbing slow circles into your back. “I bought them back in France, after the fight in the parade. I felt really bad about everything that happened”

Your eyes widen. France? That was weeks before you patched things up last year. Had he been carrying those candies from race to race, just waiting for a chance to fix things between you two?

More tears well up, the flood of emotions overwhelming you. “Max, no! That’s even worse!”

After a season filled with battles and close calls, Max finally clinches the championship at the Suzuka Grand Prix. Despite your best efforts to keep calm, your excitement betrays you the moment set your eyes on him. Surrounded by the team, the photographers and the fans, basking in the glory of his first title.

Without much thinking, you run straight to Max, throwing your arms around him in an embrace that’s far too enthusiastic to go unnoticed. Max pulls you in without hesitation when he sees you, laughing as you both collapse into each other, overcome with relief, pride, and sheer happiness.

The sportscasters on live TV are quick to catch it, chuckling at the scene.

“Oh, are those..?” one of them wonders, amused.

“Yeah, they are!” another commentator jumps in, clearly enjoying the moment “Do these two have something to tell us?”

That night’s celebration is truly unforgettable, a whirlwind of champagne, cheers, and heartfelt toasts. The team is overflowing with joy, reveling in the culmination of their hard work, eight years of relentless effort finally paying off in the most spectacular fashion. Laughter rings out as stories are shared, memories of the long nights and tireless preparations flooding back to everyone in the room.

Max at the center of it all, his dream come true. His first World Championship. One of many.

And although the saying states that misfortunes never come single, it is fortunes that do it this time. A couple weeks later, as you savor every moment left in the Red Bull garage —nestled in your incredible world championship-winning car and with a schedule that perfectly aligns with Max’s before Checo returns—, you find yourself at the top of the grid.

Your first win.

It’s exhilarating, the trophy gleaming in your hands as you stand on the top step of the podium, the crowd erupting in cheers below. You can hardly believe it, especially after the uncertainty of whether you would even participate in this season. But here you are, excelling everyone expectations and proving that you deserve to be here. You belong here.

However, as sweet as the victory is, there’s an inevitable bittersweetness when you slip back into the Alpha Tauri race suit. Hanging low on the grid again despite the high expectations everyone has thrown onto you. This is your true seat after all, but the contrast still feels shattering, like waking up from a dream you didn’t want to end.

Guess you will have to remind yourself of your Wolrd Champion boyfriend’s words: “It will come”. Because one day your name will be etched on that trophy right alongside his. Max is sure of it.

The end of the season arrives just a month later, and both Red Bull and AlphaTauri teams gather for their final celebration. A constructors and driver’s championship in their pocket.

It’s a glamorous night, everyone dressed to the nines. Max looks dashing in his tailored black suit, and you in a long dress that makes you nervous just to walk in. The evening is full of happiness and memories, a fitting end to a thrilling year.

After a long round of applause for Max and his championship win, Christian Horner takes the microphone, a grin spreading across his face as he addresses the crowd.

“Actually, can our newly confirmed driver for Alfa Tauri come up to the stage for a second, please?” he announces, and the room erupts into applause. Your heart skips a beat.

No one really knew about your contract extension —two more years in the AlphaTauri seat, with the possibility of a return to Red Bull on the horizon—, so the announcement makes your future with the team feel all the more tangible.

You leave your seat to walk towards the stage, confusion written all over your face. You clearly weren’t expecting a live announcement, less so bringing you up on the stage for it.

Max leaves the spotlight for a second to come to meet you at the top of the stairs, lending a helping hand.

“Can you explain to me what am I doing going up on stage with the world champion?” you whisper. You grip his arm, grateful for the support as you follow him to the center.

“Well, bringing the rising star, what else?” Max states like it’s obvious, a smirk tugging at his lips. And then he can’t help but whisper “You look beautiful”

Standing on stage, you feel the nerves tighten in your chest, the weight of all eyes on you suddenly overwhelming as Christian thanks you for your efforts this season. But the team principal’s voice breaks through the buzzing in your ears.

