#water boy lance

[hypfden]

Let it be summer!!! NOW!! (Ft lance in his natural element)

I’m never gonna stop drawing the one sided* pining. It’s all I have plz and thank you

I’m not drawing sand imagine that they are in a beach

[alohaasaloevera]

STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID THEY’RE IDIOTS AUGHHHHH I’M WRITHING ON THE FLOOR BECAUSE OF HOW BRUTALLY PATHETIC THEY ARE!1!1!1!1!1!1!1

[sockdooe]

inspired by this :)

[gladiator-gladiolus]

Every anime/animation is so scrumdiddlyumptious dibblydoo until you realise the protagonists are just fire boy and water girl in another life

[blaiddllodi]

[ H-True-O Water ] - Originating from an artesian aquifer from the frigid lands of Albinea, this bottled water is boasted to be the finest in the world. With all that marketing thrown at you, you can really taste the difference!

Forsyth has a terrible time saying no, and he's found himself carrying a bottle of this strange, supposedly artisan water. He's plenty quenched for now, but it doesn't hurt to have extra, at least?

He's walking along the edge of the ballroom when he notices a blond young man standing in a corner. As a staff member, it is his duty to ensure the students are doing well.

"Are you doing well?" Oh, that is the crown Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, leader of the Blue Lions house. Forsyth immediately stiffens, unsure of how he should continue his address, especially if the young prince could be unwell. "It's important to stay hydrated. If you need it, I have some water."

Though the night had been plenty stressful, Dimitri had not expected for so many of the faculty to approach him with concern for his welfare. He supposed he must have not hidden his disquiet nearly as well as he'd hoped, or else that there truly was something in the cheese from earlier.

"Ha, please, don't be concerned. I'm quite well." A lie, but a smaller one now that the evening waned than when it had began. He offered what he hoped was a mollifying smile, raised a hand in part greeting, part dismissal.

"Oh!" But he did like this brand of water... "Er...I believe I had a bottle, at some point, from earlier - it's more popular up north, where I'm from, than here I suppose."

A laugh, as though realizing how silly it sounded now - to be here in the mountains with a preference for water, when surrounded by such pristine snowmelt. But the snow always seemed purer at home.

"You are a knight, aren't you? I don't believe we're acquainted. Here, a trade - " Dimitri extended his white feather, and took the teardrop crystal in its place; his smile widened. "I believe that's all of them for you, isn't it?"

[cheriladycl01]

Qatar Heat - Grid x Driver! Reader

Plot: Everyone has a hard time at the Qatar GP, most needed medical attention once the race finished, some drivers retired and some continued even though they threw up in their helmets. What happens when the female of the grid, who already struggles with body temperature regulation finishes the race?

It was Thursday, which was media day in Qatar which meant that right now you were walking round the paddock in shorts and your Aston Martin Team top.

"Lance, hey are you okay?" You ask your team-mate. You'd known him since last year as the reserve driver for Aston Martin, Seb wanted you to take his place after retirement.

"Yeah, its just so hot. And Henry's still making me do training" he complains.

"I know but think we got the ice bath's later!" you grin excited to have the ice bath. After a hot day of training it was like a reward. So you did your ball exercises and you did a track run for the media team. Afterwards you were about to lay down on the track ground but it was blistering when you put your hand to it.

"Tires are gonna get shredded" you complain a little out of breath to Jessie your personal trainer.

"Can we go get water and smoothies now?" You ask and Sid one of the media guys who had followed you around today nods. You guys get out of the sun before running into the garage and collecting as many people's orders from the garage as you can.

You bring everyone back what they wanted on a tray. Sid filmed you the whole time, so he could upload it to the Tik-Tok saying that the new Aston Martin waitress is pretty cool. And another one joking that you can always fall back on waitressing if F1 falls through which you found hilarious.

"Okay, Lance Y/N. Ice bath time!" Mike Krack informs you both. You go into your driver room changing into your bikini that'd you'd brought with you. You pull the Aston Martin polo back over, feeling as though it would be odd to walk out the back of the motorhome in a bikini.

You see the cameras on you and immediately smile. You go up very close to the camera.

"Hi guys, i felt awkward coming out in just my bikini so Aston Martin Representation!" you whisper before stepping back and poking your thumbs at your top to show them what you were talking about, as if it wasn't obvious.

Looking to your left, Lando, Oscar, Alex and Logan were also all doing icebaths out the back of the motorhome too.

"Looking good boys" you shout after wolf whistling in their direction, they all laugh having finished their icebaths coming over to you and Lance.

"Come on" Alex gestures you towards the ice bath. You roll your eyes pulling the top over your head and passing it to Alex, he steps back looking at the other three boys who are shamelessly staring at you.

You were the current youngest on the grid. 21 years old, so Oscar, Logan and Lando all took a liking to you, not only because of the age similarities but because of your sense of humor.

"Ready Lance, you ask your team-mate whose shirt was just pulled off and handed to Mike who was helping the social media team.

"Lets make this interesting. First to fully submerge wins"

"That's not exactly fair your from Canada...okay your on" you shout and before anyone can blink your jumping into the ice bath. Your up to your thighs before you watch as Lance starts to sink down. Not even thinking about the cold you just force your whole body down. You can feel the cold all around your hair as it floats up and you can feel the cold water on your eyelids.

You come back up with a gasped breath before looking over at all of them.

"Who won, it was me right?" you say with your eyes blown wide as Lance emerges.

"Yes, but your fucking crazy" Lando laughs looking at the smile that comes across your face.

"Hahaha Suck that Stroll! I win" you say looking over at him.

"Ohhh you know what we should do" you say looking over at the camera that was still pointed at you.

"We should do a thirst trap of me, so people can edit me on TikTok!" you exclaim and Oscar chokes, while Logan and Land laugh as your started to lean back in the bath, running your hands through you hair.

"Y/N how many times have we talked about this" Your PR manager exclaims trying to stop the admins from filming.

