#this is the compromising photo he talked about

[sad-girl-hours23]

Thinking about Buck,

Still not over Tommy, deeply unsatisfied being under anyone else (he's tried and lost count how many times). His best friend has moved away; he's happy Eddie's working things out with Chris, but he misses them both terribly.

Amongst every one else, he feels...not so much a divide, but maybe less enmeshed than they used to be.

Nothing's wrong with his job, but well, it's starting to feel a lot less like his whole life and purpose and more like just that: a job. He's stagnant. Stuck.

He feels an itch under his skin that he can't scratch in any of his usual ways.

He's over pouring out his love into a Kitchen aid mixer. He's done trying to bury his need for connection into hook-ups.

Realizes maybe he's not as settled as he thought he was. Maybe he's still searching; but for what, he doesn't know. Himself. His purpose. Love.

Realizes he misses not being stuck in one place.

So he takes a vacation. Spends two weeks in Japan. Tells himself he won't create a full itinerary for his time there (he spends most of his flight doing so anyway, but he compromises with himself and leaves his second week open).

He reads about the Wind Phone. How people travel from all over to talk to their late loved ones through a rotary phone.

He doesn't go his first week there, but the thought of it is never far from his mind. (He's held hands with Death, he isn't sure what he's so afraid of).

He gets to the garden of Bell Gardia.

He thinks about Red Delacroix, who warned him against making firefighting his whole life. “You can be the hero and save lives, but don’t neglect having your own. Last thing you want is to be at the end holding nothing but regrets.” So he talks to Red; tells him he hasn't quite figured it out, is scared he never will.

He comes back the next day, Thomas on his mind. Buck tells him how he found his scrapbook the other day (he had forgotten that he'd even taken it). He tells him about Tommy, the love he thought he finally found (then lost). He smiles. "I know, I know. You don't find it, you make it." He can't help the crack in his voice "I really thought we were."

Buck wonders what it says about him that he's spending his vacation talking to dead. Knows he's not done yet

He comes back the next day, and the day after that, and the one after that. He talks to Daniel each time. He isn't quite sure how to picture him; the age he was in the last photos taken of him, the age when he died, the older Daniel that his coma dream imagined up? He talks to them all.

He gives him the abridged version of his life. Wonders if he should leave out the parts he knows would break his brother's heart, leaves them in anyway. It's cathartic; to confess of the survivor's guilt he's carried since learning of Daniel, how it all came flooding back when woke up from his coma, how it felt like he was letting him down again in the interest of his own survival.

He's certain he's out of tears, and he may not have a voice left by the end of his trip.

But he's got one more phone call to make. And he can't make it here, in this haunted phone booth. And he doesn't want to wait until it's too late.

He hasn't figured it all out. He doesn't know where him and Tommy went wrong. He knows they're both haunted by their own ghosts.

But Tommy's still here. And unlike Buck's ghosts on the other end of the phone, he can talk back.

So Buck does what he should have done months ago. He calls Tommy. He nearly sobs in relief when he hears a breath on the other end and a quiet, "Evan?"

[koitosoup]

digger as that one tom hardy myspace photo

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

UPDATE What's up, it's the proposal guy. You said you wanted to know how this turned out, so I figured I'd tell you. First some context though, because I'm mean and I wanna keep you in suspense longer.

1- I don't wanna doxx us so I'm not telling you where we live, but suffice to say, neither of us are American, and gay marriage has been legal here for less than five years. For both of us, this is the first relationship we've had where marriage was even an OPTION, and I think that's where we've been getting some of that whole 'this has to be a REAL proposal with EVERYTHING' idea.

2- I gotta figure out how to explain this properly. So, I'm pretty used to being the GUY guy in relationships? I was always the one who did the nice gestures, not the one they got done for. Before I met my dream guy, I didn't really notice or care that it was such a thing, I just assumed that's how shit worked. Also, I promised I wouldn't talk a lot about his stuff here, but his last boyfriend before me SUCKED. Anyway point here is, it turns out we both REALLY like feeling swept off our feet sometimes, and a big part of finding each other has been getting to feel special for once? That's a stupid sappy way of putting it the point here is I think all that's what morphed into "I need to be the one getting proposed to, also it has to be completely perfect", and then our Petty & Extra genes got involved.

So I'm sitting in bed thinking about all that up there, and watching all the comments coming in basically being like "Dude, you are BLOWING this" on repeat, and telling me to compromise, and I look up and see him flossing in the bathroom and making all these doofy faces at the mirror, and it's like a switch just flips in my brain, and I'm like "Oh, I'd rather he gets to have his perfect proposal than we both have an okay one". I'm gonna do it.

Morning rolls around, and while I'm 'out for my jog like normal' I hit up a pawn shop for a temp ring (the ring pop thing is cute but NOT HIM). I found one I was at least confident wouldn't get ruined the first time he got his hands greasy (he fixes old machines as a hobby it's hot as hell), got back home, and hid the box in the toe of my nasty ass workout shoes in the bedroom closet, since I figured he'd check there last.

He was still asleep, because he stays up late no matter what and then is SHOCKED he's tired the next day, so I called and booked a table at our usual anniversary spot. (Side note about the 'he picks bad restaurants' thing. This isn't an 'I like Greek, you like Chinese' situation, dude's just BAD at finding places. He either assumes pricey is tasty and I get to eat some overrated gourmet bullshit, or he'll try and find something hip and underground and risk giving us food poisoning again, and he REFUSES to give up and pick somewhere we've been before when it's his turn to plan date night. I'm obsessed with him <3.) Date was set, I'd propose on the 21st.

Some of you might have noticed this, but fun fact! It's currently the 16th.

Last night I'm doing dishes and he's been sent to our room for mug collection duty, and he's taking FOREVER, so I go check just in case he found the ring, because the man's a gift tracking BLOODHOUND. Turns out he hasn't, he's found my Angry Box.

I assume other people have an Angry Box? Basically, we had this huge messy fight right when we first moved in together, and I never wanna let it get that bad again, so I have this shoebox where I keep a bunch of our stuff I can look at if we're fighting and hopefully cool off. There's one of those photo booth roll things, letters we wrote when he moved back with his parents for COVID, the wine cork from our first date, shit like that. Anyway, he's just sitting on the floor staring at it, and I explain about the Angry Box, and then he! Proposes!!! Kind of.

He definitely didn't have anything prepared, because by 'propose' I mean 'ugly cried & rambled at me for several minutes before I figured out it WAS a proposal', but once I got on the same page it was amazing. I said yes, and he had to admit he didn't have a ring for me because he was CONVINCED he'd win and I'd do it, so I grabbed mine because, yeah, he was right. He was like "this is the ugliest ring I've ever seen" and I was like yeah well the plan is to replace it later and he went "No. You can pry this off my cold dead fingers. After I'm buried with it." So I guess it's not a temporary ring anymore.

I'm just gonna go ahead and skip to this morning. I pointed out we still have the reservation, and he said I should propose there anyway because "We can get a free dessert. They have those creme brulee shot glasses you like. And for love, or something" and I said ok deal, but that means you gotta get me a ring to keep it fair, and his eyes LIT UP. When I swung by his work for lunch he was still on the phone with a jeweler and he had a whole page of notes on three other ones. Pray for me.

OH PS: I was RIGHT that he'd been the one behind the cat biting me, but it wasn't about the proposal stuff, it's because I paid my baby sister three dollars to shout 'fuck you' every single time he enters a room she's in for (if you ask me, he should be madder at my sister for charging so little), and he did it by giving her a bunch of treats for biting his hands too, so now neither of us can pet our baby girl without oven mitts on. HOLY SHIT I love this man.

Oh my goddddddd I love everything about this <333 I awwww'd out loud on a voice call, like, six times while reading. You two are friggin perfect for each other and so obviously smitten with each other and I wish y'all all the happiness in the world

PS Are y'all planning to have a big wedding? If so oh boy I can't WAIT to get that one in the inbox

Original post

[cynical-ghost]

DRIVING ME MAD

Paring: Charles Leclerc x Driver!reader

Genre: smau-social media, fluff, chaotic?

Warning(s): use of Yn, language, translated French.

Synopsis: Yn is a driver for redbull and has been dating her on track rival for a few years, she always posts compromising/entertaining photos of Charles on her instagram.

Ynforeal

Liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff, lilymhe and 789,765 others

Ynforeal Me watching Charles deep throat my ice cream before giving it to me acting like nothing happened😐

Tagged: charles_leclerc

Maxverstappen1 He is always throating ice cream 🙄

charles_leclerc I did not ‘deep throat’ your ice cream

Ynforeal I literally saw you and have photographic proof.

Charles_leclerc😒

Ynforeal You know what to do…

arthur_leclerc he always used to do this to mine and acted like nothing happened while half my ice-cream was gone!

Ynforeal Maman P, come get your son!!

charles_leclerc

Liked by Ynforeal, Maxverstappen1, scuderiaferrari and 897,672 others

charles_leclerc Flowers and dinner to make up for eating your ice cream❤️

Tagged:Ynforeal

User15 how was the food @/Ynforeal ??

Ynforeal surprisingly good 😊

charles_leclerc HEY!!

Ynforeal thank you for the dinner and flowers Charlie, you are no longer getting the silent treatment 💕

charles_leclerc 😁

Maxverstappen1 Am I going to have a new teammate due to food poisoning??

charles_leclerc Mate, come on!

Ynforeal you don’t have to worry, it was a very nice meal

Ynforeal

Liked by charles_leclerc, Maxverstappen1, yourbff and 879,564 others

Ynforeal not letting you forget lockdown 😊

Tagged: charles_leclerc

Maxverstappen1 banana 🍌

Ynforeal 🍌

Carlossainz55 🍌

charles_leclerc 🍌

Charles_leclerc You couldn’t have picked a better picture of me ?

Ynforeal no❤️

User15 THEY HAVE MATCHING BANANA SUITS!!!

User10 couples who banana together stay together

User12 Amen 🙏

Ynforeal posted a story

Seen by Maxverstappen1, landonorris, yourbff and 897,626 others

Charles_leclerc

Liked by Ynforeal, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and 786,985 others

Charles_leclerc We made it to Karting on time 👍

Tagged: Ynforeal

Ynforeal WE WERE 5 MINUTES LATE!!!

Charles_leclerc I don’t know what you are talking about….

Ynforeal 😒

[verstappen-cult]

taking funny photos of charles with max when he’s sleeping cause of his bedhair and the way he’s drooling all over his pillow, just to accidentally wake him up with ur giggles

“Shh, you’re gonna wake him up if you keep that up.”Max says, standing next to you and trying not to laugh too.

You’re standing on the bed, each of you at either side of Charles, hovering over his body.

“But I can’t,” You cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a giggle after taking another picture of him.

Charles hasn’t cut his hair in over a month, which means his bed hair is… something.

You like when your boyfriends decide to let it grow, it is not often because they need it short for their job, so you try to enjoy as much time as you can. Taking pictures when they are sleeping is something you enjoy very much.

“You’ve never done this to me, right?” Max asks and you look at him from the corner of your eye, grabbing your phone with a little more force than necessary, in case he decides to take it from you.

Max definitely doesn’t need to see the hundreds and hundreds of photos you’ve taken of the both of them in compromising situations.

“He’s drooling!” You slap Max on the shoulder to shut him up, which makes Charles groan in his sleep.

Thankfully, he keeps sleeping so you take a couple of more pictures from different angles.

“Now let me.” Max tries to take the phone from your hands but you move to the side which makes him lose his balance. He wave his hands in the hair trying to grab onto something, panic crossing his features.

“Oh my god you should see your face!” You exclaim, forgetting about your other boyfriend still sleeping. Of course you don’t waste any time to take a picture of Max before he, finally, grabs onto the headboard.

“You delete that immediately.”

You giggle, hiding your phone behind your back. “I did not do anything.”

“Y/N,” He says your name with that serious tone he only uses when talking about important things, the one he uses during meeting with Red Bull.

“But you look cute.” You look at him from beneath your eyelashes, showing him the picture.

“Delete that abomination!”

“Wha– what are you doing?”

You and Max share a panicked look before looking down at Charles who is rubbing the sleep from his eyes, confused expression in his face.

“Is that,” His eyes are locked on the phone on your hand. “Were you taking pictures of me?! Why?!”

“Yeah, Y/N. Why were you doing such a thing?” Max crosses his arms over his chest, pretending to be offended.

“What?! You were in this too!”

“Don’t believe anything she says,” The blonde-haired boy looks at his boyfriend with the most innocent look on his face. “I was trying to protect your dignity.”

You gasp, surprised but amused too. “Just because of that everyone will see the hundreds of pictures I have of the both of you that you don’t even know about.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Charles tries to defend himself but you are too busy having a staring contest with your Dutch boyfriend.

Things seems to have calmed down, but then, before anyone can know what is happening, you’re running out of the room with Max following you closely while Charles tries to look for some clothes in his still very sleepy state.

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Nerd!Jeonghan finds himself desperate when one of the jocks takes his cell phone form his hands, the cell phone that is open to your conversation, afraid that the jock will expose your privacy. Jeonghan, the good boy, ended up at the principal's office. — WARNINGS: The jocks are bullies, suggestive content, nudes. — This is a part 3 of Nerd!Jeonghan – Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Ever since you and Jeonghan had sex, things had changed between you two, but in a good way. He was more confident, sending you more messages, and taking the initiative to talk to you. During class, he'd often text you after finishing his work, and you'd share secret glances, especially when the messages were funny.