“I’ll be honest, kid,” he starts, turning toward you with a playful glint in his eye. “If I knew you were this good, I would’ve saved myself a lot of calls from Max.”

Laughter erupts from the crowd, and you can’t help but smile, shaking your head at Max, who just smirks and shrugs innocently. You didn’t know the Dutchman had had such a hand in bringing you into the team.

Christian raises his glass, his expression shifting into something more serious. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want a round of applause for both of them —our two first-time winners. For many more victories and better ones, if that is even possible”

Max steps forward, taking your hand and lifting it alongside his, both of you standing together, as winner, first winners. The room erupts in cheers and clapping, the weight of the season finally settling in. You exchange a glance with Max, and in that moment, you both know that this is just the beginning of an incredible adventure together.

Author's note: First of all, thank you all so much for reading! I can't thank you enough for the comments and support you gave to First Loser.

I hope you enjoy this ending a lot too. I hadn't even thought of writing a second part but now that I see it, I'll have to give agree with you: it needed a part 2. So thanks for the encouragement! hahaha

(Also thank you to the person who say they wanted to see a reunion with Victoria, I loved writing it)

Taglist: @youre-on-your-ownkid, @bieberismysoulmate, @nebarious, @drezzerk33, @yuiiimd

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 imagine

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just-a-sleepy-idiot · 5 months ago

Text

Castiel Imagine: Winchester!Reader falling asleep on him in the Impala

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral Reader, Younger Winchester Reader

He couldn’t safely teleport anymore since his disobedience, and he was bound to the earthly means of transportation ever since. Dean joked that he looked like a kid in the backseat when he joined you there, you had stuck your head out and jokingly asked which of them was the Mom then. That set off an interesting discussion on the topic, but you whispered to him that Sam was clearly the Mom. Castiel had frowned and curiously gazed at your brothers at that.

Sharing a backseat with you meant a lot of things, it meant that when you hit a part in your book that you particularly liked you would turn to him with a smile and tell him about it. It meant that sometimes you stopped looking out the window with your headphones in to give him an earpiece so he could listen to it as well. You then would return to look outside and rest your head on your knees while he sat still and looked on straight as always. It meant that you would always hand him a bit of your snacks on the drive, despite him explaining to you that he didn’t need food to survive. At some point he just took what you gave him and ate it with his usual stoic expression.

You were very insistent on treating him as their own.

He didn’t know why, but you seemed to care about his opinion on things that he really didn’t know much about. Like politics, or the clothes you were wearing that day. He squinted and tried to find something to say in those moments, „They look.. functional enough.“ He had said after a few moments, „Functionality is associated with comfort right?“ You slightly tilted your head, „I guess, yeah. You ask like you don’t know what comfortability feels like.“ He blinked, „If I can move around that should suffice.“ You somehow concluded from that that he needed a set of ‚lazy day clothes‘, whatever that meant.

This time it was raining heavily, you hardly went forward since Dean couldn’t drive as fast as he usually would in the storm, and he wouldn’t stop complaining about it too.

You had put your book down a while ago as it seemed to become harder and harder for you to stay awake. Increasingly uncomfortable with sitting for hours you had pulled your legs in and shifted a bit more towards him in that notion.

Castiel sat still as always, when his eyes suddenly shifted to the side when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He blinked, swallowing thickly when he felt your face nestle further into his clothes as sleep fully took over you. Your weight must have shifted to eventually sink fully to where he was seated. You were warm, and your lips parted with the soft, steady breathing of slumber.

It was like were suddenly a ton of signals and sensations going on in his form- he usually never got this close to anyone unless it was in combat. But you took over all his senses at once and he didn’t know what to do. Your scent mixed with the smell of rain that streamed in through the small crack of the window you left open. Your warm breath fanned over him, your knee brushed against his thigh.

It was rude to wake up humans when they slept, he learned that through plenty of pillows thrown at his face by Dean so.. so he should just let you be, right? He gazed at the book in your lap, still weakly held onto by your hand. He carefully reached out to untangle your hand from it before it fell down and woke you up, but once his hand brushed against yours your fingers twitched upwards to cover his.