"Oh come on its what they want!" You exclaim.

After that night, you went out for food, a healthy meal of course that Lance payed for as the looser of the bet.

Friday First Practice was good, you'd come in 4th just behind the two Ferrari's and Max.

Qualifying was just as good, you were starting in 4th next to Lewis, with George and Max ahead of you for Sunday's race and that was locked in. It was exhausting, you were boiling but you pushed. Lance was angry with the car performance and got angry at Henry, you were shocked to see and hear what happened when you were still driving and scolded Lance, before nearly fainting from being dizzy.

Again, you did the ice bath dinner and slept.

Now to focus on Saturdays sprint. You did well in the first two sprint shoot outs. But ended up retiring the car in Q3, starting in 9th position.

You were so faint for the whole race. Today, it was hotter than all the other days. Your fireproof felt more clingy to your skin than usual and the water in the car was heating up quicker than it normally did.

At one point during the sprint race the water was so disgusting to drink you actually spat it out in your helmet on reflex.

You finished in 8th gaining 1 point for the team who congratulated you. You stayed in the car as you pulled into the garage for a minute before you stripped of in the garage down to tank top and your underwear. You sat on the cold garage floor, head in your hands as you panted, looking for breath.

A team member brought an orange juice up to you, tapping you on the shoulder to which you shake there hand and thank them for the gesture.

You sip it slowly, not wanting to gag like you had before.

"How you doing sweetheart" Mike comes up to you, everyone in the garage had reported to him, how red and beat up you look coming out the car. You look at him and nod.

"It's always been harder for me" you laugh looking up at him wiping the sweat from your forehead before it falls down into your eye.

"What do you mean?" he asks crouching down so he's at a similar level to you.

"I mean, you've probably never checked my medical papers right. And women struggle with heat more than men anyway but my body doesn't regulate its temperate that well... so I've always struggled with being hot in the car but this is next level" you sigh to him.

"Are you going to be okay to race. We can get Drugovich to fill" Mike says concern filling his face as he can tell your struggling from the speech pattern and labored breathing.

"No i promise I'll be okay and I'll bring us home points" you smile.

I'm going to go congratulate Oscar on his Sprint win. You smile before holding you hand out for help. He helps you up and you trot over to Mclaren pulling the taller male into a hug the minute you see him.

"You did amazingly Ozzie" you grin, still holding onto him.

"Hey! I did well as well" Lando interrupts and you roll you eyes before turning to look at the man baby behind you.

"Yes yes, well done on P3 Lando Norris" you grin pulling him towards you and hugging him. He hugs you back before lifting you and squeezing you making you groan at the harshly shown affection that you were used too.

"How you feeling about tomorrow starting P4?"

"I'm hoping for a podium with my boys" you grin, pulling them both in, one arm round each of them.

"With us starting P6 and P10. I doubt that" Oscar groans, knowing he stuffed up Qualifying the other day, along with his team mate.

"Never say never. Tomorrow's going to be a hard race for everyone"

Sunday was the day that everyone struggled as you'd said.

Max actually ended up crashing out, and after coming back on the track, the car didn't have the pace it had from the start of the weekend.

"Come on Y/N, win in rookie season will look amazing. Keep holding. You've got Oscar behind 2.3 seconds gaining and Lando behind him. 3 laps left" you engineer inform.

"Guys the heat's really getting to me" you voice but its barley recognizable through the radio.

"Not long left, just push until the end" the engineer says but his voice waivers, he could tell you were struggling but unlike Logan who retired early on, lap 40 and with only three laps left there was no point especially when you were this close to a win.

"I - I know" you waiver, you control the car, speeding up trying to get this done as quickly as possible.

Martin Bundle - AND IN HER ROOKIE SEASON Y/N Y/L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2023 QATAR GRAND PRIX

"Guy's I need to get out this car now" you cry, tears forming in your eyes.

"Okay copy that"

"I cant move" you cry, the only thing that was able to move from your body was your hands which were shaking.

"We're sending pit crew to help" your engineer says. You see race marhsalls come up to your car, where Oscar and Land pull up alongside you. They both jump out hugging their team who were stood their waiting for them both. They turn to congratulate you thinking you'd be there next to them with the Aston Martin team but see you still sat in the car.

"Oh my god, she's shaking" Oscar says looking closer at you.

"She's in shock, from the heat" Lando says running over Oscar behind him.

"Y/N hey hey hey. Its okay its okay" Lando says flicking up your visor so he could see you. He honestly could have cried at the sight. He saw you looking so exhausted and out of it, the tears in you eyes and the sweat underneath them mixed.

"Come on baby lets get you out" Oscar voices, pulling Lando back by the shoulder and leaning down into the car, putting his arms under your knees and the other behind your back before lifting and pulling you out the car.

"Can we get a cold towel over here" Lando shouts which makes your head dizzy. Oscar sits you on the car wheel, pulling your helmet off, and then your balaclava. You were extremely red in the face but he still thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

So did Lando, he had for a while, and he would always flirt with you when you were the reserve Aston Martin driver. But he cared for you, and seeing you like this pulled at his heart strings.

"You did so well today darling" he compliments. He pulls back your hair that was sticking to your face, doing it in a low bun so it wasn't tight but was out of your face and off your neck.

Lando unzips your race suit, pulling it down off your shoulders so your in your fireproof top before laying the cooling towel around you neck.

"Just breath" he smiles at you handing you and Oscar an icy bottle of water than was handed to him by his team. They got you to the cool down room where you sat on the floor with your back against the wall and your cheek resting on the cold marble.

"Great race guys. Said I'd have a podium with my... my boys" you smile, before you feel the urge to throw up. You get on your knees grabbing the bin before spilling the food you'd eaten before the race into the bin. Oscar sits next to you rubbing your back.