Today, you were texting him after your P.E. class while he was in the middle of his lesson, eyes glued to his phone. Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed his phone. It was one of the jocks—again.

Jeonghan's heart raced, especially because the phone was open to your contact. He didn’t want the guy to invade your privacy, especially considering the intimate photos you sent him sometimes.

“Why so worried, Jeonghan? Did Y/n send you something I shouldn’t see?” the jock sneered, dodging Jeonghan’s attempts to reclaim his phone.

The more the jock scrolled, the more Jeonghan’s anxiety grew. He began reading out loud one of the compromising messages: "Can't wait to see you tonight, my love, I was thinking about you all day and—"

Before he could finish, Jeonghan’s fist collided with the jock’s face, making him stumble back in shock. The class went silent, everyone’s eyes on them. Jeonghan grabbed his phone from the jock’s loosened grip and bolted out of the classroom into the hallway. The jock, now fuming with anger, chased after him.

When you left the locker room, you noticed a commotion. Jeonghan’s name was on everyone’s lips, and that made you worry. His name wasn't often mentioned, so if it was now, something serious must have happened.

You began searching for him around the school, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. Just then, your phone buzzed with a message from Jeonghan: I’m in the principal’s office.

You opened the door to the principal's office and stepped inside. The principal glanced up at you, her expression stern. James and Jeonghan sat in front of her, and to your surprise, Mina, one of your friends, was also there.

"What happened?" you asked, looking at the principal.

Before Jeonghan could speak, the principal explained, "Jeonghan punched James during class. It was quite a disturbance."

You were shocked. "Jeonghan punched someone?"

Mina chimed in, "He punched James because he was reading out loud from Jeonghan’s phone. He was invading his privacy and being a complete jerk about it."

You turned to the principal, concern etched on your face. "You're not giving Jeonghan a suspension, right? This would go on his college record."

The principal sighed. "I was going to, but Mina showed me a video she recorded of the whole incident. It clearly shows James provoking Jeonghan. So, Jeonghan is released."

James stood up, but the principal quickly added, "No, James, you stay. We need to discuss your behavior."

As you all left the office, you turned to Mina, gratitude evident in your eyes. "Thank you so much, Mina."

"No problem," she said with a smile before heading off, leaving you and Jeonghan alone in the now empty hallway.

Without saying a word, you hugged Jeonghan tightly. He hugged you back, his embrace comforting and warm. As you started walking home together, you finally broke the silence.

"I can't believe you punched him," you said, a mix of amusement and disbelief in your voice.

Jeonghan chuckled softly. "I couldn't let him keep reading our messages out loud. He was invading our privacy, and I just… reacted."

"You did the right thing," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "But I'm glad Mina had that video. A suspension would have been terrible."

"And those photos..." Jeonghan began, his voice a bit shy. "They're only mine to see." He avoided looking directly at you, his cheeks tinged with a light blush.

You couldn't help but smile at him, feeling a warm flutter in your chest. You gave his shoulder a playful bump with yours. "Of course, Jeonghan. Those photos are just for you."

Jeonghan let out a small sigh of relief. "It feels good to hear that. I never thought I'd actually punch someone, though."

As you continued walking, the conversation turned lighter, and you both talked about your plans for the weekend, upcoming assignments, and your favorite shows. The atmosphere was easy and comfortable, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.

When you finally reached your house, you paused at the doorstep, turning to face him. "Do you want to come in for a bit? Maybe we can watch something or just hang out."

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, I'd like that."

You opened the door and led him inside, the familiar surroundings of your home bringing a sense of comfort. As you both settled onto the couch, you leaned in close, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. The TV played softly in the background, but your focus was entirely on each other.

As you both sat on the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm light, you noticed Jeonghan glancing at you with a curious expression.

"Why are you spacing out?" he asked, his voice gentle but inquisitive.

You should say it? Should you say, that after the worry passed, the simple fact that Jeonghan went so far –as to punch someone because of you–, made you ten times more attracted to him? Was it a good situation to feel that way? Definitely not.

But you can't forget the scene you saw on Mina's cell phone, a confident Jeonghan punching someone in the face, risking everything, afraid that someone would see the risky nudes you send him.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. "It's just… seeing you punch James was very… hot."

Jeonghan scoffed, a playful smirk forming on his lips. "Hot? Really?"

You sulked, playfully pushing his shoulder. "Don't judge me."

He leaned in closer, his smirk turning into a soft smile. "I'm not judging you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You standing up for yourself like that, so confident and strong… it was really sexy. Made me want you even more."

Jeonghan took a sharp breath, his eyes widening slightly.

"Jeonghan..."

"Hm?"

"I'm wet."

[heavenbarnes]

@abcdbleh you little beauty 🫶🏼 this is in the “cellular-device-universe” | p1 p2 p3 p4

you had managed an incredible feat, what with bringing your older bf!simon around to the idea of sex over the air waves.

you’d effectively achieved the impossible.

well, something you’d thought impossible given who he was as a person. some guy, simple guy, practical and not remotely interested in anything he doesn’t think worth his time.

that’s the thing- when it comes to you?

everything is worth his time.

you could tell him that you’d booked an all expenses paid couples trip to the fucking moon and he’d have your bags in the car before you’d even finished speaking.

he likes that look on your face when you’re happy.

you’d imagined that getting him to send you videos whilst he stroked his cock would be difficult, but now your hidden folder is bursting at the seams.

you had no idea how easy it’d be to have him send you photos in just his briefs, tattooed arm barely illuminated by low light as his large hand gripped himself through the fabric.

but here you were.

laid back in your bed, awfully roomy without a hulking great simon to take up three quarters of it, your phone was pressed to your ear.

“what y’mean, love?”

the deep, rolling rumble of his voice would probably do it if you tried hard enough. you could have him read the menu from the local chinese takeout and make do. he just had that effect on you.

“i mean- i want you to touch yourself and talk me through it, si”

you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, a stuttered little exhale and a crackle over the line. he was in the middle of nowhere (far as you were concerned) but he could still find it to keep you satisfied.

simon would never have you settle for less.

the quiet you could hear on his end wasn’t nerves, you knew him well enough to immediately detect- inexperience?

there was very little simon didn’t know how to do in the bedroom but bring any virtual factors (like a cellphone) and he just needed a couple directions.

he needed an order.

“si, i want to get off to your voice, the sound of you touching yourself- i want you to cum and i want to hear about it in excruciating detail”

you could hear how scratchy his military grade blanket was, woollen and likely older than you, being pushed down his body.

no shuffle of clothing, he was already stark naked in his cot. he’d been with rest of the 141 long enough, you just assume they’ve all seen each other in their entireties. sharing rooms, sharing showers.

you can’t think about that kind of thing too long. the implications that come with it.

the sound of simon spitting in his palm drags you out of steam filled visions, kyle asking your boyfriend for help getting his back, johnny watching wide-eyed but waiting for his signal.

anyway- anyways, the sound of his large palm dragging along his cock had you back in the present for good. you could almost picture the way his foreskin would be rolling down the head.

“already s’fuckin hard for you”

“i bet”

a bet that’d make you a billionaire.

you could count on simon for a lot of things but as sure as the sun rises in the east, that man would be hard for you.

you’d say a gentle breeze would do it. he’d say only if you were blowing.

cheek of him.

faint sounds, faint sounds of his hand tugging on himself but you needed more. you needed it fucking filthy and unmistakable across the line that he was doing one thing.

“more spit, si- need to hear it”

and you could, spit mixed with the leaking pre-cum that was running from his head. soon the sound was circling your eardrums as he worked up a steady rhythm.

“been lookin’ at y’little pictures”

deep sigh as he said it, like he was thinking back to you in compromising positions. you could almost see him with his eyes drifting shut, phone between his ear and shoulder whilst both hands preoccupied by his cock and balls.

“can’t hardly wait to get home to you”

as one hand stroked along his length, running his fingers over the head, the other would be cupping his heavy sack as he rolled them both in his palm.

“y’been teasing me, sweet’art”

large feet would be planted on the threadbare mattress, his thighs tensing the more he tugged himself off. you knew he’d be imagining you in his lap, doing all the work for him so he could focus on running his mouth.

“jus’y wait till i get m’hands on you”

your heart was in your throat with every word he said, you’d no doubt he’d stay true to his word. you had visions of him throwing the front door open and telling you to run.

finding you crawling across the bed to duck down the other side but his grip tightening around your ankle before you could get away.

you had to leave that feeling in the pit of your stomach before you got lightheaded but, as usual, simon knew you better.

“what’s goin’ on in that pretty head f’yours? thinkin’ about all the nasty things i’ll do t’you?”

a squeak of a moan slipped out of you, back arching in the bed as simon chuckled down the line. he always knew exactly what he was doing to you.

calculated man, comes with the territory.

“first thing i’m gonna’ do is stuff my cock in’y, got a couple’a loads saved up just f’you”

you couldn’t imagine how, all the filthy videos he’d been sending you. thick load after thick load spilt over his chest, his thighs, the shower drain.

but, then again, you’ve yet to find a thing he wouldn’t do for you.

“gonna’ keep y’in that fuckin’ bed till y’begging f’mercy”

you could hear it on his voice, the strain that was behind it. he was close, closer than ever but you couldn’t stop him once you got him going.

whenever he was on that precipice of bliss, the things that’d come out of his mouth could turn you inside out.

“gonna’ cum f’you, sweet’art- need you to-“

the blood was rushing so hard in your ears you nearly missed his words as they tapered off into broken moans. nearly missed.

“what d’you need, si? tell me, whatever you need it’s yours”

distant filthy sounds of a wet palm sliding along his cock was ever present in the background of the call. a long sigh drifted from his lips as he spoke.

“tell me t’cum, please”

jesus fucking christ.

there’s no coming back from the sound of simon riley begging.

“cum f’me, simon- need to hear you- make a mess f’me, baby”

the sound that left his chest was filthy, a deep groan intertwined with the sounds of cheap mattress springs. breathy stuttered moans broke through, your name a constant on the tip of his tongue.

he sounded desperate, no doubt still stroking himself even as his hips lifted off the cot. he wasn’t about making it easy on himself.

everything he did was for you.

listening as he rode it out, you could hear him still muttering between the other debauched sounds.

“fuckin’ take it, s’fuckin’ good f’me”

anther broken cry of your name only confirmed it. in simon’s eyes, he wasn’t pumping his cum across in his chest, he was pumping you full of it.

he’d gone too long without the feeling of you wrapped tight around him, only knowing the rough drag of his palm. he’d give anything to be in his bed, buried to the fucking hip in you.

simon’s breathing evened out, broad chest rising and falling with a sticky sheen across it. you could even make out the sound of his head hitting the pillow.

“fucking ‘ell, sweet’art- how was that?”

nothing if not an overachiever.

“perfect, si- you did absolutely perfect”

if he was with you he’d been keening into your touch, a soft side of him that only you were allowed to see.

softening further in his afterglow, you wrapped up with praises and promises to be waiting for him soon as he got home.

your entire body felt like it could sink through the mattress as you curled into his side of the bed, letting the scent of him overwhelm every part of you.

eyes shutting on their own, you’d nearly hit sleep when your cellphone buzzed on the bedside table. a little bleary eyed, you reached for it in the darkness.

“si sent a photo”

your heart sped up, teeth digging into your lower lip as you slide the message open. your screen went from light to dark in an instant.

thick thighs spread apart, toned barrel chest, tattooed arm, and a slightly scarred chin in the shot. in this light you could see it, so faint but still there, the streaks of cum dripping down the lines of his stomach.

the grip on your phone was so tight you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had shattered in your hands. in the corner of your screen, those three dots were taunting you.

your phone buzzed, you could almost hear it in his voice.

“could really do w’you here to clean me up, sweet dreams sweet’art”

[bunnys-kisses]

the sun's lullaby & the moon's symphony

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, photography, snark & sass, enemies to lovers (i guess), parental issues, secret relationship, talks of marriage & children, cowgirl position, admissions of love, long fic

this bunny runs on comments, reblog & tags! do you part to feed the bunny! (this was a thrill to write, i've been writing a lot of rivals au, so feel free to suggest your own! i also still have my bakery series going on, so feel free to order up. love ya'll)

this all started when you were teens. stubborn and stupid. the two prodigies of racing of two different stories. the moon, who was raised from birth to be the god of racing. and the sun, who emerged from nothing and up towards the sky to claim her rightful spot as a champion of the track.

the sun and the moon. you and max verstappen

so when you shared your first kiss with him at sixteen over a stolen a bottle of wine from your parent's fridge. you knew that you'd be forever link to the other driver.

it was over dinner in monaco, the lighting of the place was low. and max was seated across from you. occasionally his foot would rub up against your ankle.

you looked at him over the glass of wine in your hand, "you're not going to make me say it."

he smiled as he swallowed his bite of food, "why, prefer to tell me in private?" belgium was a great weekend for him, opposed to you. max sailed into second while you dragged behind in eighth.

but even at dinner, you'd never give the red bull driver the benefit, you'd rather have your bones wrung out of you like liquid in a rag than admit that max was good at racing. that would be the final pump of his ego that he'd go sailing away.

you put your glass down and rested your chin on your interlocked fingers, "maxie." you fluttered your eyelashes at him, "maybe if you came in first, i'd actually have something to congratulate you on." you reached across the small table and touched the inside of his wrist, you looked at the part of exposed flesh then to his face once more. you pouted at him, "second is the first place of losers."

he gave you a sarcastic smile before he took his wrist away, "and what about you, i thought you were supposed to be the rabbit on the track. out racing all of us. i guess daddy's money can only buy so much talent."