It was so natural for humans to hold each other, their forms completed each other perfectly, like hands. And it came so intuitively to them that even in your sleep you felt and sensed another hand and got closer to it with your own, with the smallest movements your state of sleep allowed you to.

You always treated him like you were equal, and even if he didn’t take as much harm in a situation as a human might you were the first to advocate for his safety. Were you simply.. fooled by his human form? His gaze dropped, the thought somehow caused him disappointment.

Sam and Dean had gotten quiet, both of them had noticed the scene.

„Can I tell you something?“ Dean made eye contact with him through the mirror, both of them agreed. „Sometimes I think Y/n doesn’t understand I‘m not a human.“ Castiel said, quiet as not to wake you. Sam raised his brows and turned a bit in his seat to look at him.

„I don’t think so. I think.. they just don’t know how to show their affection ‚angel like‘. Humans show each other that they like them in different ways, but part of it is meeting the needs of the other human or getting close to them, you know?“ Castiel frowned, „I don’t.“

„Well you don’t need to eat or something like that, and Y/n knows that.“ Dean said, „But they don’t want to exclude you from the group, and they don’t know how else to show affection but the human way.“ He said and shrugged. „They don’t want you to feel left out just cause you don’t need what we do.“

Castiel looked at you again. You.. liked him? You wanted him to feel belonging? He had never expressed that he felt uncomfortable, and sometimes he did feel.. disconnected. Piloting this body around. trying effortlessly to understand and relate to the references and behaviors that came with being Human. The jokes, the conclusions you all seemed to come to simply because you were the same species and family.

He never talked about it, but you assumed or understood it anyway.

Castiel bit his lip and his eyes flicked from your face to your hands, and he carefully intertwined them with you more. Maybe he could show you appreciation by mimicking and reciprocating some of what you were doing. It felt.. like he was doing it right. It felt right, and not only in a technical way.

Hm.

#gender neutral reader #castiel x y/n #castiel x you #castiel x reader #spn x reader #supernatural x reader

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yesihaveaobsession · 5 months ago

Text

Cling To Her Like You Mean It

Alastor x female reader

Summary: Alastor gets wasted and your left to handle him, except his clingy ass heckkk.

A/N- I hope y'all like it! This is kind of a head canon I do believe that if he gets black out drunk/ completely wasted he does become HELLA clingy.

(CREDIT TO: MR SMILES AKA @@ZombieRetroTea ON X)

You had never seen Alastor drink anything but his expensive signature whiskey, so when he started chugging down that mysterious glowing brew from Angel, you knew things were about to get interesting. You watched from across the bar, a mix of curiosity and concern bubbling in your chest. The Radio Demon was always so composed and controlled, but tonight? Tonight was different.

Within minutes, Alastor's usual charismatic demeanor began to waver. His smile was still there, but it was softer and less menacing. And his eyes—his eyes told you everything. His eyes were usually always sharp and calculating, but at the moment they were almost dreamy. You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw him stumbling slightly, catching himself on the bar. That's when you decided to intervene, placing your hand on his back to signal you were right behind him.

"Hey, Alastor," you shouted over the music, your eyebrows furrowed. "Maybe it's time you cut back a little, huh?" His reaction was quick, surprisingly. He turned towards you, and to your surprise, his eyes lit up even more when he saw you.

"Darling!" he exclaimed, his voice warm and affectionate with a hint of slur and his transatlantic accent. Alastor then proceeded to practically lunge at you, causing you to flinch, but he didn't notice nor care. He wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. "You're here! I was just thinking about you!"

You laughed nervously and tried to support his weight as he leaned heavily on you. "I'm always here, Alastor. Maybe we should get you to a seat," you struggled. That's when he added more weight by nuzzling his face into your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"No, no, no," the demon murmured, his tone almost childlike. "I want to stay right here with you. You're so... so wonderful, did you know that?" You weren't expecting him to be so clingy, but again, once you're wasted, you become vulnerable, which meant you were going to be babysitting him probably for the rest of the night. You blushed at his words. He was always kind to you, and you appreciated it because, well, he could kill you in the blink of an eye if he wanted to, but this—this was a whole new level. He was practically, if not outright, flirting with you.