"Come on lets go get weighed" Lando sighs. Oscar goes first, the you and Lando watches the figure seeing you'd lost a whole 6 kilograms which meant that you'd lost 9 over the whole weekend. He, Oscar and Logan would all have to go out for a big meal to all put the weight back on.

The podium was amazing, first place and sharing a podium with Lando and Oscar had never felt better. It was a shorter podium as they wanted all of you to seek medical attention. You were eventually declared to have heatstroke and were forced on home rest in a nice a/c-ed room and lost of Peach Ice Tea's.

One thing for sure was you never wanted to race in Qatar as this time of the year again.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle

[klaissance]

are we getting anywhere I don't know this is hard

cowboy au is so treacherous because what are the hardest things to draw on earth??? cowboy hats and horses. and yet,,,,

[kyloherrera]

✦ ۫ 𑄼ల۫  ۪ FEB 8 — ROSES

featuring: dot, , abel, rayne, odler, mash, lance. finn x gn! reader

note: I opened a patreon if you want to support me, and also there will be extra , spicier and special content that I will post there <3.

summary: will mashle boys gift or receive roses?

genre: fluff || event || patreon

✦ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇

-Because mash is someone who values honesty, kindness, and simplicity, and he would likely see roses as a traditional and romantic gesture to express his affection he would more likely gift roses rather than receiving.

-He would approch the situation with genuine sincerity, wanting to express his affection in a clear and uncomplicated way.

-Mash would take the time to carefully select the roses, choosing the freshest and most beautiful ones he can find.

-Since he is a new one to buying roses he might seek advice from others or do some research to ensure he picks the right color and variety that symbolizes his feelings.

-He would probally add a personal touch to the gift, such as adding a little handwritten note expressing his feelings in his own earnest way.

-When delivering the rose, Mash would likely do so directly and without any grand gestures. He might approach his partner with a genuine smile and hand them the bouquet, simply saying something heartfelt like, "I got these for you because... well, because I like you a lot."

✦ 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

-Lance would want to make a memorable and grand gesture to express his affection. He might plan an elaborate surprise to ensure that the moment is both romantic and unforgettable.

-When choosing the rose Lance would opt for a large bouquet of roses, maybe in a vibrant and eye-catching color like red or pink to convey passion and romance.

-He might even go the extra mile to find rare or exotic varieties to impress his partner.

-He would choose a picturesque location or create a romantic ambiance for the occasion

-Lance would likely accompany the gift of roses with a heartfelt declaration of affection. He might express his love in a bold and poetic manner, leaving his partner in no doubt about the depth of his feelings.

✦𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍

-Given Finn's reserved and serious demeanor he might be more likely to receive roses from his significant other rather than gifting them.

-He is not be as comfortable with openly expressing affection in grand gestures like gifting roses.

-So when he received the roses, he expressed a quiet surprise and a slight blush.

-Finn would thank you, and he will convey his appreciation with a genuine smile and a soft-spoken "Thank you," showing that he values the sentiment behind the gift.

-He takes his time to observe the rose appreciating their beauty and symbolism.He might reflect silently on the significance of the gesture and what it means for his relationship with his partner.

-While Finn may not be one to openly express his emotions, receiving the roses would likely touch him deeply, so he expressed his feelings

-He would probally put the roses in fresh water to keep them around him allowing them to brighten his surroundings and serve as a reminder of your love and thoughtfulness.

✦𝐃𝐎𝐓

-Being a perceptive and observant person, Dot , would first notice that their significant other admires roses or finds them meaningful.Dot might pick up on subtle cues or expressions of interest from their partner.

-He would do a meticolous planning, in which he ensures that every detail is gone through.

-He would research every type of roses and their meaning to select the most appropriate variety for their partner.

-He would choose a quiet moment to present the roses, perhaps during a private and intimate setting where they can express their feelings without drawing too much attention.

-He would accompany the deliver of the roses with a sincere heartfelt expression of their feelings choosing their words carefully to ensure they resonate with their partner.

✦𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋

-He is more likely to gift roses than to receive them, because he considerate it a gesture of affection and aprecciation.

-Abel would take the time to carefully consider the gesture, wanting to ensure that it's meaningful and well-received. He might pay attention to your preferences and interests to choose the perfect moment for the gift.

-He would choose the bouquet with care opting for a bouquet that reflects his partner's personality and style. He might select a mix of your favorite colors or varieties, or he might choose a single type of rose that holds special significance to you.

-He most likely add a personal touch to the gift, perhaps by hand-picking the roses himself or arranging them into a beautiful bouquet.

-He would also include a handwritten note expressing his feelings and appreciation for his partner.

-He doesn't often smile but for you, he will. He would present the bouquet with a genuine smile, conveying his affection through his actions and words.

-He would also say a few words to express gratitude for your presence in his life and the happiness you bring him.

✦𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

-He has a thoughtful and considerate personality, this makes him likely to express his affection through meaningful gestures like giving roses to someone he cares about.

-Rayne would pay close attention to your preferences and interests, including any hints you may have dropped about liking roses or flowers in general.

-He would carefully plan the gesture considering the timing and presentation to ensure it is meaningful and well-received.

-He would take the time to select the perfect bouquet of roses, choosing a variety that holds significance or symbolism for your relationship.

-He would also add a personal touch, by making a little love letter to you. Expressing his feelings and appreciation for you.

-He would choose a quiet and intimate moment to present to you the gift allowing you and him to to share the moment togheter.

-Along with the roses he would express his love and gratitude for you verbally , emphasizing the depth of his feelings and the importance of your relationship to him.

✦𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐑

-He would most likely be direct about his feelings and his love gestures.

-First he would approach the situation with confidence and decisiveness. He wouldn't hesitate to express his feelings and intentions clearly.

-He would select a single rose, likely in a bold and vibrant color like red to convey passion and intensity.

-He would also choose a high-quality rose to reflect his own standards of excellence.

-Odler would deliver the rose with a boldness and determination making his intentions clear since the begging.