"you're a fucking dick, verstappen."

he shrugged, "and yet, you can't get enough of me. a glutton for punishment you are." his eyebrows knitted together as he frowned for a moment, "i think you're just trying to find daddy's approval, except that fucker won't give it to you. just like you won't give me what i want." he reached for you and cupped the side of your face. it was moments like these you remembered how big his hands were, "break the cycle, rabbit. be a good girl."

you pulled away from him, you heard the shutter of a camera and you both looked over. you grimaced, perfect. another photo to the collection of you and max in compromising positions. without context you looked like a pair on a date. you could already read out the statement you'd have to make if this all got a little too big.

you kicked max under the table, "good job, dickhead." your voice was painfully low.

he kicked you back, but not as hard, "you started it."

this night would end the same. the photo would go semi-viral. you'd have to lay low on social media for a few days. wash, rinse, repeat when you two eventually fuck up again. and like every other dinner together, it ended up with you two in his bed. those broad hands all over your back as you rode him. you held his face and looked down at him as you bounced your hips.

photographic evidence of you two together were vast, spanning close to ten years at that point. you both met in your carting days, with promises to make it to formula one. the photos only got more intense once you both entered the league.

they ranged from the two of you at a party together, or sneaking out a club holding hands. there was one of you on his boat, handing him a drink and what looked like him kissing you on the cheek. there were tons of his arm around you and your face buried in his broad chest. over the years the "evidence" had been piling up to suggest that you two were a couple.

if that was true, then why did you want to strangle max verstappen?

you stalked towards his driver's room after the dutch grand prix and opened the door without knocking. you felt fury in your bones as he looked at you. you put your hands on his throat and got close up into his face.

"you fucking asshole, you really are the devil aren't you, max?" you snapped. you weren't choking him, but rather holding him as a sign of dominance.

he grabbed your wrists and said, "and you're going to kill me now? i didn't think choking was your style." then pulled your hands away from his throat, "people might get the wrong idea if you start leaving marks."

"you ran me off the track. you knew what you were doing when you cut me off like that. you think you're so slick there, verstappen. is it because you're old man was there? wanted to show off to the pathetic excuse of a driver! fuck you, max. i didn't need the dnf because you needed to be a show off to daddy dearest, you piece of shit!" you knew you were just ranting, you sounded like a rambling mess but you wanted to win this.

through your rambling, he leaned in and kissed you on the lips, he didn't move when you tried to hit him in the chest. when he pulled away he held you by the back of the head, "it's all part of the game. you told me you'd rather be flayed than have me go easy on you. i'm treating you like every other driver. don't get mad."

you took a heavy breath before you pulled him in and kissed him on the mouth once more. he smirked against the kiss and wrapped his arms around you tightly. he held you close to him as you passionately made out with him.

when you pulled away, he said, "feel better now?"

you gripped onto the front of his shirt and deeply exhaled, "i could kill you and get away with it." then looked at him. his blue eyes always seemed to stare right into your soul. because maybe you two were bound by your souls, meant to exist in each other's orbit until the day you die.

he loosely kept his arms around you waist and pressed his forehead up against you, "i know. and i'd happily die by your hand." when he was tender like this, you wanted to bite his head off. but instead you simply let him hold you.

"you're an ass, verstappen." you muttered as you clung to the front of his uniform, "i hate that you know me so well and can get under my skin so easily."

he chuckled and held you closer, "i'm pretty sure you can map out every scar on my body and where i got it."

"like that time i accidentally stabbed you in the rib with a corkscrew." you said.

he nodded, "yeah and that time i fell down your stairs at your old home and you, me and charles had to figure out if my foot was broken."

you looked up at him and pressed your chin against his chest to look up at his face, "you really should've gone to the doctor for that. like two of your toes were purple."

"i lived." he then held you face for a brief moment before there was a knock on the door and you two stepped back from one another. he patted you on the arm before he shuffled you to the couch to act more casual than what you were just doing.

at least no one took any photos of you moment of romantic intimacy. in all fairness, what photos the press had of the two of you. was nothing compared to the photos max personally had of the two of you. everything from you in his driver's suit with nothing underneath (and the zipper open), to videos of you giving him head. he even had a video you took of him eating you out.

max had mapped every inch of skin with his lips and tongue over the years. from the plane of your back to behind your ear, the back of your knee and in between your legs. he could probably trace your body from memory with his lips. there was a likely chance you could do the same about him.

it continued on into the last night in the netherlands. the room max was staying in was lovely. you assumed only the best for the country's golden boy. you had come over after dinner and max was more than happy to see you.

you were seated by the big window with your feet propped up against the window ledge. in your hand was a glass of wine and you felt content watching the city go by as night hung in the sky. max was in the shower, so you were keeping yourself company.

you heard the shower turn off and you put the glass of wine down on the window ledge before he came out. even now, seeing max's cock made you look away to preserve some modesty.

you hoped that your expression didn't give it away. as he walked out naked with him rubbing the towel in his hair. to see him so exposed made your heart jump.

"like what you see?" he asked. he went over to the bed and got onto it, "i'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

you shot him a look, "i can't believe you convinced me to do this. is this a way for you to inflate your ego even more? you won this race and now you want to stick your cock in the one you drove off the track! and you didn't even get punished for it!" you wanted to stop your foot like a child out of sheer anger.

he chuckled, "well, you're free to come and go. i'm not forcing you to do anything... i certainly didn't force you to wear that dress either." his gaze on you was hot and it made you more flustered.

"i wanted something i could replace if you tore it." never forget when you had to replace your driving suit because someone got a good hold of it and ripped it at the seams around your pussy and ass.

call max impatient, it wasn't like your team couldn't afford it. if they couldn't he could always make room for you at red bull. he had to look after you.

"then i suggest you take it off before i start getting my hands on you." he spread his legs a little wider on the bed. the towel was on the floor to be hung up later, "last chance, my treasure. i want to hear you say it... you want me."

you reached behind you to get the zipper down. you'd rather die, but his heated gaze was enticing. you instead replied, "i want to ride you max, i want you under me as i fuck the daylights out of you. it is not a want, it is a need."

max barked out a laughter, "always so poetic." then licked his lips when you stepped out of the dress you wore. letting it grow wrinkled on the floor. it was followed by the expensive matching pair of bra and panties.

"did i buy that for you?" he asked curiously. he prone to sending you gifts in the off-season. while the rest of the drivers got joke gifts between each other. max always handed you something with a price tag that would make most gawk at.

you looked down at the matching set. you shrugged, "i honestly couldn't tell you. the brand it italian so, maybe it was a gift from charles." you made a face as you thought about it. it was all a lie, it was obviously from max.

the idea of charles even knowing your bra size felt weird, but with max it felt normal.

something crossed max's face as he leaned a little forward, his arms crossed along his toned chest, "funny. you're quite the comedian.' he raised his eyebrows at you, "so tell me, does leclerc fuck better than i do? is there other men i should know about? i heard you went on a boat trip with zak brown, is he getting action too? whore."

you made a face, "you're a possessive fuck, verstappen." you swallowed, "and if it strokes your ego, no. i'm not fucking anyone else because if i tried to fuck someone else i think you'd make their death look like an accident." you stepped forward, "if i told you that i was getting action from anyone, could be a random man. you'd kill them!"

max puffed out his chest for a moment in defiance, "really? what about that lovely girl, that reporter during our first year in formula one. you saw one picture and got the wrong idea. you left you crying. so don't act like i am so mean man." he uncrossed his arms as you got closer.

"she was going to use you, max. i knew it. you were so eager to be loved by someone, she would've taken advantage of you."

max sighed and braced his arms behind him. the two of you were naked and you were bickering. he said, "then name someone who won't take advantage of me."

you got onto the bed, your hand on his chest. you could feel the quickened pace of his heart. you said softly, lips close to his, "me." before you pulled him flat onto the bed and started to make out with him.

he loved the sound of that. when the kiss was broken, he watched you straddle his waist. if max verstappen was going to pick any lover, it was going to be the woman who drove him crazy on and off the track. someone he pushed him to be the best.

but in glimmers of tenderness, a soft underbelly. max knew that you loved him. and he loved you. it was just the words got all mixed up from the brain to the tongue.

i love you often became i'm going to beat you.

you sank onto his cock and hissed a little bit from the stretch. you held onto his shoulders for leverage while he guided you with his hands on your hips. your stomach flipped as you got fully seated on him.

"beautiful."

"shut up, max."

"never. not for you."

it was mushy, emotional in a way that made you core throb. a vulnerability that made you run hot. you rolled your hips against him, his cock nudged against the softest parts of you and it made your back arched.

max eventually got himself up against the headboard to feel closer to you. his hands left your hips and started to palm at your breasts. he soon leaned in for kissed along the soft skin. even his tongue dragged across your nipples, which only made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"you always feel beautiful." he said, "no one else has been like you." he had changed so much since you met, ten years of this. the back and forth.

it made you chest clenched. you could only imagine what would happen if all this came out. but, in fairness you couldn't keep it behind the doors of hotel rooms forever. the minor controversies of the two of you in each other's grasp.

you hated to admit it. but you loved max verstappen. he was as much a part of you as you were of him. racing was in your blood, but the draw towards each other. a twin flame.

he'd almost run you off the track, you'd get into his face. he'd buy you dinner and you'd slink off to his room. away from prying eyes, the two of you would make love. or at the very least a primal kind of sex that left your head spinning.

it was a game, one to shield feelings. but as you moved your hips against him. it became more obvious that you were both under a delusion. you thought he didn't know that you loved him and he though you didn't know that he loved you.

but was obvious. as you moved and he touched you. you two knew each other too well. it was an obsession and you had long since pushed past the line of enemies.

enemies didn't look at each other like they wanted to devour one another. max verstappen didn't think of lewis hamilton or charles leclerc when he saw engagment rings in shop windows. you didn't think of george russell or oscar paistri when saw expensive wrist watches. you didn't have dreams in your early adult years of you dressed in wedding white and alex albon beaming at you, and max didn't jerk off to a vast collection of nude photos of lando norris. you two were in your own little orbit.

you panted heavily as you continued to move. the feeling were growing as you felt the throb in your chest. you ranked your fingers down his chest.

"max." you panted.

"yes."

you pulled him by his face up for another kiss as you continued to move against him. you moaned into the kiss, and he in turn whimpered against you. the feeling was prodding at just the right parts of his brain.

you were beautiful and it drove him wild.

"i'm glad no one else can have you." max said softly, tinged with tenderness, "they wouldn't know how to handle a woman like you."

you held his face for a moment and looked into his eyes, "oh yeah and you're an easy ride too." then pulled him in for another searing kiss.

he held onto your hips and guided you quickly against him. both of you working for a common goal (for one).

you braced your hands on his bare chest to give yourself support and continued your movements. a few more heavy thrusts of your hips before you leaned down and kissed him on the lips. your cunt tight around him as the wash of lust came over you. you came, then he came. and it both left you exhausted and breathless.

you yelped a little when max grabbed you by the middle and pulled you on the beside beside him. he peppered your face with kisses and you felt hot all over. your heart leapt at the feeling of him holding you. his softening cock up against you.

"you're beautiful."

"max." you said softly, the heat still in your cheeks.

he held you, your head against his chest. one of his hands was on the back of your head while the other was interlocking his fingers with yours. you were gravitated towards the sounds of his heartbeat.

you sighed, "i fear i have to admit something to you, verstappen."

he perked up a little, "oh?"

you sighed and raised your head. your hair was a mess and you looked tired from the long day on the track and the longer night together. you said, "this isn't me showing weakness. if you mistake what i am going to say as weakness, then you have another thing coming."

he looked at you with raised eyebrows and asked, "what is it?"

you rubbed his broad chest and said in quiet voice, "max. i'm in love with you. and i have been for some time." you swallowed, diverting your eyes from him, "i think we suck as rivals. i think we need to become lovers, for real. even if we don't tell the press and give them that satisfaction. to be able to call you mine is all i would want."

he took you by the chin and pressed a kiss against your lips. your heart jumped and when he pulled away, he said quietly in return as if it were a secret, "i'd want nothing more. i think we're about to save the whole grid anymore headaches."

-

driving felt like a lifetime ago, as did the rivalry you and max shared. the day after max retired, he posted two pictures online. the first one had basically been scrubbed from the internet, except on max's phone. it was you two in your first year of formula one. your legs draped over his lap while he took a selfie of you two kissing. the second was a similar pose, years later. when the charade was over and you two finally admitted your feelings to one another.

in the caption he made a cheeky comment about how the two of you probably weren't as careful as you thought. but, that was being young and dumb. when you retired two years later, with two championships under your belt. you posted a photo of the small wedding you had a year prior.

your caption read, "call me mrs. verstappen and we're going to have a problem." you had simply hyphened your last names. which was then passed onto your son that you had a year after your retirement.

"niko." max was as he tried to wrangle his son, he eventually hoisted the little boy up, "you have to put on a life jacket, remember?" he smiled at his son, "you have to listen to mama, nicholas." he reminded his son.

the little boy nodded rapidly as max carried him onto the boat. you had lunch packed in a bag while max carried the rest of the stuff needed as well. the three of you were going for a little boat ride for the afternoon.

max made sure that his son was secure in a life jacket while you put the bag you were carrying down. you took a seat and picked up your son. you felt max's eyes lingering on you.

"what?" you asked half-jokingly.

max smiled, "i love you." he seemed lighter now, he had all the trophies he could ever need.