Your heart began to race. "Uh—thank you, Alastor... But let's sit you down, yeah?" You pressed on again, and reluctantly, he allowed you to guide him to a nearby booth. As soon as you sat down, he scooted as close to you as possible, his long legs practically in your lap, draping an arm around your shoulder and resting his head on your shoulder.

"You know, I don't tell you this enough," he slurred. "But you're my favorite person in this whole wretched place."

"Thanks, Al, that means a lot." You looked around the bar. You had picked the booth in the far back corner so you could keep an eye on your surroundings. Somehow, Alastor took that as an invitation, chuckling and then nuzzling his face into your neck again, nipping playfully at your skin. His ears were practically brushing against your face. "You smell so nice, my dear," he mumbled, his voice almost hypnotically low. "Like roses."

"Let's get you back to the hotel, yeah?" His body seemed to melt against yours.

"Mm... yes, I think that's a good idea. But only if you come with me."

"You can barely walk; of course, I'm coming with you." You looked around the bar and found Charlie and Vaggie sitting next to each other, watching Nifty run around with cockroaches. You flagged them down, and they headed towards you. To their surprise, Alastor was nuzzling into your neck, and you couldn't move even if you wanted to because he had put all of his weight on you, so you were just tensed up.

"I'm going to bring Mister Happy back to the hotel and lay him on my bed. Could one of you help me?"

Charlie nodded, and you each took one of his arms and draped it around your shoulders. The Radio Demon's eyes were still dreamy, and he had a closed-lipped smile as he let out a hum. That's when his head leaned closer to you, looked you up and down, and said, "Well, aren't you a pretty one?" You tried not to blush as you and Charlie struggled down the streets of Pride Ring, trying to complete the mission of Alastor's safety.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin alastor #i have an obsession

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hottpinkpenguin · 4 months ago

Note

Hey 😊 if your still taking requests for the peakys. Could I please ask for Alfie Solomons with A "ask me to stay" and D "dark secret" female reader. Thanks 💗💗

A/n: that's a wrap on Peaky Blinders requests from June!!! thx to all the lovelies who participated <3

The Wall Between Them - Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2362 Content warnings: Domestic violence, reader murders the abuser, abuse, violence, blood/gore, protective Alfie, can't-be-vulnerable Alfie, trying-his-best Alfie, hints of soft!Alfie?

Her hands shook so violently it was a wonder she didn’t drop the pistol. If anyone had been watching the scene before them, they would have credited a guardian angel for guiding the bullet straight to his chest despite the treacherous wobble of the gun. Her eyes were closed when she pulled the trigger, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood from her mouth.

He fell like a sack of bricks. One minute he was lunging towards her, eyes trained on the pistol. A cold fear seized his heart as he saw the terror in her gaze melt away to black rage. All those whiskey beatings, harsh words and hateful years had backfired on him. Then, in the next instant, he died to the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot.

The silence that followed was so loud she swore it would crush her. The walls around her seemed to be holding their breath. Was he really dead? Did she really pull the trigger?

She didn’t let herself exhale until she saw a pool of blood - darker than she’d imagined it would be - staining the floorboards underneath him. She dropped the pistol; it landed with a heavy thud at her feet moments before her knees folded on themselves as if made of twigs. She pitched sideways, letting the hallway wall brace her fall as she deflated under the weight of realization. She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how many times he’d hit her. The ghastly bruises and scars he’d left etched in her skin, the nights her mind had divorced itself from her battered body and wandered the halls like a ghost, the mangled monster he’d grown into… none of it mattered. All that others would see was a dead husband and a living wife with motive, means, and a guilty conscience. Even dead, that horrid man was imprisoning her.

She knew there was only one person who could get her out of this. And so, she wiped the blood from her rapidly swelling lip, picked up the pistol and slipped it into the deep pocket of her apron, and tied up the escaped strands of hair. It had been almost seven years since she’d seen Alfie Solomons, but she still knew exactly where to find him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.”