-He would approch you with a direct gaze and a confident stride, holding out the rose as a symbol of his affection.

-He would also accompany the gift with a sincere expression of his feelings. He would speak from the heart, conveying his admiration and appreciation for you in his own assertive way.

-He would also be likely to fill your bed with roses in a valentine day and make love right there with you.

✦𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐎

-He would plan an extravagant and elaborate setup for presenting the rose to you

-He will choose a picturesque location or create a romantic ambiance with decorations, candles, and music.

-He would also carefully select the perfect rose, opting for a luxurious and visually striking bloom.

-He would choose a rare or exotic variety to impress his partner and make the gesture even more memorable. Like blue roses.

-He would also accompany the gift of the rose with a poetic and romantic declaration of his feelings

-He might recite a heartfelt love poem or deliver a passionate speech expressing his adoration for his partner.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@stvrlightt123 @Mysticalpersonpoetry @mailkyeom03

[cartierre]

GOLDEN RETRIEVER | ls18

SOCIAL MEDIA!AU lance stroll x fem!reader

side note: i am so obsessed with lance as of lately so... this really hit different. thank you @lovelytsunoda for saving the day!

♡ liked by chloestroll, lance_stroll, scottyjames31 and 98,293 others

tagged: lance_stroll

yourusername g'day australia!

view all 438 comments

user1 dexter is so adorable! ⤷ user2 i need a dexter and roscoe collab right now!

user3 i hope dexter had a save flight!

lance_stroll all these comments are about how cute dexter is but have you seen me on the last slide? ⤷ yourusername the cutest!

danielricciardo your australian accent is getting better with every gp ⤷ scottyjames31 i agree ⤷ yourusername i have the best teachers

user4 is dexter going to have his own instagram account?

♡ liked by yourusername, lance_stroll, lewishamilton and 57,873 others

roscoelovescoco tis my new friend everybody's: dexter!

view all 536 comments

user5 this is the crossover i needed

user6 ah omg i love that they like each other! ⤷ user7 best duo on the grid

user8 every time i read roscoe's captions i get a seizure

yourusername i think dexter would love another playdate in the future! ⤷ roscoelovescoco i love's that!

♡ liked by danielricciardo, lance_stroll, lewishamilton and 88,923 others

tagged: lance_stroll

yourusername miami really tired out our sweet boy

view all 403 comments

user9 maybe this is a sign that you shouldn't drag him everywhere with you ⤷ user10 nobody says anything when roscoe attends races but with dexter you people suddenly care? ⤷ user11 i think they know their dog's limits the best

user12 is that soda he's drinking? ⤷ yourusername don't worry, it's water!

lance_stroll is the caption about me or dex? ⤷ yourusername free ✨ interpretation ✨

user13 i love how dexter doesn't have his own instagram because y/n's profile is actually turning into dexter's

user14 why is everyone hating on how y/n and lance raise their own dog?

user15 isn't he just the cutest!? dog parents of the year

♡ liked by chloestroll, lance_stroll, danielricciardo and 101,003 others

tagged: chloestroll, scottyjames31, lance_stroll

yourusername most beautiful wedding with the most beautiful newlyweds

view all 637 comments

user16 i'm so envious to everyone who attended this wedding!!! ⤷ user17 fr the vibes are everything

chloestroll ❤️️❤️️

user18 i think this is the first post in ages without dexter ⤷ user19 they probably thought it would be better to not take him with them

scottyjames31 next time yours? ⤷ yourusername i think someone's taking his sweet time to propose

user20 DID Y/N JUST SAY SHE'D BE READY TO GET MARRIED TO LANCE? ⤷ user21 they've been together for quite some time, moved in together and have a dog...

♡ liked by chloestroll, lance_stroll, scottyjames31 and 110,739 others

tagged: lance_stroll

yourusername i think dexter wants us to be an official family

view all 873 comments

user22 OMG HE PULLED THROUGH ⤷ user23 lance is one lucky guy

scottyjames31 guess there will be a new mrs. stroll soon ⤷ yourusername i'm stepping into your shoes

chloestroll i hope lance and i picked out a good ring ⤷ yourusername a family of taste

user24 i am obsessed that lance took his sister to shop for y/n's ring ⤷ user25 sibling goals ⤷ user26 i'm more obsessed that he proposed at the canadian gp, his home race! perfect timing

lance_stroll makes the candian gp even more special.. i love you, dexter loves you as well ⤷ yourusername i love youuu ❤️️❤️️

[oconswrld]

The first meeting - Kimi Raikkönen x Rookie!Reader

summary: Maybe the sunshine can melt ice.

warnings: age gap,fluff, out of character probs,friends to lovers

(set in 2023, kimi and seb didnt retire in this fic, Y/n is in aston martin w Lance)

Part 1

--

It's Y/n's first year as a Formula one driver.It feels weird but comforting to be able to say she's apart of the big dogs. To be honest her first race week she was afraid of the others not liking her. Seeing how she is the only eastern european on the grid, her fears were caused by her accent and different way of acting.

Media day was something that was new to her. Well not necessarily but knowing more eyes were gonna be on her it was uncomfortable. Her thoughts ended early as she arrived to the room w the classic couch and screen walls. The screen reading 'Bahrain'. She was guided to the white couch sitting on the left side edge. Her PR officer handing her the pink water bottle, the white glitters she applied to it when she was 16 sparkling in the lighting.

The door opened again, familiar faces of legendary drivers appeared. Kimi and Sebastian came into the room, Seb stopping every two steps to talk to someone and say 'Hi'. After a long 3 minutes of talking coming from the blonde german, they finally reached their respective places.

Kimi sitting beside the young woman,glancing at each other earning smiles from both of them, making a silent agreement to stay close but silent. Her flustered, red face burning up as she tried to conceal it by drinking from her bottle. Is what she would've done if the cap wasn't stuck.

Kimi watched her struggling to open the bottle only to snicker and asking her a simple yet comforting question.