"i love you too." you responded, a phrase you had said a thousand times at least. to think that there was a period of time that the idea of loving him would've made you pull your hair out. you then kissed youe son on the cheek, "but i love you more, nico."

the little boy laughed and max winked at you before he went to get the boat started. while you busied yourself getting sunscreen on your son, you held your smile.

the media circus around you two eventually died now. there was no draw to mystery of your relationship, it also didn't help that the two of you kept nicholas out of the public eye. it left you both retired with your son. you'd sometimes think about how you were all those years earlier, when max was still your 'rival'. but, in all fairness, even if you two did stand toe-to-toe with one another and pushed one another into racing greatness. he was a better husband and father than he ever was a rival.

the sun, the moon and their little star.

[spirits-having-flown]

“matthew, it is with heavy heart i say goodbye. the times we had together are honestly among the favorite times of my life. it was an honor to share the stage with you and to call you my friend. i will always smile when i think of you and i’ll never forget you. never. spread your wings and fly brother, you’re finally free. much love. and i guess you’re keeping the 20 bucks you owe me.” - matt leblanc

“i am so grateful for every moment i had with you matty and i miss you every day. when you work with someone as closely as i did with matthew, there are thousands of moments i wish i could share. for now here's one of my favorites. to give a little backstory, chandler and monica were supposed to have a one night fling in london. but because of the audience's reaction, it became the beginning of their love story. in this scene, before we started rolling, he whispered a funny line for me to say. he often did things like that. he was funny and he was kind. 🤍🕊️" - courteney cox

“oh boy this one has cut deep... having to say goodbye to our matty has been an insane wave of emotions that i've never experienced before. we all experience loss at some point in our lives. loss of life or loss of love. being able to really sit in this grief allows you to feel the moments of joy and gratitude for having loved someone that deep. and we loved him deeply. he was such a part of our dna. we were always the 6 of us. this was a chosen family that forever changed the course of who we were and what our path was going to be. for matty, he knew he loved to make people laugh. as he said himself, if he didn't hear the 'laugh' he thought he was going to die. his life literally depended on it. and boy did he succeed in doing just that. he made all of us laugh. and laugh hard. in the last couple weeks, i've been pouring over our texts to one another. laughing and crying then laughing again. i'll keep them forever and ever. i found one text that he sent me out of nowhere one day. it says it all. matty, i love you so much and i know you are now completely at peace and out of any pain. i talk to you every day... sometimes i can almost hear you saying "could you BE any crazier?" rest little brother. you always made my day... ❤️🕊️” - jennifer aniston

“matty, thank you for ten incredible years of laughter and creativity. i will never forget your impeccable comic timing and delivery. you could take a straight line of dialogue and bend it to your will, resulting in something so entirely original and unexpectedly funny it still astonishes. and you had heart. which you were generous with, and shared with us, so we could create a family out of six strangers. this photo is from one of my favorite moments with you. now it makes me smile and grieve at the same time. i imagine you up there, somewhere, in the same white suit, hands in your pockets, looking around— "Could there BE any more clouds?” “ - david schwimmer

“shot the pilot, friends like us, got picked up then immediately, we were at the nbc upfronts. then... you suggested we play poker and made it so much fun while we initially bonded. thank you for that. thank you for making me laugh so hard at something you said, that my muscles ached, and tears poured down my face every day. thank you for your open heart in a six way relationship that required compromise. and a lot of "talking." thank you for showing up at work when you weren't well and then, being completely brilliant. thank you for the best 10 years a person gets to have. thank you for trusting me. thank you for all I learned about grace and love through knowing you. thank you for the time i got to have with you, matthew.” - lisa kudrow

friends cast remembers matthew perry 🤍🕊️

[dearsnow]

THIS CAN WORK

- as you’re trying to forget about him, the man who broke your heart shows up at your doorstep. or in which jake gets yelled at by the entire hard deck. (jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader, angst -> fluff, reading part 1 is probably a good idea but idk if it’s 100% necessary)

PART 1

word count: 2,032

a/n - the official part 2 is here!! thank you for all the love part 1 got <3 i’m not personally the biggest jake fan but writing this was honestly so fun. i loved exploring the softer and more insecure parts of his personality, so i may have more planned for him in the future 👀

It’s been two days since Jake cut you out of his life, and to say you’ve been devastated is an understatement. You still have his shirts and his stupid nighttime noise maker, and with them, the lingering feeling of his touch on your skin. You’ve already texted to let him know that you’ll drop off his things later, but he has yet to respond. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the Earth. Good, you think. Let him. But he better at least wipe any memory of himself from your thoughts first.

You’re trying your best to forget, you really are. You took down the pictures of him that hung on your wall, right by your bed, and you’ve shoved the pillow that holds the faint scent of his cologne into the depths of your closet, and the photos of him on your phone are sitting in the recently deleted album. It’s better this way, you tell yourself. You need to get him off your mind as soon as possible and move on to better things, better people. Like a stubborn stain, his presence remains.

But you still want him like you’ve never wanted a single thing before, and it makes you sick.

Jake had never felt worse in his life. As soon as he saw you walking away, he regretted it, but if there’s one thing Jake Seresin hates, it is being wrong. His friends called him every synonym for wrong in the dictionary that night.

“You’re an idiot, Bagman. She was the best thing you had going for you and you just pushed her away like that?” Phoenix scoffed. She had overheard snippets your break-up, and after prompting Penny, she knew the full story within seconds.

“I did what was best for her-“

“No, you did what was best for you.” Penny interjected. “If you can’t make the effort to keep someone so amazing in your life, you’re never going to get anywhere. Relationships require compromise and change on both sides. The whole time you were with her, she was bending over backwards to accommodate you, and you couldn’t even shift to the side a little and give her a pinch of what she needed.”

Jake could feel anger rising in his throat. He knew best, right? No one saw his perspective. No one could feel how unhappy he would’ve made you. He was setting you free. Right? Please, let him be right.

Rooster prodded him in the stomach with his pool stick. Apparently everyone was in on the conversation. “You’ve got that self-pitying look, man. You fucked up. You’ve been fucking up. If you really think you’re not good enough for her, isn’t that a reason to become good enough for her?”

“I just…” For the first time, Jake was at a loss for words. He was coming to recognize that he was wrong. He was so, so wrong, but that felt like a slap in the face. For the first time, Rooster’s words didn’t intend to antagonize him. They were honest, and he hated it.

Bob tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Jake pushed it off. “You should talk to her.” He offered. “Tell her your side, and if she’s open to it, work on yourself so you can be good for her.” His voice was soft and soothing, like he was whispering to a wounded animal. Jake felt himself burning up under the gazes of his friends.

“Yeah,” He swallowed hard, finally coming to terms with the fact that he can make mistakes. “Maybe I will.”

You’re humming to yourself, cleaning your apartment’s modest kitchen. The sun is out, shining golden beams upon the shiny counter you’re wiping down. It smells like the nicely-scented cleaner you just bought. The old one smelled too much like him. But, as you move on, so does life. Thinking about it gives you a headache, so you’ve chosen to do anything but think.

A knock at your door makes you put down your rag. You figure it’s just your landlord, considering that you were meant to pay your rent yesterday. You sigh, readying yourself to tell sweet Mr. Hammond that you’ll pay it ASAP.

Your fingers grip the door handle and pry it open. The thing has always been a little too hard to move; old hinges, you figure. Before you can get the door to open fully, you stop in your tracks. Jake.

He’s holding a bag of your favorite takeout with a sheepish look on his face. You consider slamming the door, but it would probably get stuck if you moved it too fast. “Have you come to collect your things?” You ask softly, looking him up and down. He looks like shit. He has seemingly forgotten how to shave, his stubble turning into the awkward length that you always chided him to take care of, and his deep green eyes are laden with sadness. It almost makes you feel bad for him— until, of course, you remember he broke your heart. Calm down, you think, make this quick and easy. Get him in and out.

“No.” He states simply. “I wanted to apologize.” This is a big thing for him, something so new that it sounds foreign to your ears. Jake apologizing? His shoulders are hunched slightly. You resist the urge to put a loving hand on his chest, as you usually did when he was feeling out of sorts.

“It’s fine.” Your voice is quiet, laced with as much kindness as you can muster. “I put all your stuff in a box, if you wanted to pick it up.” You’re still subtly prompting, trying to get him out again.

He places the takeout in your grasp, his pinky finger brushing lightly against your own. You hate how it still makes you tingle. Your other hand picks at the edges of your soft loungewear. Jake purses his lips slightly as you step backwards, your feet shuffling against the linoleum floor. “Can we talk?”

“I thought we just talked.” You respond curtly. He sighs, eyebrows drawn.

“I mean really talk. Just hear me out this one time, and if you want, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You nod slightly, resigning yourself to the fact that you have to get this over with. At least your apartment is clean and sparkling; in your own way, you’re telling him that you don’t need his permission to live a nice life. You can clean, and you can take care of yourself. The takeout finds its place on your small table. You pull out a stool from the side of your island and sit down as the stool’s legs creak underneath you. Jake sits, too, opposite you. His hands are shaking a little, but you turn your gaze up to his face.

You can hear his breaths deepening as he clasps his hands together. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I appreciate your apology, but that doesn’t really change what happened.” You state. He holds up a finger as if to tell you to wait just a bit. Your eyes pass over his dejected expression, his mouth tilting just the slightest bit downwards.

“I know. I was being stupid, and I see that now. You’re amazing, honey. You’re nice and generous and this genuine kind of comforting that makes me smile. When I’m with you, I feel like I want to be better. And trust me, I do. I want to be so much better for you. When I first met you, I thought that you’d be a fit for Bob or something, that’s how amazing you are. I thought deserved someone like him, someone just as caring, but I fell in love with you instead, and now look where we are.” He chuckles dryly. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I guess I just felt inadequate and stupidly insecure. I know I’m not what a respectable girl like you would want, so I pushed you away and hurt you instead. I didn’t consider your feelings at all that night, and for that, I really am sorry. I don’t know if that explanation changes anything now, but I had to give it a shot; you were never too sweet, I was just too damn bitter.”

His words come out in a ramble. You’ve never seen him so much as stutter, but his confident, calm voice is bordering on anxious. You can’t even believe what you’re hearing.

It takes a lot of guts to say something like that. When you look back on your interactions, on everything he’s ever said or done around you, you finally see it clearly. All he does is build himself up to be this great figure, so much so that people can’t tell that his ego has been sorely bruised. That’s why he shrugs off comfort and security, fucking up every sure thing in his life during the process.

He’s boring a hole into your forehead with how hard he’s staring. His hands are still white-knuckled, holding each other like they’re seeking some sort of solace. The tension in the air is palpable as you take a breath. “Thank you. I… It’s nice to hear you acknowledge that.”

Jake can hear his breathing quicken shakily. That could’ve gone a lot worse. You’re not screaming at him, hitting him, kicking him out, anything that he thinks you should do. You’re just sitting there, nails digging into the flesh on your arm, looking shocked and heartbroken all at once. He takes one deep gulp of air. “You’re welcome. I’ll get out of your hair now.” He stands to leave, but your smaller hand catches his. His palm is damp.

“I’m sorry you ever had to feel that way about yourself.” You say. His small admission of insecurity weighs on you like nothing else. “You’re a good guy, Jake. I hope you’ll take this as an opportunity to work on yourself and find what makes you happy.”

Budding tears prick at his waterline. He hasn’t cried in a long time, but looking at you makes him want to. He wants to slide into your arms and sob, press his face into your neck and tell you over and over that he wants you back. He has to try. He thinks he’ll regret it for his whole life if he doesn’t. “You make me happy,” he hesitates, “and if you’ll have me, I’d like to have you around while I work on myself. I need you. You make me want to be good enough for you.”

You take one step, then another, and he doesn’t protest a single bit as you envelop him in a hug. His muscles relax as he wraps his arms around you, the tension breathing a sigh of relief. “I’d like that.” Your voice is slightly muffled from being pressed into his chest, but he hears you loud and clear. “I missed being with you.”

You missed the way he would cook you breakfast in the mornings with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder and classic rock playing from his phone. He always told you that you’d get the whole experience when you visited him, starting with his lips caressing your collarbones and continuing with breakfast in bed. It didn’t even matter if you didn’t want to leave; he would take you with him, wherever he went. He even got in trouble once for sneaking you on base.

You missed his scratchy morning voice and warm hands and how he always had an arm around you. You missed him caring about you, wiping your tears, and you missed how confidently he showed you off and stood up for you. You missed almost everything about him, if you’re being honest. You thinking you could live without him was but a brief lapse in your sanity.

“I missed you too.” He whispers. “I… I really do love you, darlin’. I’ll shape up, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You smile.

For the first time in a while, Jake can feel hope pricking at his heart, and you can feel it beating through his shirt.

Maybe, just maybe, you think, this can work.

Taglist: @seitmai

[vonlycaonwife]

would you be willing to do headcanons for how the guys (billy, wise, lycaon, ben) would treat the reader on a first date?

You mentioned the guys so I added Anton to the list! Can’t leave out the bro! Enjoy!

Warnings: guns mentioned (Billy)

I feel a first date with him is more casual, though Belle would’ve insisted on something more romantic. She would probably suggest at least a coffee date or dinner, while Wise more so planned a movie night.

Either way he sticks with his plan, since you had already agreed. Though he did make a compromise with his sister in letting her help pick the movies. Which ended up with a list of both documentaries and cheesy romance films.

It gets really awkward if any of the romance movies have more…intimate scenes. The both of you trying to skip over the scene and not make things even more awkward.

But other than that, it's a really fun date! He's really informative over the topics in the documentaries you watch, giving extra info and whatnot.