Alfie barely heard Jack’s murmured comment above the jeer of the crowd. The Irishman was swaying unsteadily on his feet in the pen after taking a nasty round of hits to his right ear. Alfie could see his ear filling with blood. A busted eardrum, likely. Circling opposite him, the burly Hungarian Alfie knew as The Red Devil was snarling proudly as he surveyed his quarry.

“Fuckin’ finish him!” Alfie called out, lifting a wad of bills in the air like a signal fire. The fight was fixed of course, and Alfie had fixed it. The Red Devil was turning into quite a lucrative investment, but his penchant for theatrics was tiring to Alfie. He preferred a quick win, efficient and clean.

“Boss?” Jack edged slightly closer, waiting for Alfie’s orders.

“Hm?”

“A lady, boss. There’s a lady here to see you. Asked for you by name.”

“Didn’t book a whore tonight,” Alfie replied simply, waving Jack off as The Red Devil moved in on the Irishman, holding the dazed man’s head as he drove his knee up into the exposed forehead until the bell rang to signal the end of the fight. The crowd erupted into a mix of appreciative cheers, boos, and cries to settle up or place new bets as another pair of fighters moved to the edge of the pen.

“Don’t think she’s a whore, boss. Looks like a respectable lady. Bit beat up though.”

Alfie fixed Jack with an incredulous stare. He wasn’t accustomed to his men pressing him on trivial issues like this. Especially not on a fight night. Jack flinched imperceptibly; he was well-acquainted with Alfie’s anger and bore a nasty half-moon scar the framed his left eye from being pistol-whipped after pressing Alfie’s limits. Alfie almost moved to strike him, until something about Jack’s words and the odd look in his eyes plucked at something.

“She give a name?”

Jack shook his head, eyes glued to the ground. “No. All she said was you were ol’ friends. Childhood friends, I think she said.”

It couldn’t be. Alfie shook his head as if trying to shake out the thought. But, then again, there was only one person he’d ever met who’d claim him as a friend.

“Beat up, you say?”

Jack nodded. “Lip’s split and she got a shiner.”

A memory flickered across Alfie’s mind. He hadn’t seen her in years, but the last time he had, she’d had a ring of purple and green bruises around her neck. She’d tried to hide it under a high collar dress, but Alfie had her pressed up against the wall of his office, their lips devouring each other, and he hadn’t missed the way she winced when he let his hand slide down the side of her neck on its way to undo the line of buttons at the front of her dress. He knew who’d done it and didn’t need her to say a damn thing. If she hadn’t begged him on her knees - her goddamn knees - to spare that pathetic man’s life, Alfie Solomons would have gutted him nice and slow.

He hadn’t seen her since. She’d stopped writing, stopped answering her own front door, stopped going to the butcher shop below where Alfie kept a small apartment. He’d had her on every surface of that apartment, rabid with hunger for anything she’d give him. Then she’d just vanished. Told him she was due to be married, couldn’t carry on with him anymore. Alfie knew there’d been a silent request buried in her words. He’d heard her ask it with her eyes. Ask me to marry you, and I’ll leave him. Alfie cursed himself every day for letting that moment slip by like water on rocks. He wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to love someone now then he was back then, but in his quiet moments he wondered if maybe he could have figured it out with her, if only he’d been willing to take that chance.

“Boss? Boss, what do you want me to tell ‘er?”

The sound of the bell announcing the start of another match jarred Alfie loose from his reminiscences.

“Nothin’. I’ll talk to ‘er.”

Jack eyed him with surprise, but quickly smoothed the spark of interest out of his features rather than risk another scar from his mercurial boss. He’d never known Alfie Solomons to pause his dealings for a woman. Something about her must have been special. Jack followed his boss out of the smoky, cacophonous warehouse and towards the back of the building where Alfie kept his offices.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alfie felt his fingers dig into the wood of his desk as she stepped out of the shadowy corner of his office and into the soft halo glow of his desk lamp. Her lip was split, blood dried on her chin, and one of her luminous eyes was swollen shut. Murder ripped through Alfie’s blood at the sight of her.