"Want help?" His monotone voice now weirdly quiet and kind. Her hand reaching out the bottle torwards the older man, basking in the fact he spoke to her.

His hand softly handing it back to her. A small 'thank you' left her rose tinted lips. Quickly forgetting about the thirst in her throat, she placed the bottle down on the floor turning to Kimi. Reaching her hand out for a handshake . Their hands meeting as in a form of understanding. The fin's hand was soft to touch, leaving her melting at his touch. But she wasn't the only one. He was screaming in his head, like a teenage boy having a crush.

Maybe this was when it all started.

[ki-yomii]

hit it/forget it | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 6.7k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!jk, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, fingering, oral (f receiving), enemies to lovers, orgasm control/denial, drinking, slight college au ig??➥ summary | finally able to unwind for the first time in forever, you go to a friend’s party. only somewhere along the way you find yourself in bed with someone you swore you’d never sleep with. it’s too bad he’s not in any hurry to let you hit it, and forget it. ➥ notes | i’m v new to this fandom, and it has started to consume me lol ✌️🥲 ❤️ series masterlist | masterlist | inbox | AO3 ❤️

... Shit, what time is it?

Beams of sunlight pour in through the crooked blinds, stretching across the cluttered floor to flood the rumpled bed with golden light.

It’s so bright it hurts, your eyes watering with the effort it takes to open them as you roll onto your back with a quiet hiss.

Sore and still buzzed, it takes you several minutes to process your unfamiliar surroundings. Your mouth is stale and arid, the unpleasant taste of dehydration heavy on your tongue.

Needle sharp pain lances through your skull, and it’s hard to think let alone focus when it feels like someone’s shoving an icepick through your brain every time you so much as breathe wrong.

So much for a relaxing night hanging out with the guys, you think bitterly, pinching the bridge of your nose. There goes my last day off.

Spent curled up in bed fighting back nausea instead of out enjoying the last little bit of freedom your PTO offered.

If only the rest of the night had gone as well as the beginning...

Most of the group were camped around a game of beer pong when you arrived, already blitzed off their faces from pre-gaming while a few randos loitered around.

You didn’t pay them too much mind, more focused on catching up with your boys. It had been forever and a day since you’d talked to them, let alone seen them in person.

For a blissful moment it was just like old times; the floor sticky with spilled beer, wrestling matches followed by good-natured ribbing, and rowdy trash talk.

It reminded you so much of the shitty college parties they’d throw, you almost cried from the nostalgia alone.

The happiest you’d been in weeks.

Now you had adult bills and an adult life. Your schedules didn’t align like this very often. Getting to catch up and hang out with everyone again was a precious gift, one you didn’t realize how much you needed until you sunk back into the oversized couch, and took what felt like your first breath in months.

Your head was swimming, your heart bursting for fondness - only to choke on your tongue not even five minutes later when the front door slammed open to a round of hyped up chants, “JK, JK, JK!”

All the tranquility evaporated as Jeon Jungkook - the bane of your existence - waltzed over the threshold without a care in the world.

Meanwhile your heart was in your throat as he stood there in all his stupidly attractive glory while the rest of the gang surged forth. They swarmed him with friendly slaps on the back, a 12 pack of beer in one hand, and a bottle of tequila in the other.

He wasn’t supposed to be here - they said... He was supposed to be out of town for the weekend. If you’d have known -- fuck.

You wouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. And now you were stuck with him for however long it took you to sober up.

God, you hated him.

Not that you knew why, really.

There was just something about him that got under your skin. Maybe it was the cocky way he held himself, his confidence sometimes bordering on arrogance.

Or maybe it was the constant teasing. (You refused to admit it might be because of how attractive you found him, and how angry that made you.)

Whatever the case, ever since he met you all those years ago, Jungkook’s made it his life’s mission to be as insufferable as possible. Always waiting in the wings with a flirty comment and that self-satisfied smirk of his.

Dealing with him was like dealing with an overgrown - competitive - toddler. It got exhausting after a while.

Far easier to avoid him altogether, even though that mentality came at the expense of your friendships.

You stopped going to events if you knew he’d be there, ducking out of get togethers last minute if you so much as caught a glimpse of his car. Eventually, your absence became accepted - expected even - which further fueled your inherent dislike of him.

As if all the reasons you don’t like him weren’t enough, you were tipsy, and that was always a recipe for disaster. Without your inhibitions halting your tongue, you had no qualms about calling him out on all his petty bullshit.

The particulars are too fuzzy to remember, but you’d been avoiding him by hiding out in the kitchen when he decided to come bother you.

One thing led to another, and he must have said something insulting enough because the next thing you knew, you’d crowded him against the counter.

He smirked while you snarled with distaste, a shot in one hand with the other balled in the open collar of his fancy button up. You thought about how nice it would be to smack that look off his face, and thoughtlessly agreed to a one v one drink off - winner takes all - just to one up him.

Damnit.

You should have left as soon as his ass showed up. And you should never have agreed to his stupid little competition in the first place. You know better than to fall prey to his schemes... yet here you are, so joke’s on you.

This has to be some kind of divine punishment.

All you wanted was to knock him down a peg (or ten). Then his stupidly handsome face, and low, mocking voice egged you on past your limits. Now, you’re in someone else’s bed, naked and sticky, nursing a hangover from hell.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

God, you hope it’s not Jin.

Any of the others aren’t much better, but he’s your bro at heart, and there are some things you can’t ever come back from. If only last night wasn’t a hazy, distant fever dream pockmarked with fitful moments of clarity...

Memories curl through your mind like tendrils of smoke, opaque and sinister. The harder you grasp at them, the more confusing they become; coalescing into a tangled blur of swollen lips, and naked, sweat-slick skin.