You two would end up falling asleep cuddling on his couch in his room, giving Belle the perfect opportunity to take a photo. She definitely plans to use it later to embarrass you both.

There’s several places I can think of a first date spot Billy would pick.

One of them being an arcade, mainly so he would be able to both beat you at the games. But also so he could look cool by winning the prizes for you, though the success rate of that is very hit or miss. Just never try to challenge him to a shooter game, you’re in for a world of ego pain.

Another place I can see is actually a shooting range, though that’s only if you’re cool with guns. It’s definitely another way for him to try and look cool by getting perfect scores (because of course it would turn into a game). But another bonus would be him showing you how to shoot a gun right with minimal recoil.

But one more place I feel he would take you is just a simple coffee date, though I can see this being more so suggested by the girls of Cunning Hares than something he thinks up of himself. It wouldn’t be a bad date! Though it may be a bit awkward when he can’t really eat or drink due to his face mask.

All in all no matter the setting you are gonna have tons of fun with this silly boy.

Ben gives me such casual vibes that I can’t really imagine anything but a simple coffee date as a first date.

He would be very sweet the whole time though, asks you about any allergies you may have just in case, pays for the both of you without even thinking about it, even leading the conversation if you’re shy or unsure.

The two of you would just be having a nice talk the whole time, unaware of how long it’s been since the start. Though after realizing the two of you still continue the dae by just walking around and taking in the sites of the city and the people walking by.

The only reason the date would end would be because either he got a call about a work emergency, for which he apologizes profusely over and promises to make up for it, or when you two finally notice how late it’s gotten. He definitely walks you back home, no questions asked.

It just would be so nice and calming, definitely evident of how being with him would be in my mind.

Now I don’t have a good read on Anton, but hear me out. Gym date.

I can see him thinking about this on the spot to be honest, though he’s not mad if it isn’t up your alley.

Other than that I can see him mainly just doing a simple dinner date, nothing too fancy but not it being just a random bar y'know? He would pay without asking because I can see him thinking of that being what the “man” is supposed to do. But he wouldn’t be pushy if you asked to split.

I feel like most of the energy we see would not be there since he would definitely be nervous about making a good impression. But once he relaxes it’s all back and a great conversation partner!

He would also walk you back home, and when he’s returned to his own place I can imagine him screaming while fistbumping the air in celebration of a good first date.

Oh boy, if you ever want a fancy first date this man already has the reservations set.

He’s showing up in a nice outfit, not the one he wears for work, with a sweet bouquet of your favorite flowers. And would lead you to the car he’s using for the night.

Now I don’t believe he would do like the fanciest restaurant, though he most likely could afford it, but it would definitely be high end enough for you to be dressed up enough. Plus he would have picked a place that was suited to your tastes and had your favorite dishes and desserts.

He just would be so sweet and romantic, but it would also be very obvious that he’s nervous about making a good impression. It’s easy to tell by how he’s making sure you’re having a good time. And once you confirm that you are, you might be able to see his tail wagging behind his chair a bit.

After having your fill, he would drive you back and drop you off at your door. If you let him he would leave a small kiss on your forehead before leaving. His tail subtly moving in happiness behind him.

[rebelliousneferut]

long-distance misunderstandings | jude bellingham x verstappen!reader

summary; a compromising photo that poses a threat to your relationship with jude

genre; angst, fluff

face claim; annie schröter

note; english is not my first language.

as soon as i saw the photo i knew i had to write something about it

masterlist!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

wagsgossips

liked by y/nverstappen, yourbestfriend, footballwags and others

wagsgossips the 21 y/o real madrid star was seen last night in california in the company of his england teammate trent alexander arnold. but it was not that that caught our attention, but his closeness with a girl whose identity we still do not know.

jude bellingham has been in a romantic relationship with y/n verstappen, the younger sister of the triple world champion in formula 1.

are there problems in paradise? follow me so you don't miss any news

view comments

y/njudefans you are creating drama where there is none. it is a simple photo and we don't know the context behind it.

username he is a footballer, that already makes him a cheater

username i agree

vertappenssource was max's warning not clear enough?

username i saw it coming, she deserves better

username poor y/n:( i always thought she looked more in love than him

username for god's sake, stop assuming things and creating meaningless gossip

sunshine streamed through the window of our shared madrid apartment, casting a warm glow on everything it touched. except me. my phone, usually buzzing with life, lay silent on the coffee table. the cheerful chirping of birds outside mocked the turmoil brewing within me. a single picture, a single stolen moment, had shattered my world.

jude was in california for a commercial shoot. missing him terribly, i was holding down the fort back in madrid. social media, my usual source of joy, had become a minefield. a gossip page had exploded with a photo: jude, seemingly handsy with a random girl at a party. the caption screamed betrayal. my phone had become a vessel of concern, overflowing with messages from worried friends and fans.

"he wouldn't do that," i whispered, denial laced with a sliver of doubt. i knew Jude. i knew his loyalty, his unwavering love and i knew how harmful the networks could be. yet, the photo gnawed at me, a seed of suspicion taking root.

i decided to take my phone, just because i knew how worried my brother would be until now and i had to talk to him. and almost as if he read my mind, a video call from him came in

"hello liefje," he muttered, almost as if he was expecting me to explode at any moment. "i know how things may look right now, talk to jude before you do anything rash, you know how the media is."

"I know, it just took me by surprise. and I'm not going to lie, it hurt me a little but i know there is an explanation behind it." i told him, even though it wasn't a compromising photo, seeing him so close to another woman had made me think.

"in any case, let me know and i'll go beat him up." max answered me, pretending to hit his fists which made me genuinely laugh.

after talking to max for a while i felt calmer, but i still knew that i had to talk to jude, who i had not responded to for hours because i knew that my feelings were going to betray me.

days bled into one another. calls from jude went unanswered, my voicemails a silent plea for explanation. the silence stretched, a suffocating weight on my chest. i retreated into myself, a fortress of hurt and confusion.

then, the door creaked open, shattering the suffocating silence. jude, his face etched with worry, rushed in, his arms outstretched for me. i flinched, the photo flashing in my mind.

"where have you been?" he sighed, relief washing over his features. "why haven't you been answering my calls?"

his voice, laced with concern, chipped away at the walls i'd built. tears welled up in my eyes, a torrent threatening to burst. i thrust my phone at him, the photo accusingly displayed on the screen.

jude's brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at the picture. understanding dawned, followed by a wave of frustration.

"baby, i know what this looks like, but she was there for a photo. the media just took everything out of context, i would never be able to lie to you, you know." shame colored my cheeks.

"i should have called you," he admitted, his voice laced with regret.

i reached out, taking his hand in mines. "i should have trusted you," i whispered, the words heavy with unspoken hurt.

the silence that followed wasn't suffocating anymore. it was filled with the promise of a new beginning. we spent the night talking, clearing the air, the misunderstanding dissolving in the warmth of shared apologies and renewed trust.

the next morning, i woke up to the gentle sunlight and the feeling of jude's arm wrapped around me. he pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my ear.

"maybe next time, we travel together," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

i smiled, a genuine one this time. "no more long-distance misunderstandings," i agreed, snuggling closer.

the internet storm eventually subsided, replaced by messages of support and well-wishes. our love story, a little richer for having weathered a storm, continued, a testament to the power of communication and trust.

judebellingham uploaded to their story;

[caption; my one and only]

[princessbrunette]

limbrey had left the house for a few hours.

“y’know it’s like, it’s not even a sin ‘cus our clothes are still on n’stuff.” jj reclines on the vintage loveseat in your home, cap still on — everything still on infact with his fingers drumming lightly on your waist as you straddle his leg. he knew what his friends would say if they saw him there right now. the head shakes of disappointment. john b’s voice saying ‘jj, stop corrupting her. just let her be.’, pope telling him that he’s a notorious bad influence, kiara screwing up her face. he knew it was bad, but hey — you’re the one who was having all these ‘urges’, he was simply helping you out.

you roll your eyes, trying to play it off but when you suck in a breath it shakes, the nerves getting the better of you as you habitually lift your hand to twiddle with your cross necklace.

“look. you don’t gotta do anything with me right now, or ever if you don’t wanna. m’not tryna make you compromise your faith…liness or whatever—i’m just tryna be a good friend n’ help you out.” jj lets go of your waist to lean back on the seat, taking the pressure off by resting his arms on the back of the seat, staring at you with his wide blue eyes. you slump a little, thighs tightening around his leg as you look down at the space you sit on. you knew this was gonna be trouble when you missed his touch as soon as he removed it.

“no… i want to do it.”

“and your moms not gonna be home for another few hours, right?” he raises his brows, talking slow.

you sigh, nodding. “right.”

reaching forward, he gently takes your chin between his fingers, holding your gaze. “then you got nothin’— and i mean absolutely nothin’ to worry about.” he smiles, and with jj it always just feels easy. like everything is ever that simple. for a moment, you let yourself melt and believe that, sucking on your bottom lip. cautiously, his hands return to your hips and he ever so slightly encourages them forward. “now— what you’re gunna do is rolllll your hips. juuuust like that, dolly.” he instructs casually in that southern drawl that made you weak in the knees, following his instructions.

as the pocket of his cargo shorts catches beneath your panty-clad clit you tense up with a whimper and he grips you securely, looking up with an encouraging smile. “you’re alright, that feels good don’t it lamb chop?” the smile becomes a grin and you pout, getting the hang of rolling your hips.

“dont call me that right now!” you mewl, voice already taking an airy filter to it as you get hazy from pleasure, humping on jj being apparently exactly what you needed on this hot summer afternoon.

“yeah i don’t think you get to call the shots right now when you’re humpin’ on me, mama. but i’ll play nice.” he jokes, helping you along by the waist and bucking his leg a little making you moan. “mmmhm, that’s the stuff ain’t it.”

“this is so wrong. so wrong.” you whimper pathetically, unable to stop your hips from moving as you squelch about in your panties. you couldn’t help how you felt, but you knew you had to be disappointing the lord right about now.

“dont sound wrong t’me.” he shrugs, leaning back to watch you as he lazily guides your hips. he glances to the side, doing a double take at the table with the framed image of you as a baby at your baptism and his arm shoots out, placing the photo down on its face so you couldn’t see it anymore. “there y’go just… hide that.” he mutters under his breath before focusing on you again.

“oh my goodness jj, i’ve never felt…” you trail off, eyes squeezing shut as you greedily hump his thigh, your knee grazing his crotch making him wince.

“felt this good? yeah, well… gets a lot better than this sugar. whatever gets you off though.” he’s a little redder in the face now, more turned on by the moment. “can i like… help you out a lil bit? i mean you’ve already commit the sin, might aswell right?” he doesn’t bother to still you, and before you can answer him he slips a palm beneath you so you roll your hips right into it, all whilst pawing at your tit through your white dress, the fat of it practically falling out anyway as he rolls a thumb over your nipple. you cry out, tensing and clenching around nothing as you grip his shoulders tight — that clean french manicure of yours digging into his skin.

“thaaaats better, right? that’ll do ‘er.” he breathes, your faces closer now, feeling your breath mingle at the proximity.

“this feels amazing.” you pant like a dog, dropping your head to his shoulder to avoid his gaze, squeezing your eyes shut as you approach orgasm.

“plenty more where that came from bo peep. go ‘head n’cum for me yeah? i know you need it. that’s right. good girl.”

[nordschleifes]

while you're busy making other plans

➝ your secret with fernando is leaked to the world. and you deal with it in the most chaotic way possible

➝ word count: 4,4k

➝ warnings: coparenting, lies, press, andrea being a little shit and fernando dealing poorly with press

➝ author's note: part two of this one shot. hope you enjoy it.

The notification that appeared on your phone screen.

It displayed a thumbnail image of you standing with Fernando in the Aston Martin garage, while he ran his hand through Leon's hair. You had been talking about that day’s sessions, with your son detailing how impressed he had been with the mechanics' work in getting his car ready for each stage of qualifying.

However, the caption of the photo turned your stomach. “They know about Leon”, the message said.

That was what you feared most since the day your son was born. You had read enough articles on the pages of Spanish magazines to know that you didn't want that life for him. But, at the same time, you knew that all that effort would go down the drain one day, especially when Leon began to understand the real intention of the excuses and compromises you made up to prevent his identity from being revealed.

You just didn't expect this day to come so quickly.

The knock on the door made you wake up from your thoughts, jumping out of bed towards the entrance of the suite. When your eyes met Fernando's, you felt your throat tighten.

— Y/N — he murmured.

— Come in — you managed to say, opening the door.

The driver passed you silently, head down. You didn't need anything else to know that he had already seen the photos and that he wasn't happy with them.

— What now? — you asked softly, as he sat down on the bed.

— I don't know, Y/N — Fernando replied, running a hand through his hair — Where is...

— With Alberto, I asked him to take Leon to his room so we could talk.

The driver let out a sigh as you sat down next to him.

— I have no idea how that happened — he muttered.

— Well, it has always been a possibility, and you know it.

Fernando looked at you with a serious expression.

— The thing is, nobody knew who you were. Alberto was careful to request the credentials in the team's name and not mine, we arrived separately — he pointed out — Did Leon say anything to anyone?

— No, no — you replied, shaking your head — He stayed with me or Alberto the whole time, he didn't say anything much.

Silence took over the room for a few seconds.

— This was leaked — Fernando finally said — Someone leaked it to the press...

— Do you think Luis…

— No, not him. It wasn't anyone around me, I'm sure. Everyone knows that Leon's privacy is the most important thing to me. They wouldn't do that to me, Y/N...