“Before you say anything, Alfie, he’s dead.”

Her voice sounded different, thin and strained, like someone had scooped out her soul leaving nothing but an echo behind.

“He sure fuckin’ is.” Alfie was shaking he was so bloodthirsty. He couldn’t look at her and risk losing himself. How could it still be so fresh, he wondered, after seven long years?

“No, that’s not what I meant… Alfie, I-, I killed him. I shot him.”

A different man might have been horrified, or maybe even a little impressed. Alfie was none of that. Instead, he felt himself pitch forward over the lip of a hole of despair.

His voice cracked when he ordered Jack and the rest of the boys out of the office. Once the door closed behind them, she sank down into one of the leather-backed chairs across the desk from him. Desperate to be close to her lest she splinter to pieces, Alfie rounded the desk to perch against its edge, stretching his long legs away from her in an attempt to give her space. She hardly looked up at him.

“What did he fuckin’ do to you?” Barely more than a whisper. Alfie was glad the light was too dim for her to see that he was treacherously close to tears.

She looked up at him, shocked. Her one good eye gleamed at him.

“Alfie, did you hear me? I killed him.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. Alfie was full of tender urges and gentle feelings, but his mouth couldn’t seem to give them words or noise. All he knew was harshness and violence. It was the same wall that had kept him from reaching out for her hand and telling her all the things he felt the last night he’d seen her. Here he was, so close he could smell her lavender soap but his affection locked away so tightly and deeply that he couldn’t force himself to touch it even if he tried.

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he grunted brusquely after a few moments. He dropped his gaze, unable to tolerate the sight of her face bruised and misshapen. He noticed her hands were trembling in her lap. “What do you need, darlin’?”

She stifled a small sob at the sound of the pet name he’d reserved for her.

“He’s still-... the body, I- I don’t know… I guess-”

“It’s done. Write down your address.” Alfie handed her a pen and paper, watched as she struggled to mark the street name and number legibly. Her knuckles were bruised, he noted with a twisted pang of pride and pain. She’d been fighting back, he realized. All alone these last seven years. And he’d let her. He’d stopped fighting to get to her. Let her close herself off to him. Let himself close off to her. And now, it wasn’t until she’d been pushed to the brink - maybe past it - that she’d come to him, and only because she knew that when violence and darkness was needed, Alfie could do it. But he couldn’t do the other things, the harder things. Like love her, protect her, tirelessly fight for her.

She tore off the page and handed it to Alfie. He took it without looking at the writing, strode over the door and excused himself from the office. He thrust the paper into Jack’s hands.

“Take care of it, Jackie. No loose ends, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ rip you limb from limb if it ain’t done right.”

He didn’t give Jack or the others time to argue or ask questions before he slammed the door as a dismissal and strode back to her. He reached for her, needing to feel her warmth under his fingertips just to prove she was here. She flinched instinctively, sending Alfie deeper into self-loathing.

“Do they know-”

“It’s done, darlin’. It’s taken care of.”

Alfie poured himself a glass of whiskey, drunk it down in one gulp, and poured another.

“Alfie…”

Her voice was so soft and yearning it broke Alfie in two. He turned to face her. Gods she looked perfect.

“It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ again.” The most solemn promise he’d ever made.

She recoiled from him as if slapped. It took him a half moment to process why.

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt you. Ever again, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ burn the world and every hateful man with it, it don’t matter.” It was all Alfie could find the words to say.

Finally understanding his meaning, he watched her relax in the chair. She eyed him without saying a thing, a strange expression on her face.

“I don’t want that, Alfie,” she replied softly. “I don’t want any more death. I don’t want to see someone hurt ever again. I just… I just want…”

Her words trailed off into the quiet. Neither of them knew where the end of that sentence would lead. The space between them stretched and morphed until it felt like an ocean separating them. Strange, that two people who both wanted so desperately to be with each other could feel so far away.