Salty-sweet bursting across your tongue as the burning stretch of a fat cock sinks deep, a whiskey rough voice groaning low and heavy in your ear, “Fuck, you’ve always been such a little cock tease, haven’t you, baby? Mm, yeah, just like that. Knew you always wanted me, wanted this. Hhng, shit, I’ve wanted to do this for-fuckin-ever, princess…”

Goddamn Jeon Jungkook, and whatever horse he rode in on.

Of course, you’d get laid after a dry spell, and the only thing you have to show for it is the tender ache of your thighs, the tacky sensation of dried cum clinging to the swollen lips of your pussy, and the vaguest daydream of toe-curling pleasure.

At least the sheets are soft, the mattress plush, the bedspread muted, dark colours; altogether masculine but chic.

The fluffy pillows are to die for, something like expensive cologne threaded through the fabric; citrusy and bright with notes of mellow sweetness that fill your lungs, and cloud your senses with every deep inhale.

A familiar thread in an otherwise unfamiliar bed.

Whoever it is certainly has impeccable taste... which doesn’t help narrow down your list of suspects, at all. They’re all stupidly fashionable in everything they do, meanwhile you feel like a half-decent hobgoblin half the time.

You can’t decide what’s worse: the fact you slept with someone who’s a friend of yours - not many people outside of the core group came last night - or that you can’t remember who it is.

No lie, the temptation to slip out before they wake is hard to resist. But it’ll only delay the inevitable, and you honestly don’t want to do that to someone you care about.

It’s better to face the situation head-on, no matter how much you’re dreading it.

Over and done, quick and easy like a Band-Aid.

The conversation’s going to be awkward as hell but it was a drunken mistake. You’re adults and in a few years’ time, who knows, maybe you’ll be able to look back and laugh. No reason to let it ruin years of hard-earned friendship.

“Aah,” you groan mid-stretch, “...what a fucking mess.”

“Look who’s finally awake.”

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

The world screeches to an almighty halt, crashing and burning as all the breath in your lungs catches in your chest. Your heavy eyes pop open so fast you see stars, a field of grey sheets filling your line of sight.

A wave of disbelief threatens to drown you, hysteria following in the aftermath as your mind stutters to a stop.

Stomach turning, your heart slams into your ribs so hard you’re convinced you’ll break a bone. The thought of sleeping with a friend is bad enough, but the truth? So much worse. You wish the bed would swallow you whole. 

Why, you lament, why him?

That low, sleep rough tone dripping with arrogance.

It raises your hackles, sets your teeth on edge until you shake with the urge to punt his ass across the room. Never in a million years would you expect to hear that voice beside you in bed.

You wish with everything there is that it’s just a hallucination - but there’s no mistaking who that voice belongs to.

The knowledge sits bitterly in the back of your throat.

“This is a nightmare.”

No fucking way you’re turning around.

You inch to the edge of the mattress, grateful for the distance. The very idea of touching him repulses, repels.

You’re already too aware of how the bed dips beneath his weight, the shared space warmed by the sleep soft heat radiating from his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jungkook scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

A hot palm, rough with callouses, grabs your shoulder. The steel grip tugs you close, unyielding as it guides you onto your back.

As soon as you glimpse the sunlight caught in the tangled briar of his hair, your eyes slam shut.

If you can’t see him, you can pretend he’s not there and if he’s not there, well then you won’t have to face your colossal mistake.

It might be petty and childish but all things considered, you think you’re allowed to be. Waking up next to Jeon Jungkook is earth-shattering. And altogether mortifying when you consider all the thoughts you had before you knew you fucked him.

Of all the people…

He’s made passes for years, and you always blew them off. Now? You groan. They’re never going to let you live this down. You take back every kind thought. This asshole doesn’t deserve your praise.

Before you tell him where to shove it, fingertips skim the jut of your cheekbone. The action effectively shuts you up, your brain stuttering to a resounding halt. Soft and light like butterfly kisses, they trace over the sweep of your flickering eyelashes.

It’s a ticklish reminder that you’re not alone.

You jerk away.

The click he makes with his teeth does N-O-T make you throb. Neither does his persistence, the effort to force you into acknowledging his presence redoubled. He’s stubborn, and altogether not unlike a boy pulling pigtails.

The comparison unbidden and unwelcome, you bat him away with a sharp, “Quit it.”

His voice is far too smug for your liking when he says, “Why don’t you try to make me.”

“Oh, my god.”

This asshole…

Your fingers claw into the sheets instead of his chest, nails cutting into your palms as rage lurks just beneath the surface of your skin. Your breath shoves from your lungs fast and hard. It’s a struggle to reign in the urge to pummel him bloody.

Meanwhile, Jungkook redirects his attention, his hand dipping down to dance over the front of your throat. A rough thumb maps the curve of your jaw, a shiver rolling through your body at the touch.

His low chuckle is the only warning you get before he’s leaning over, the shift in position causing the hard, compact muscles of his torso to brush your side. The fission of awareness that follows in its wake crackles down your spine, steals your breath.

Senses fixated on the sensual glide of skin on skin while pulses of arousal kindle to life behind your navel. Slick gushes from between your folds, wetting the insides of your thighs. Heart in your throat, you steady your voice long enough to say, “Seriously, just leave me alone so I can wallow in peace.”

Warm breath tickles the side of your face, the cool metal of Jungkook’s lip piercing brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs the syllables of your name. “Come on,” he says, “I dare you.”

The hell, is he being serious right now? What does he think this is?

“What are you,” you ask. “Five?”

“Would you stop being so dramatic?”

The first hint of genuine annoyance threads through the words growled against your cheek. His tone low, a warning buried in its depths. Fire and smoke, grit and gravel. You hate how you clench at the sound. Hate how confused he’s making you.

Why is he acting like this is a normal occurrence? You expect him to lord it over you, not act so...playful?

The uncertainty rankles, and your shoulders hike up around your ears. If he thinks he can jerk you around like this, he better step up and out because you’re out of fucks to give.

This is humiliating enough, and you’re not about to relinquish what’s left of your pride. 