— What guarantees you that they wouldn't do it for money or...

— Y/N, no one close to me would do that — the driver interrupted you, a note of irritation in his voice — Everyone knows that Leon is the most important person in my life and that he is my priority. They wouldn't be able to, I know that.

You had no way of opposing him in that sense. Everyone who knew Leon's real identity were people connected to Fernando for almost 20 years and who knew him well enough to know how careful he was with his son. However, your mind went to the people who were no longer around Fernando, and the realization hit you like a train.

— Andrea — you murmured, before looking at him — It could only have been her.

The driver pressed his lips into a thin line.

— Are you sure?

— She's the only one who could have leaked this.

— Y/N, we can't get ahead of ourselves.

— She knows we're here on the circuit, she saw when I arrived with Leon — you argued, despair rising in your chest.

— That doesn't mean she did it, Y/N — he countered. This made you jump to your feet, feeling a wave of anger rising up your neck.

— How so? She is the only one who is no longer in your inner circle who knows Leon and has contact with the press.

— Andrea wouldn't use Leon against me, Y/N, she knows he's the most important person in my life — Fernando replied, making you bring your hand to his face in disbelief. You couldn't believe he couldn't see what was clear in front of him.

— And that's precisely why she would do that! — you yelled — She wants to hit you where it hurts, Fernando! She wants you to be sad too, to suffer! Don't you understand that?!

Fernando remained silent, looking at you with a grim expression on his face.

— Now, our son's face is everywhere because your ex-girlfriend can't accept that you don't want anything to do with her! — You continued, anger dripping from his words.

— Y/N…

— What?!

— She was the one who broke up with me.

The revelation hit you like a punch in the stomach. If Andrea was the one who had broken up with Fernando, supposed revenge on her part wouldn't make any sense. If she didn't want to be with him, there would be no reason to reveal Leon's identity to the press.

You were back to square one.

— Do you want to know why? — he asked softly, as you sat down next to him again.

— Did she give a reason?

— She said that I had well-defined priorities and that she wasn't one of them.

— Priorities?

— The work, Leon — Fernando hesitated for a few seconds — You.

You felt a churning sensation in your stomach.

— Me? What do I have to do with it?

The driver sighed heavily.

— I always made it clear from the beginning that you and Leon were an essential part of my life — he explained — Andrea accepted it well, but when she realized that I wouldn't give up living with you two, that I wanted to have you around, I think something changed in her mind.

— So she left you and decided to get revenge on top of that? — you questioned.

— It doesn't matter now, Y/N. What matters is that everyone knows about Leon and that we need to do something.

You clenched your jaw, deep in thought. It didn't matter who leaked the story, but rather what you would do to protect Leon from the approaching media storm.

— You can say you don’t know us…

— It’s not possible, there are photos of us on other occasions, with my parents, with Alberto…

— You can say he's Alberto's — you murmured, looking at your hands — We can pretend we're a couple, I believe he won't mind that, especially in these circumstances...

— No, definitely not — Fernando said, his voice firm — You will not compromise because of an error in judgment I made.

— So, you're just going to deny everything?

— Do I have another choice, Y/N?

— They won't buy this story...

— It's my word against that of an anonymous source, Y/N — the driver interrupted you — I can say that you are a friend of mine and that I have great affection for you and your family. That's simple.

You were thinking about the countless questions that could arise from that answer when the door to the suite opened.

— Papá! — Leon exclaimed, turning around the bed to go to Fernando and hug him.

— Hola, mijo — he said, forcing a smile on the boy — How are you?

— Good — the boy replied, as he sat on his lap — I was playing Mario Kart with Galle.

When you looked back, you found Fernando's manager and friend with a small smile on his face as he watched Leon with his father. However, as soon as his eyes met your, you could see the worry that permeated them.

— I bet you beat him, didn't you? — the driver asked.

— Yes, I won — Leon said, smiling — Galle slipped a lot on the banana peels!

— If someone hadn't thrown the peels at me, I would have arrived first — he countered, making the boy laugh — I'm going to have my revenge, there's no point in laughing, okay?

— I want to see that, huh? — Fernando said, while his son continued to provoke Alberto, talking about how he couldn't stop bumping at his opponents.

However, the relaxed air of the conversation was haunted by the dark cloud of reality. The looks you exchanged with the two men contained silent messages, requests for normality to be maintained, for everything to remain the same, for Leon's sake. And considering the subtle nods and goodnight hugs they gave the boy, you were sure that the three of you were completely committed to this mission.

The next day featured all the chaos that kept you awake for most of the night. With a cap firmly placed on Leon's head and the instruction to keep his head down, you entered the paddock holding his hand firmly. The questions mixed with the sound of camera clicks, focused on the reactions of the two of you.

— Leon, Leon, here! — one shouted.

— Where did you meet Fernando, Y/N? — another asked.

— Y/N, can you answer a question for us? — a third asked, as you climbed the stairs of the Aston Martin motorhome without saying a word. However, your expectation of going unnoticed there was shattered when you noticed the curious looks of the employees and guests who were there, the whispers multiplying.

You were still frozen in the same spot when you felt someone pull your hand.

— Mamá, can we go upstairs? — Leon asked softly, a shy expression on his face — I want to see papá.

— Yes, my love, let's go.

Trying to ignore the way you were being observed, you headed up the stairs towards Fernando's room, praying that there was no one else in the hallways of the motorhome. When you opened the door, however, you found Fernando accompanied by Alberto and Fabri, the three of them talking about something that was on Alberto's cell phone screen. Upon noticing their serious expressions, you made to close the door, but Leon reacted faster than you.

— Papá! — the boy exclaimed, entering the room without any ceremony, running into his father's arms — Happy birthday!

Fernando greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, seeming not to mind the interruption. Closing the door, you could feel the tension building up in your neck, making your movements somewhat painful. However, this was not the time to let that show, not when Leon was so happy.

— Thank you so much, my love. You don't know how happy having you here makes me.

— Mamá and I have a gift for you! — he said, looking at you with an expectation that made you give a small smile.

— A gift? — the driver followed his son's gaze, seeming interested — You know you don't need to give me anything, right?

— Leon insisted — you replied, as you opened your bag and took out a small box decorated with a fancy gold ribbon bow from inside. Then, taking a step forward, you handed it to Fernando — Happy birthday.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he picked up the box and examined it from the outside, the gold Richard Mille logo catching his attention. Giving his son a smile, the pilot undid the bow and opened the box, his eyes widening when he saw what was there.

— That…

— It's a new watch! — Leon exclaimed — Mamá and I made it for you!

Fernando looked at the gift with surprise, seeming not to believe what he had in his hands.

— You made this? — he asked, as he took the accessory out of the box to look at it.

— Yes! — the son responded immediately — Tell him, mamá!

— Richard said that you talked about samurai culture and that you were thinking about creating a model inspired by that a few years ago — you explained — At the end of last year, he called me to continue the project and this is the first functional prototype, what we call 000.

— I chose the colors! — Leon added, making you smile.

After a few seconds contemplating the details of the watch, Fernando hugged Leon and kissed the boy on the cheek again, murmuring something in Spanish to him. Then it was your turn to get a tight hug from him.

— Thank you for that.

— You know it's the least we can do for you, considering everything you've already done for us.

— It was my obligation, Y/N…

— And this is my way — you stopped, while Leon leaned against one of his father's legs, carefully observing the conversation between the two of you — Our way of showing how much we appreciate you for this.

The driver's smile was wide, framed by the same dimples that Leon had in his cheeks and that, seven years ago, had made your heart beat faster. However, you didn't have time to savor the feeling that took over your chest before he said that he needed to get ready for the meeting with the engineers before qualifying for the Sprint race.

With a new hug from Leon and a promise that you would see each other later, you left Fernando's room and went to the area reserved for team guests, where Melina welcomed the two of you with a wide smile. After suggesting the boy a plate of waffles and promising you that there would be no chocolate sauce like the day before, you stayed there, observing the hospitality and paddock movement, waiting for the time of the activities on the track.

Unfortunately, it had not been Fernando's day. After a difficult and rain-delayed qualifying, the Sprint was even more frustrating. Sitting in front of the television, you shook your foot insistently while Leon was standing, biting his nails even after you told him not to.

Then, exactly what you had been afraid of played out in front of you.

— Alonso! Fernando Alonso! — the narrator exclaimed, making your son's eyes widen — Off the track, on the gravel and outside the Sprint, bringing the Safety Car back to the track here in Spa-Francorchamps.

Repeating the image brought you a bit of relief, as the driver had not, in fact, hit the barrier, but had simply spinned onto the wet track and headed towards the escape zone. However, this didn't make Leon calmer, on the contrary.

— Mamá — he asked softly — Is papá okay?

Looking back at the screen in front of you, the image of Fernando walking alongside the marshalls made you give Leon a smile.

— Yes, he's fine, my love.

— Will he be able to have dinner with us today? — he asked, his voice full of hope.

— Yes, I'm sure. Now, let's continue watching the race and then go down to get a snack, what do you think?

With a vigorous nod, Leon sat down next to you, eyes focused on the action unfolding on the track. He celebrated the fight between Sergio Perez and Lewis Hamilton, as well as the overtaking of Carlos Sainz, saying he was good “like papá”. After the checkered flag and the podium ceremony, you invited your son to come with you downstairs.

Upon arriving at the common room of the hospitality, which was slightly empty, you were talking to one of the employees when you felt Leon pull your hand, trying to get your attention.

— Mamá, look over there — he said softly, pointing to one of the screens. In it, Fernando was in front of the microphone, a serious expression on his face. Giving him a small smile, you turned your attention to the employee, who had questioned you about Leon's juice.

After confirming the order and having your pass scanned, you looked again at your son, who was still staring at the television with a serious expression, as if he was paying attention to what Fernando was saying in Spanish. However, you only discovered what had happened later, when you were back at the hotel.

— Now, you go to the shower and I'll sort your clothes so we can go to dinner with your papá — you said, as you dropped your cell phone on the bed. However, when you turned around, you noticed that Leon was hesitant, his eyes on his hands — Is there a problem?

— Mamá, is papá my real papá?

You blinked, a little shocked by that question.

— Why are you asking?

— They asked papá if he had a son on television — the boy said, his voice full of sadness — And he said no.

Guilt made your heart feel heavy in your chest. You definitely didn't expect Leon to see any of Fernando’s interviews, especially one in which he had been mentioned. Pursing your lips, you tried to reorganize your thoughts, looking for the best answer for him, one that said what he needed to know at that moment and that's all.

However, you didn't even say a word.

— Is it true, mamá?

— My love, please — you murmured, sitting on the bed with wobbly legs, your heart racing inside your chest.

— Papá isn’t my papá? — he continued asking, his brown eyes filled with something you had never seen in him before.

Anger.

— Leon, you don’t know what you’re talking about…

— I do! — the boy exclaimed — I saw papá saying that he didn't have any children, that that was nonsense. He doesn't have a son, I'm not his son!

— Can you hear me, Leon? — your voice rising.

— No! — he shouted — You lied to me! Everyone lied to me!

— It's not like that, let me explain — you tried to say, while the boy walked with heavy steps to the bathroom.

— Lies, all lies! — Leon shouted, before entering the bathroom and closing the door violently.

Something about that scene reminded you of your own adolescence. You felt like you were watching yourself argue heatedly with your parents and, in an attempt to escape that, you hid inside your room, but not before slamming the door hard, taking out all your anger on her.

However, Leon was not a teenager, but just a boy.

He was your little boy.

You didn't even notice when the first tear ran down his face, bitter and completely lost. At that moment, with Leon thinking that his life had been a real lie, you had no idea what to do. Forcibly entering the bathroom to try to explain things felt wrong, as did shouting the truth at the wood.

Then, a knock on the door made something light up in his mind.

Running to the door, you clumsily opened it, praying that it was whoever you needed that was there by your side.

— Good evening — Fernando greeted you, his smile dying when he saw your red eyes and wet cheeks — What happened, Y/N?

— It's Leon — you stammered, your eyes filling with tears.

He walked past you with heavy steps, his expression serious.

— Where is he? What happened to my son?

You looked at him sadly.

— Leon thinks you’re not his father — you just said, your voice breaking.

The driver looked shocked by that, as if he couldn't believe what you had said.

— What?

— He saw the interview after the Sprint and came to this conclusion. I don't know how or why, but he's convinced we lied to him.

Fernando passed a hand over his face, dismayed.

— I didn’t say anything much…

— It was enough for him — you replied harshly, even by your standards. However, he didn't seem to mind, going to the bathroom door and knocking gently.

— Mijo? It's papá, please open.

— No! — Leon shouted.

— Please, my love, let papá explain to you…

— I don't want to hear you!

He let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against the wood.

His son didn't want to talk to him, or anyone.

Asking you to inform him of any developments, you watched Fernando exit the suite you were sharing with Leon in silence, his shoulders slumped as if he was carrying something extremely heavy on his back. Probably guilt for having said what shouldn't have been said, even though the intention was the best possible.

The silence after the bedroom door closed seemed to last for ages. Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling in silence. The tears had already stopped flowing some time ago when you heard the bathroom handle turn and the door open, revealing Leon. Sitting down on the mattress, you saw that the boy's eyes were red and his nose was still running, which indicated that he had been crying.

Silently, he sat near your legs, head down.

— Leon — you murmured, hesitantly.

— I want to leave — the boy said, his voice surprisingly firm.

— But, we have the race tomorrow, papá said...

— I don't want to watch the race anymore — Leon interrupted you, looking at you — I want to go home, mamá.