“Don’t set any fires on my account, Alfie.” She rose from her chair and walked towards him, taking the glass out of Alfie’s hand and downing the whiskey with a wince. “Just ask me to stay.”

Alfie felt his heart run headlong into that same old wall that always kept them apart. Here she was, the only woman who’d ever mattered, literally giving him the words she wanted to hear. And all that Alfie’s tongue wanted to say was more promises of vengeance, of violence in her name, of destruction.

She watched him struggle, her gaze even but tired.

“Ask me to stay, Alfie. That’s all I need.”

The openness those words threatened to expose in Alfie Solomons felt like a lit bomb nestled in the cage of his ribs. He choked on the air in his lungs. Come on, you fucker, he thought viciously as he struggled to press back on the urge to run.

She watched and waited. Each moment, her shoulders sagged a bit more.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, and Alfie spat the word out as if it had poison between its letters. But was it close enough?

Her heart thought so. She felt a softness take root there, a shred of hope.

Yes, it was enough.

She gave Alfie Solomons a soft smile. The way he crumbled at the sight told her enough about his feelings for her. Even if he couldn’t put them into words, she could see the love that she was so desperate to excavate from wherever he stored away the fragile parts of himself.

“That’s enough,” she told him sweetly, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. For the first time in seven years, she let herself relax into a man’s touch as Alfie’s fingers found hers…

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders requests #peaky blinders fanfic #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x reader

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love-belle · 1 year ago

Text

light as a feather !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she writes a song and finds love again while he finds himself facing the consequences of his actions.

for when the right person is right around the corner. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // lando norris x fem!ex!reader // charles leclerc x fem!reader (implied)

sequel - you got me thinking nonsense ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language, mention of cock once, sex jokes (???)

author's note - might make a part 2 idkk but i hope u like this <3 thank u sm for reading!!!! alsoooo im gonna start a taglist so if ur interested PLEASE let me know <3

taglist - @marsdreamworld @1nt3rnetgf

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by y/nupdates, f1paddockgossip, y/nsteponme and 79,628 others

popnews y/n y/l/n and lando norris called it quits after almost a year of being together. this news came after y/l/n flew out to see him during the dutch grand prix and left the very next day, not attending the race. "it was very sudden, neither of them saw it coming," sources close to the pair commented. "they were together for a year and it was getting very real and that scared lando. he just felt like the relationship had run its course and wasn't going anywhere." this proved to be kind of confusing and controversial as not even a week after their break up, norris was spotted with a girl out on a "date". for more details, visit the link in our bio.

2,528 comments

username say sike rn

username WHAT THE FUCK.

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-> username man's definitely tasting gravel the next race

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≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 3,772,415 others

yourusername feather out everywhere lol have fun with this one <3

tagged landonorris

28,628 comments

username TOO MUCH GOING ON I NEED TO SCREAM

username THE TAG THE SONG THE LYRICS OG MY GOF

username i am afraid lando is crying as we speak rn

charles_leclerc so good 😘

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-> username iconic

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-> yourusername LMFAOAOAO

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taylorswift so proud 🤧🩷

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-> username no bc i need to go back to their in love era

username lando norris is having a breakdown over this as we talk

carlossainz55 on repeat 😍

*liked by yourusername*

username someone PLEASE hand the mic to lando i need to hear what he has to say about this

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*liked by yourusername*

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-> yourusername angel ❤️‍🩹

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≡;- ꒰ twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lilymhe, oliviarodrigo, charles_leclerc and 2,628,825 others

yourusername floatin through the memories like wtv (photo creds to charles_leclerc who annoyed me until i agreed to post these)

15,527 comments

username OH MY GOD

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-> username fr like how did charles not pass out from behind the camera

-> charles_leclerc trust me, i was so close

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-> yourusername i love u 🫶🏼

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-> username no bc this will always be iconic

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username ate so hard and left no crumbs

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username my pronouns are she not her bc i'll NEVER be her

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 975,327 others

landonorris talking shit ain't gonna do a thing

11,628 comments

username says YOU

username lando babe go on do it log out and never log in again

username alr that's enough being silly for today

username dw guys he was just feeling a lil silly 🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪🤪😝😝😝😝😝🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

username no words

carlossainz55 listen to your own advice, brother.