“Do you ever stop talking,” you continue, ignoring the pulse between your thighs, the crack in your voice, “Or do you like the sound of your own voice that much?”

Your heart pounds in the ensuing silence, Jungkook all but ignoring you as he sinks his nose into your hair. The pleased rumble that vibrates from his chest into yours follows a deep inhale.

“Mm, you smell,” his lips tickle the side of your neck, “really good.”

A whimper works its way up your throat, your teeth barely catching it in time. Fissions of sensation shoot down to your stomach, hot and shivery.

“Shut up. Just stop - stop talking.”

It’s not what you mean to say - you have full intentions of cussing him out, reaching out to touch smack him - but by then, it’s too late. He’s already on the move, a mocking chuckle falling from his lips.

The sound shoots through you, stokes your rage and desire in equal measure until you’re shaking.

He tugs at the plush, tender flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Y’know,” he muses, “I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you. You might not like what happens.”

Surrounded as you are, it’s getting harder to think.

To breathe.

To be.

Sweat and sex cling to Jungkook, the scent filling your lungs with ash and burning through your bloodstream until he’s all that remains. Surrounding, smothering, swallowing you whole. “Look at me.”

Shit, he’s close - too close.

There’s a scant amount of space between your bodies, pressed stem to stern. Your tits crush against the hard plane of his chest, nipples stiffening with every drag of his skin, every shift of his body against yours.

His half-hard cock digs into the softness of your abdomen, wet and sticky as it drools into the dip of your belly button which shouldn’t get you as hot as it does. This is so not good.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.”

I can’t.

This is unacceptable. 

Fucking him once is bad enough, the only saving grace is that you barely remember the taste of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into yours, the stretch of him filling you to the brim.

If you give in now, even if it’s only an inch…

Well, he’ll take a mile and you don’t have an excuse for why you’ll let him. You’re already struggling with the urge to succumb, to inch closer. There’s no telling what’ll happen if you actually look into those burning eyes of his.

Of course, he doesn’t accept your refusal.

You never expected him to.

“I said look at me.” The thumb that was gently stroking along your face hooks around your jaw, digging into the soft spot on the underside. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You grit your teeth, channel the rising lust into rage. Anything to put some much-needed distance between you before you do something you’ll regret. Like, sleep with him a second time while stone-cold sober.

“Just fuck off, Jeon. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need to rub it in. You won, okay? Congratulations.”

You refuse to let him have his cake and eat it too. Damned if he gets to hold this over your head. That drinking competition was all his idea, anyway. The victory blooming in your chest is short-lived, thoroughly blown to pieces.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Fast as lightning, the hand on your jaw disappears only to reappear between your thighs to shove your legs open. He doesn’t waste time, runs his knuckles along the length of your slit without hesitation.

Teasing, testing, humming in approval at what he finds.

The sudden rough touch has you jumping, gasping, eyes snapping open, fixating on his blown pupils. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth is more a snarl, downright predatory. The metal of his lip ring glints in the light, his teeth bared while he spears you with a hooded, hungry stare.

“That’s it, show me those pretty eyes of yours.” 

Breathless, your hips twitch and you clench at the praise, liquid fire pooling low in your belly.

Traitor.

“Jeon - Jungkook, knock it off.”

But you know he’s not going to stop. The ravenous look in his eyes says everything his mouth doesn’t.

“See,” he says conversationally, pausing long enough to thrust two fingers deep into you without warning. Pain sparks, flickers down your spine only to melt into a warm flush of pleasure as he twists his wrist. “That mouth of yours says one thing, but this pussy’s soaked. What am I supposed to think about that, huh?”

“I-”

Any response you have breaks off into a wounded moan, your brows furrowing as he flicks the tip of his finger against your g-spot.

“S-Shit!”

“Hm, what was that?”

A sharp smack stings across your wrist when you reach down to pull his hand away.

“Jeon - I - please…”

“Come on, use your words like a good little slut.”

“I - I can’t - shit!”

It’s impossible to think, let alone form sentences when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit like that. Thick fingers curl deep, stroke, stretch until you mewl.

Every skilled thrust drives you higher, wrings pleasure from you so expertly you’ve half a mind to be pissed. Now you can see why all those girls were tripping over themselves to get with him back in college. As much as it pains you to admit it, he’s got game.

But even then, it shouldn’t be this easy to get you going.

To get your thighs clamping around his flexing forearm while uncontrollable shudders wrack your frame, finger fucked stupid by the sworn enemy.

“Hah.”

If you weren’t half out of your mind, you’d be more offended by the condescending smirk. All you do is half-heartedly smack his side, his free hand darting up to cover yours and keep it pressed against his skin.

You clench down with a whine at the feel of rippling muscle, the sight of his tatted fingers resting over your hand so delicately.

“Looks like I’m doing something right. Fuck, can you hear that, baby?” His movements slow to a crawl, the thrust of his fingers languid and deep. “Listen to how wet your tight little pussy is for me.”

Warmth creeps up your neck and sinks into the apples of your cheeks. It’s as mortifying as it is a turn on, the sloppy sounds of your needy cunt echoing back at you. Sticky arousal coats your puffy folds, every slick, squelching slide heard over stilted moans.

Without a doubt, you’re making a mess of his sheets. Judging by the husky growl of his voice, anything less wouldn’t satisfy him. “Gotta make up your mind, baby.”

He couldn’t sound any more indifferent, but the rough thrust of his fingers, the burning heat smouldering in the depths of his eyes says he’s anything but unaffected.

You whine, writhe, arch your hips to grind down on the hand working between your thighs.

It’s no use.

You get him right where you want him, only for him to flash a devilish grin and pull away. The desperation to get off builds and builds and builds until you’re half mad with it.

This asshole’s gotten you to the edge of cumming several times, only to watch with sick delight as he yanks you back, dangling you over the edge without letting you fall. You don’t even want to think about what this is doing for his already over-inflated sense of ego.