The news that his son wanted to leave Spa as soon as possible, without even watching the race, hit Fernando like a bombshell. He even asked you to try to convince him to stay until morning, so the two of you could talk better, but Leon was impassive.

And, as the lights came on on the track, the two of you were already in the air, heading home in absolute silence.

The following months followed in the same way. As much as you and Fernando hoped that Leon would give in and talk to his father, he remained impassive. During the summer break, there were many times that the driver went to your house to see him, without any success. The answer was always the same.

— He's not my father.

The only person he still allowed himself to see was Alberto, who was trying to break the barriers imposed by the boy. However, after an afternoon of walking with him, Galle looked at you with a worried expression, a strong contrast to the smile with which he had said goodbye to his godson.

— Did something happen? Is it about Fernando?

— Yeah — he said, passing a hand over his face — I didn't say anything, just to make it clear, it was Leon who asked about Fer and...

— What he said?

— He asked how Fer was doing, with those words. I replied that he was fine, but very sad that he wasn't talking to him, that he was missing him.

— Did Leon say anything about that?

— Just that he doesn't understand the fact that he's missing him because he's nothing to Fernando, he has no reason to care about that — Alberto replied, punctuating with a heavy sigh — Look, Y/N, I really don't know if I don't It's time to sit down with him and explain this misunderstanding...

— You think I didn't try? — you returned, crossing your arms.

— I imagine there is, but maybe you call Fer and the three of you sit down and talk seriously...

— Leon doesn’t want to talk…

— He can't just ignore his own father forever, Y/N — Alberto interrupted you, gesturing with one of his hands — You'll have to come up with some idea to help him, otherwise, Fer will go crazy.

You spent the next few days with that in your head, your mind searching for the best way to show Leon that Fernando was his father and that, above all, he loved him. Among his ideas was the possibility of asking the driver's parents to intervene or simply taking him to a psychologist and letting her lead the conversation.

Until an idea came to your mind.

The easy part was convincing Fernando to do that. Of course, it wasn't simple, considering all the implications it would have on your lives, especially when it came to your privacy. However, the idea of ​​being rejected for the rest of his life by his son made the driver give in.

The real challenge was convincing Leon to sit next to you to watch the television, which was already tuned to the channel he would appear on. The boy resisted bravely, stating that he didn't want to see Fernando and that he didn't like Formula 1 anymore. However, somehow, the image of his father on television made him stop, his eyes attentive.

— We're here with Fernando Alonso, Aston Martin driver, how are you?

— Everything's great — he replied with a smile.

— McLaren will be a challenge for you here in Abu Dhabi, right?

— Yes, totally. In the last two races, we gained more points than them, but we need a small miracle to overcome them — the driver explained — We are separated by 11 points, but we will try. Our main motivation is the constructors' championship.

— Now, with this season over, what are your plans?

— Well, the main thing is to rest, especially after so many trips. After the race, I go home to spend some time with Leon.

The mention to his son made the reporter's eyes widen.

— Leon, you mean…

— My son, yes. I did my best to avoid speculation and protect his and his mother's privacy, but it doesn't do much good right now and, if I can be honest, I was tired of not being able to tell him how amazing he is and how much I love him.

— I assume he likes speed — the man asked, still looking disconcerted.

— He loves it, understands everything and can’t wait to start driving. But he also loves drawing and plays football very well, so we'll have a lot to do during this vacation.

After he greeted the reporter one last time and left the camera, you looked at Leon, who was staring at the television in silence.

— Are you fine, my love? — you asked.

— Papá talked about me — he stammered, looking at you.

— Yes, he did, did you see?

— He said he loves me…

— Papá always loved you, Leon. From the beginning, when you were still in mamá's belly. He loves you very much and nothing will change that.

The boy smiled at you for the first time in a long time.

— Can we call him, mamá?

— Do you want to talk to papá?

— Yes, I do.

You felt tears as you searched for Fernando's contact details on your cell phone. Tapping the video call icon, the driver's image appeared almost immediately on your screen, his expression indicating the anxiety he felt.

— So, Y/N, did it work? — he asked.

Turning the phone to Leon, the boy's smile grew even wider.

— Hi, papá…

— Hi, mijo — you heard Fernando ask with a choked voice — Did you see papá on television?

— I did.

— Did you see I talked about you? — he questioned, with Leon nodding positively in response — Do you understand now that papá loves you?

A few seconds of silence followed, tension building in your shoulders.

Then, another positive wave from the boy made you smile, tears streaming down your face.

— I love you so much, mijo. You are the most precious thing I have in my life and I would never do anything if it wasn't for your happiness and your safety.

— I love you too, papá.

[kismetlotts]

cw: pussy drunk Simon, talking of power, intimidation?, creampie, riding, hinting male masturbation

Simon Riley who was absolutely all talk. You hadn’t worked with the tall masked man for very long but but from what you knew he was powerful- people feared him. You figured it was because of his skills, how swift and fast he was- the mask probably added to it as well but honestly, you didn’t find him that scary. Simon knew this. And Simon didn’t like this.

He liked having a certain level of power over new recruits, it was nothing controlling or intimidating he just liked to let them know who’s boss. He was used to it after all, usually when they get told about him, told about stories of him, told about what he had done they were already planning to avoid him on the first day- but you were different.

You were intrigued by him, you wanted to be close to him. He knew this as you walked into base around a week into the job, smiling over at him widely with a ‘Good morning!’ He was kind of panicked, almost uncomfortable. So he’d started to try scare you a little, nothing physical of course because you were a woman. Something that would probably make you more uncomfortable and weirded out by him, skipping any sort of flirting and heading straight for dirty talking.

And the effect it had on you was massive, but was it the effect he wanted out of you? No, however the way your cheeks would darken, thighs squeezing together subconsciously because god, he had you soaking. Your little cunt leaking your arousal into your panties, shamelessly dampening them because his voice, his eyes- you could melt.

Time passed on and you'd slowly threw caution to the wind, letting lose and allowing yourself to talk back to him, despite nothing ever coming from it. You had never been one to shy away, never been one to pussy-out, however he was your Lieutenant- your job could be compromised had you misread the situation.

The sexual chemistry the two of you had was through the roof and it made missions so much harder to focus on. Nothing ever came from it until you’d exchanged contact numbers, messaging at night, the encrypted words sending shivers down your spine.

Until one night you’d been talking over the radio for hours. He was only a couple doors away from you in base so the connection was strong, and things took a turn.

“What are you doing?” You’d ask him, some muffled noises coming from his end, you wasn’t sure if he was rolling over in his cot or what. But when he replied to you, voice deep and strained and he breathed a little heavier, a smirk to his voice, your hand slipping down into your panties.

“What do you think i’m doing?”

From then on jesus, things only got worse. Being in a room together was hard, eye contact between you was hard- everything was hard and you knew he was. You’d stopped texting at night, stopped the radioing at night too because it was getting out of hand.

Laswell had handed you a bunch of files to pass on to Price, some intel or other, you’d scanned through the files nosily but nothing really made sense to you, a photo or two here and there and some details on people whom you’d assume were terrorists. Walking into his office you found him no where to be seen, chair empty, lights off and blinds drawn. Weird, this was usually the only place you’d find him. Backing up you’d walked into someone and fuck the minute you looked into his eyes it was like you were under a spell.

Price had moved rooms and after getting an email by Laswell on the files, he’d sent Simon to go retrieve them, knowing you’d be oblivious to the sudden room change. Prices new office was the other side of the building, this was was vacant, out of use, no one would come in. Just you and Simon.

The minute you made eye contact, the minute you stepped forward you were against the wall with him. Lips locked together as you tasted him, his tongue tasting sweet and warm, you wanted his tongue everywhere. His hands gripped onto your hips, gliding up to your waist as he made his way around your neck. Licking, biting and sucking, leaving no end of marks but shit, he’d been waiting for this. It wasn’t a game to him anymore, he didn’t want to scare you away he wanted to draw you in, he wanted you.

His mouth had a way of opening you up more than any fingers or hands could do. He’d talk into your ear, the most dirtiest and seductive talk you could ever listen to. The names he’d call you, threats of what he’d do to you, fuck yes yes yes. Your hands would claw at his big arms desperate for him to get inside as you dragged him over to the black leather swivel seat. He sat down, hands fumbling with his jeans as he took his cock out, you stripped down quickly joining him.

You’d grab onto the wall behind the seat, his feet and arms keeping you in position as you lined yourself up, slowly dropping down as your pussy swallowed his dick. A loud groan falling from his lips and he moved you with his hands, grabbing your waist and guiding you as he stretched you out, although it didn’t take long to adjust to. You bounced and bounced, your wetness dripping onto the leather and getting not only yourself wet but his thighs and cock. Too lost on his dick to realise anything, too hungry for cock to realise how pussy-drunk Simon was.

Every noise that came out of his was cracked and broken, he wasn’t even whimpering at this point he was totally wrecked. God his eyes, them dark handsome eyes were wet with tears and fuck his hands shook. Drool spilling out of his mouth because he felt fucking ecstatic. He was already twitching so much and you didn’t even know what to do, there was no hair pulling or name calling. Only struggled pleas for you to keep going, breathy ‘Fuck’s ever so often through all the moaning.

He didn’t last long, and you weren’t shocked by it, cumming deep inside of you because he was too lost to even pull out, he was embarrassed- he felt pathetic. Leaving you to climb off of him and get dressed again, a wide smile on your lips.

He really was all talk.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Lovefool [dark!Konig x fem!Reader]

Konig gets to secure a little trophy from the battlefield. Hope you're in for a ride.

!TW! Kidnapping, Yandere themes, Dub-con, dark!Konig

Tags: Yandere, Dark Romance, colonel!Konig, dark!Konig, Size kink, Age gap(Konig in his thirties and Reader is in her twenties), Stockholm syndrome speedrun, Konig is a huge pervert, submissive Reader

You never knew who he was before he attacked.

Your teammates did – whisperers about KorTac getting on their tails, stories about their crazy psycho commander who could barely pass a word to his subordinates while smacking heads off trained men in full armor. Spooky tails for the recruits who refuse to train in their free time – something about “If you aren’t getting in shape by the end of the month, König is going to get you”.

You never knew who he was – you barely knew the organization you worked in.

Cyber security, lowly private military. They are hiring based on CV alone and didn’t ask for a fancy college and a few degrees in hacking that you could never get. They wanted experience, and you had at least a bit of it – you passed through basic training, never serving in the military before, but fine with promises of never actually going out in the field since you would be giving them intel and cyber support from the sidelines.

Well, they never told you that “the sidelines” would be 100 meters away from the actual battlefield.

You don’t even remember what the mission was about – something important, you guess, because they asked you to be here, on sight, computer in hand, and your comrades, with whom you barely talked outside of work, alongside you. Something about weapon smuggling, though you never actually understood if you were stopping it or doing it. Working in the middle of the European Union pays a lot, and it sort of counts as free travel – you’re somewhere in Germany, maybe on the border with Poland or Austria or Czech Republic. Nothing but fields of grass and occasional mountains. They gave you a riffle, a sidearm, and instructions to try not to get too wounded since they wouldn’t be dragging your body out of the field. S[read sheet with intel opened on your computer – you’re not their secretary, but at least they don’t want you to hack the Pentagon.

You heard screams from your tent: “KorTac”, “Compromised”

“König”

What was the weirdest thing – he was alone. A single man shouldn’t be able to take on a team of trained mercs, even as lowly as your company was. You all had weapons, armor, and means of at least taking him down as a group – and you were like a bunch of babies with toy guns on the playground when a pitbull came in.

Your leader fell first – you saw his head explode with a perfect shot right between his eyes. no one screamed sniper, but you still ducked under the field table, hoping that it would save you a few minutes of peace before you’d manage to delete all of the important files from your laptop. This was the protocol – if you are in the middle of dying, you need to first make sure that the enemy won’t get a hold of precious company correspondence and deeply personal photos of your cat.

You leaned forward to see what was happening on the field – you heard screams, you heard gunshots, you heard…

Laugh.

Deep, loud, the laugh that sounded both malicious and cheerful at the same time. It sounded like the man had a field day of breaking necks and stabbing his teammates. You've never seen so much blood on someone. You wish you never had.

Your teammates are falling like porcelain dolls when the elephant hits the kitchen, and you are trying your best to be a good little hacker and not let your company down before your inevitable demise. Turning on your laptop, waiting for whatever ancient version of Windows you had since the budget was mostly going into flashy guns and cool night vision headsets, you are getting ready to format all the disks when….

“The Windows update is in the process. Please, wait approximately 9 hours to complete”

Oh, hell no. You are not going to wait another 9 hours, you could barely survive for the next 9 minutes! Of course, naturally, obviously, you can just turn off the computer and get it off work because the files will get fried up and it won’t turn on again, ever. Which would still complete your goals, so…

— Come on, please…f-fuck, please, just let me…

“As a method of complete data loss prevention, Windows has disabled the ability to manually turn off your computer. Please, wait approximately 9 hours to complete”

— Found you, Maus.

Something – a hand, big, covered in the type of protection you never saw on your fellow soldiers – yanked your ankle, dragging you from under the table you were hiding under. The air stinks of blood and you involuntarily whimper, hands are going to grab the laptop. You need to smash it, destroy it, maybe just drop it hard enough on the floor, push it against the wall, and try your best to kick it enough to damage the disk and prevent KorTac from accessing the files.

The guy steps on your hand, taking the laptop away. You swear to god you hear a crack – you prayed that he would accidentally smash the laptop, but it was your hand under his boot.