-> username damn he even used proper punctuation and all

username hahahahaha 😐😐😐😐😐 SOOOO hilarious 😐😐😐😐😐

username stfu

username "talking shit" my brother she literally just wrote a song destroying u and connected with ur ex and got a f1 driver who was ur friend up in her dms and posted a few shady captions what r u on abt.

-> username y'all my girl did no wrong he had this coming for cheating

charles_leclerc lol

-> username out of everything everyone has commented this is by far the most scariest one

-> username u know u have done fucked up with charles comments "lol"

username love how the comments are just bullying lando 🫶🏼

alex_albon LMFAOAOAOAO

-> username PLEASEEE ALEX

-> username forever in love with him he's my babygirl

username love how protective the drivers are of y/n ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username m*n need to go back to war fr

maxverstappen1 cannot wait to see you on track this week.

-> username i have a feeling lando's gonna kiss the barriers this sunday 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

username anyway stream feather by y/n 🫶🏼

username LOVE to see the grid calling him out

-> username fr like gag him

lewishamilton nice joke. never joke again.

-> username no bc if i got called out by THE lewis hamilton i will just never show my face ever again

-> username right like how is he not embarrassed

username no bc if i lost someone like y/n bc i was a fucking idiot and then my best friend rizzed her up i would just simply Pass Away like that's a level of embarrassment i CANNOT take

lilymhe didn't you cheat on her 😂😂😂😂😂

-> username NOT LILY CONFIRMING THAT

-> username nah he deserves everyone calling him out lando wtf

username lily u will always be famous

maxfewtrell don't make me apply for a new roommate

-> username PLEASE MAX

-> username just a very good example as to why u should NEVER EVER EVER EVER cheat on ANYONE bc u will end up like lando on the internet

username y/n bout to swing back on him i can feel it

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by luisinhaoliveira99, carlossainz55, sebastianvettel and 2,262,826

yourusername i hit ignore

17,528 comments

username PLEASE

username she's too iconic i fear

username I LOVE HER SHE'S SO UNSERIOUS

username no bc u know shit is real when seb is here

username i love how luisinha and y/n are like best friends now

-> username the most iconic pair EVER

*liked by luisinhaoliveira99 and yourusername*

danielricciardo baby-you was so swag

-> yourusername i know

-> danielricciardo what happened now

-> yourusername wOW

username she was such a vibe-y child i love that

username this is so MESSY and im here for every second of it

username her using her own lyrics like mother 🙏🙏🙏

username i would get on my knees for y/n and y/n only

username serves cunt again and again

charles_leclerc smash that ignore button and while you're at it, i sent you flowers 🥰

-> yourusername omg they're so prettyyy i love them ☹️❤️

-> username PEOPLE WE'VE UPGRADED TO RED HEART

-> username white heart to red heart we love to see it

username no bc what i don't get is how he's gonna break up with her after a YEAR of being together bc lil bitch boy got scared of commitment and then turn around and allegedly cheat on her and then say u talking shit like NO SHUT THE FUCK UP we got a banger song and an iconic duo with the bad bitches u fumbled and i get a chance to see charles FINALLY make a move on his godforsaken crush

-> yourusername that was so intense and im trying to process it all but U GO BABY I LOVE UUUUU

-> luisinhaoliveira99 spoke facts

username love the comments are just charles and y/n, luisinha and y/n and anti l*ndo ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username im sooo here for this let's fucking go

alex_albon i would've been best friends with baby-you ngl

-> yourusername we're literally best friends what the fuck r u about

-> alex_albon no you're just an unfortunate addition to my life because my gf loves you

-> yourusername yeah she loves me MORE than u so go cry abt it

-> lilymhe true 🫶🏼

-> alex_albon wow

username the day charles and y/n (IT WILL HAPPEN) get together will be the day i can finally rest in peace

username the silence from l*ndo's side is DEAFENING

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