— Hurts? Good.

You whimper as he carefully puts the laptop away, checking if it’s still working. He then returns to you – laying on the floor, fingers still shaking in pain, and attempts to grasp for the computer that was snatched away. There is nothing you can do – you have a gun, yes, and he has at least three guns and deadly man-bear hands, so even if you were fast enough to draw a gun before he would, he can just kick you like a puppy.

König – it’s him, it must be him, your teammates were screaming his callsign and talking about a devil who wears a sniper hood and has the height of a not very small tree – kicks you in the ribs, turning you from the side to your back, facing him. If you were stronger, you would do something cool – bite his ankles, for example. Or spit in his face as the last remaining tip of your dignity, before he would kill you or torture you or feast on your flesh.

— Verdammte Feiglinge, can’t even face your death like a man. Look at me, ja?

Crying isn’t a shameful thing to do. So, you cry. Soft little whimpers, sniffles, you are probably looking wet and disgusting, but you hurt, scared, and fucking tired and you want out of here, and you never actually wanted to be a soldier, and they all lied to you while promising to keep you out of the field, and this uniform is horrible, and you feel your tears soaking the half of bandana you were using as a face mask and…

He snatches the mask from your face. Look you in the eyes for long enough to make your whimpers even more audible. You can swear to god that his pupils were dilated. That his hands were shaking. You could see his eyes getting scrunched in that particular way that their owner is smiling – sincerely, openly, from the bottom of his heart.

— Please…p-please, be fast, I don’t know anything, I will…I won’t, I…

Rough, calloused hand goes to cup your face. The material of his glove is tough and soaked in blood as he smears it on your cheek, your fingers are going to wipe away the tears – you don’t understand what’s happening and you are even more scared, and your mouth is twitching in a terrified grimace. He pushes the tip of his finger into your mouth, making you suck on the blood and dirt of the fabric. You think you are going to throw up.

— Quiet.

You don’t understand why he didn’t kill you yet. He is touching your face, slowly, his one hand is enough to cover your entire head and you’re sure that if he’d want to just squish your brain like a rotten cabbage, he could just fine. He pushes his finger even deeper in your mouth and you lick it involuntarily because this is an intrusion and you have the brain of a two-year-old who sees the world through their ability to devour things, and his pupils dilate even more. He looks at your frown, your tears, and your lips wrapped around his finger.

He yanks you on your feet embarrassingly easy.

— You’re a hacker?

You blink a few times. Now, the protocol is that no, you can’t state who you are, If he knows that you are a hacker, he can take you away for interrogation, maybe torture you for passwords and the intel on your company, and being tortured isn’t something on your monthly calendar. Now, the protocol also states that you have to be able to die for your company, and…

He grabs your neck, lifting you – surprisingly gently, softly even, a hand supports your waist so you won’t be able to either kick him or get choked to death because of his grip.

— Answer me, Maus. I might have a reason to let you live.

You do want to live. Maybe not long, definitely not until you’re 100 years old with dozens of grandchildren, but being able to live past the next few hours and then days and then weeks does sound incredible.

— Y…yes. I’m a cyber security specialist.

He squeezes your neck more. Pushes you up, making you cough in your grip. You never experienced anything like this before – never had a guy strong enough to handle you like this. It would look cool from the side, probably – like something from a videogame. It would look hot in the porn, probably, if it was consensual and happening between two passionate lovers.

But you are his enemy, and he is yours – cold blue eyes peering right into yours. He is looking at you like a piece of meat, and not even in the lustful, hungry way. He looks like a butcher in front of a very good beef cut, thinking about where should he sink his knife to get the best steaks. A hunter standing over the wounded deer, thinking if he wants your head above his fireplace or taxidermy your whole body as a wicked trophy.

— Didn’t know they’d allowed someone so fucking small in the field.

You can swear to god that you saw him smile, under this hood. You can’t see his face, obviously, only the blood-soaked fabric and his eyes, but something still tells you that he is smiling. Enjoying your attempts to escape, maybe – you tried to kick him a few times, producing a deep, amused chuckle from his lips. He holds you so easily like you are nothing but a sweet little kitten. You might not be as big as him, but he still shouldn’t be able to lift a grown woman in full gear with just one hand. Right?

— I’m not…not s-small.

You don’t have much fight left in you. You are on the verge of just asking him to kill you, to be honest, your neck hurts and the pain spreading from your fingers pulsates and transforms. You hope they are not broken – even though you understand that your chances to live past these few minutes are very slim. Even your usual snark is lost, forbidden in the hands of a giant who likes to play with his food.

You do feel like a mouse – in a way that you would die under his boot very soon.

He – König, monster, colonel, fucking deadly mercenary – chuckles again. You can get used to this sound. Melodic almost, in a way that most alarms are melodic while telling you about inevitable catastrophe.

— Kleine verfickte Maus. Ich wette, dass du auch ganz eng bist.

He is laughing, again. Laughing and chuckling and you can’t take it anymore because he is so obviously stronger than you, it’s not fair. You want to put your foot on the ground and tap it like a spoiled brat, like a baby on the playground whining for their mom to take them home because other kids don’t want to play by their rules. The difference in skill is so obvious, that you aren’t even able to put on some sort of fight.

— Wh…I don’t speak German.

Your other hand – the one that didn’t get squished under his boot – goes to scratch his arm. Maybe put up enough struggle that he would accidentally let you fall right from his grasp. He doesn’t react and you feel hopeless. Weak, useless, you remember all the times you decided to miss training so you could just chill in the lounge with other rookies or do something on your computer.

— You will, Maus.

Then, there is only darkness.

***

You woke up…somewhere.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t the first time you woke up. You remember opening your eyes, feeling the vibrations under your cheek, hearing the noises of a car or other vehicle moving fast. Too fast for your already spinning head and stomach – you don’t remember if you were coughing or vomiting, but the movement wasn’t stopping to ever let you breathe. You were being transported somewhere, without a chance of knowing where you were heading. At least now, when you get to the final, as you think at least, destination, you’re clean.

As much as someone tied up to a chair somewhere that reminds you of a basement can be.

You’re stripped of your weapons obviously – not like you had a chance to use them anyway. Your hands are tied behind your back, your legs are bound to a chair, and your tragic lack of clothes is…more evident than you wanted it to be. At least you still have your underwear on – it still didn’t make the situation better. He saw you naked, completely, and he might do god knows what with you now.

Although you have some feelings about what he can do with a weak enemy hacker, half-naked and tied up in a secure place.

You would panic, but it requires energy. A resource that you don’t have right now.

— You woke up. Gut. Started to think I went too much again.

His accent is weird, you think. The thought only occurs to you now, when you can hear him more clearly while not being that afraid of getting out of this alive. His voice is weirdly calm for someone of his size – you want to think of gentle giants but this man is far from gentle and is almost too big to even be called a giant. A colossus, you want to say.

— Again?

Your voice is raspy, both from your sleep and from lack of water. When was the last time you drank anything? Probably more than a few hours – your throat is dry as sandpaper, and your head is dizzy from both your trauma – he either strangled you to unconsciousness or beat you hard enough – and the dehydration. You don’t want to spend another minute in this basement – you think this is a basement, at least, the high humidity on the walls and some garbage tossed to the corner is fairly evident. It’s large, too – you never saw anything like this. It might be a KorTac prison, but the remains of a bike and a few shelves of canned foods tossed to the other side of the room tell otherwise.

— We’re allowed to take trophies home. Sometimes I get…impatient.

You’re in his house? Does a monster like him even need a house?

“A trophy”

Funny how you don’t even feel that dehumanized. He didn’t kill you, you don’t feel the evidence of violation on your body – you are clean, neat even, your stomach and private parts aren’t hurting, and, as much as you hate to say this while tied up to a chair, you are as comfortable as a person in your position can be.

— What are you going to do with me?

You shake like a leaf. He finally steps closer to you, coming from the ladder – you can hear the lock and a heavy door being closed, setting your hopes of escape. Not like you could, in your position – the bruises already forming on your legs and hands, a numbed pain in your head and fingers. You feel shitty and comfortable at the same time, trying to tune off the discomfort and just concentrate on talking to him.

He didn’t kill you – this is good, you can work with this.

He left you alive – this is bad, he is going to torture you, he is going to do a million terrible things with you and you are not a part of a regular army, You didn’t get the torture resistance training. Maybe, if it was some of your friends, other girls in the group who got through military school and never missed gym to sit on their computers, they would have survived. You never felt so weak before – not even on the battlefield.

God, you’re scared.

— Your computer. My employer needs the info you had on it.

Oh.

It’s not personal, at least. He is here for the information, not to take advantage of your weak, fragile body. It made you almost feel at peace, almost made you forget about your lack of clothing and the damp basement you’re being put in.

— What sort of info do you need?

You slowly start to wiggle your hands in your binds – he used plastic locks, those stupid unremovable things that are slowly cutting the soft flesh of your wrists. You can’t untie them, but you can try at least tear them on the metal of your chair. You can try to, just to say that you did, and not feel bad about not resisting him at all.

— Your last mission. You were trying to smuggle weapons into the EU border.

— We were trying to stop the smuggling of weapons.

At least, you think you were – your head hurts, your memories are dizzy, and they never actually told you what kind of job you had. Come to think of it, actually, you never asked whether you were the good guys or the bad guys – it was always about money, paychecks, getting your job done and not dying from lack of nutrition because most tech-jokey jobs are already filled with uninspired chatbots and graduates from fancy colleges with a dick between their legs. Not reserved for tired women like you – so you turn to, ironically, paramilitary organizations. How the tables have turned.

— That’s not what our intel says, Maus. Do you want to lie to me?

You don’t. You just don’t know if you are telling the truth or lying because you are too fucking tired to even think straight.

He comes closer, and you whimper involuntarily. His breath hitches.

— Scheisse…they knew who to hire.

He grabs you by the neck again, and you can finally see him fully – towering over you, cold blue eyes staring right into you. You sob, not able to handle your emotions because, oh god, he is going to rape you, torture you, and then put a giant burning stick right in your ass because everyone knows that this is the best way to hack a computer – you just need to find the person who put the password in the first place.

— Can’t you just hack the computer yourself?

He chuckles – you’re getting tired of that sound. You hate that you found his voice attractive, you hate the fact he is keeping you down here. You want to destroy that part of your body that likes the attention – how his eyes are only kept on you. Never had a guy kidnapping you before, and you fight the feeling of disappointment that strikes you when you remember that he is here because he needs the intel. Not because he wants you.

— It wasn’t a…conventional operation. Can’t waste manpower on breaking the walls you installed.

His hand goes to cup your face again – you frown, breathing stops because he is so close and he takes off his gloves, allowing his rough, calloused fingers to linger on your cheeks. He squeezes your face in an almost adorable manner and steps back again. You lick your dry lips again, trying hard to keep at least one part of your body moisturized, and his breath hitches again.

He goes behind you, ruffles through shelves – you can hear something falling, his awkward grunt as he had to pick it up. He is more clumsy than you though – more nervous also, hands are jittering and fingers twitching every time you look at him. Adorable, really, how this huge mess of a man can look so innocent and almost nervous in front of you.

König returns after a minute or two, holding…a water bottle. Closed, lid still on, little plastic wrapping in place. You have half a mind about just drinking it, even though he doesn’t offer it to you. Not like you could open it yourself, with how your hands are still tied up behind your back.

— You don’t speak German.

It’s not a question – it’s a statement. you watch him opening the bottle with ease, large hands are working on something so fragile and delicate. You can’t remember the last time you had sex, not with how fast your head is spinning and memories still foggy, but you think it was a long time ago – because you feel your cheeks heated from the simple actions of his large fingers ripping through soft plastic.

God, you don’t really remember what was happening before you got here, not in detail, but you know that you needed to get laid like, a year ago.

— No.

— You will.

— Wh…what do you mean?

Is he going to make you install Duolingo? Is this what it all was about? Some elaborate prank, a marketing campaign, a tough lesson for silly girls who think that knowing just your native language is enough to live your life and…

— When you want something, Maus, you have to say “bitte”.

If you were a strong and cool soldier, you would use this moment to jump from your chair, using the weight of your body to fall on him and make him lose balance, and then spit in his face as your last remaining blast of human dignity.

But you aren’t a cool and strong soldier, and you really need to drink.

— B…bitte. What does this mean?

— Please.

He is almost whispering, the water bottle tanging in his hands in front of you. You take your time, considering the possibilities – you can play like a good little prisoner and allow him to take your pride and just toss it aside. You can play like an obedient hostage and ask him nicely, hoping that it would be enough.

You don’t know what to do – appearing too shy and soft can give him…ideas. And you don’t want this crazed giant who is keeping you bound in his basement to get ideas. You can…you probably can spend more time without water. Or food. Or shower and change of position.

You take your time answering, and his demeanor seems almost…anxious. His eyes are darting between the water bottle and your face, between his hands and your body – like he can barely keep a calm facade and not force you into doing something nasty. Like he is almost afraid that you are not going to cooperate and he would really have to hurt you in a meaningful way.

— Can I have water, bitte?

— Gutes Kätzchen. Drink, you’ll need it.

In the end, you broke down first. Not because you are this weak, but because being a brat won’t save you in a situation like this. You don’t want to die over something as trivial as your pride.

König seems…at ease. He takes off the bottle cap and brings water to your lips, allowing you to drink as much as you want. You lick the remaining drops from your lips and he puts a half-empty bottle aside.

— I won’t tell you the password.

You mumble under your breath, barely audible. He chuckles.

— I count on it, liebe.