“You’ve been sending me all kinds of mixed signals for years.” He nips the tip of your nose, spreading his fingers wide open where they’re buried inside of you just to hear you squeal. “So what’s it gonna be?”

He’s playing dirty, and he knows it. It’s infuriating that smug looks so good on him. Are you really going to do this?

Ghosting his lips over yours in the barest of kisses, he whispers, slow and purposeful, “All you gotta do is say it. Be a good girl for me, and say: ‘Jungkook, please fuck me.’”

... Yes, yes, you are. But you’re never, ever going to admit that you want him.

Not when there’s nothing you can blame the impatient rise of your hips on, the grind against his palm, the unwavering eye contact that pins you in place. As unbelievable as this is, it all comes down to how horny you are and how good he looks above you.

You admit that he’s an asshole, but jesus, he’s attractive.

Jungkook chuckles, rolls his eyes. “So you’re gonna keep being a brat.”

He doesn’t look put out in the least. In fact, he’s downright feral with the anticipation of breaking you down and fucking you back together.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you begging for my cock one way or another.”

The you wish dissolves into thin air, all your focus narrowing on the flex and shift of muscle as he crawls down the length of your body. Shouldering his way between your thighs, he settles on his belly and rubs his hands along your hips. 

Flinching at the first touch of his broad palms, you watch with rapt attention as his strong fingers inch closer and closer to your heat.

Every touch, every slide of skin calculated. Precise. Intent on getting your blood pumping and your pussy throbbing until you’re squirming against the sheets.

That ferocious stare, glittering like onyx in the light, tracks every movement, every twitch; catalogues what strokes get you mewling, what drag of fingers has you shuddering, shivering until you’re a downright mess.

Longtime lovers never paid half as much attention to what got you going, and a one-off mistake is doing a better job than all of them combined. Shit, he hasn’t even really done anything yet.

Jungkook’s as focused between your thighs as he is during training, a singular intent that’s intense and overwhelming. Frankly, it’s unnerving being so seen by someone you’ve considered an enemy for the longest time.

When did he start paying so much attention to you - and how did you miss it?

“Just…” you say, voice a quiet thing that sits in the space between your bodies, “Just get on with it already.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Jungkook uses his fingers to spread open your sticky folds. Cool air dances across your core, teasing at your swollen clit as every bit of your pussy is exposed to him.

There’s no hiding the embarrassing amount of slick wetting your thighs or how you pulse and twitch in desire.

He hums in approval at what he sees, your thighs trembling around his shoulders. “Thanks for the meal,” he says, brushing his thumb across the hood of your clit before he ducks down with his tongue out.

The firm, full contact lick has supernovas bursting behind your eyelids. He groans at the taste of you, grinds his face deeper into the apex of your thighs. The sound rumbles through your sensitive flesh, your thighs clenching around his ears.

A sigh escapes your throat, and you rest a hand on the top of his head.

Oh yes, a much better use for that mouth of his.

Your fingers delve into the thickness of his hair, inky black wrapped around your knuckles. For a moment you lose yourself in the sensation, senses so high. Every swipe of his tongue, every roll of cool metal along your heated slit as his lips pull at your folds sets you aflame.

The peace doesn’t last, overtaken by the smouldering antagonism that simmers beneath every one of your interactions. A ticking time bomb set to go off at the slightest provocation.

His face between your thighs inspires a dizzying mix of disgust and desire, that he’s even in this position pisses you off beyond belief.

In retaliation for every wrong he’s ever done (the specifics hazy when he sucks on your clit hard enough to curl your toes, the barest hint of teeth), you yank on his hair with as much strength as you’re able to muster.

His neck wrenches back, and he winces. You luxuriate in the petty revenge of it all as spite blooms warm in your chest. Serves him right. Though you gotta hand it to him, he sure knows how to use his tongue.

“You bitch,” Jungkook groans, smothering the vibrations in your slick folds. You keen, bow your back so far you’re afraid you’ll slip a disc. “That hurt.”

For all his complaining, he doesn’t stop.

Quite the opposite.

He dips his head, so you tug at the roots harder while his hands wrap around your thighs, pinning your hips to the bed while his tongue flicks and teases, licks and fucks you open slowly.

The messy sounds of your cunt as Jungkook eats you out to within an inch of your life broken by soft sighs, moans of pleasure, and the occasional masculine grunt. Previous partners have gone down on you before but never seemed to care for it.

Jungkook on the other hand? He’s loving it, eating you out with single-minded ferocity, seeking his own relief by rutting against the bed.

It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen; the wild briar of his hair in utter disarray, sweat slick strands falling over his forehead while he buries his face in you, the muscles of his back bunching and releasing with every slow rock of his hips, his quiet, muffled moans of satisfaction, the ripple of tattoos as he pets at your flank.

He’s not shy - not that you expected him to be in this regard. You’ve heard all the stories about his prowess in bed from classmates and strangers alike.

All his movements are rough and desperate, wet and messy. The careful, slow teasing from before disappearing within the blink of an eye as he becomes consumed with a frantic desire to feel you cum on his face.

It’s not surprising that you don’t last long, orgasming embarrassingly fast, stuffed full of his tongue and fingers.

“Jungkook,” you choke out his name, a broken sound that fades into open-mouthed silence.

The ball of heat in your belly bursts, rushes over you like a tidal wave. You shake apart, pussy clenching so hard your womb aches as a gush of fluid dribbles out of you, soaking the lower half of your body and the bed.

Stars dance in the darkness behind your lids. You’re strung out and weak, incapable of movement, of thought, of anything besides the actual possibility that your bones dissolved when you came.

“Shit, that’s hot.”

Jungkook shifts.

Your lashes flutter. Breathing is difficult. You can’t feel your hands, the tips of your fingers tingling.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, cum soaking the lower half of his face. His lips red and swollen, his eyes hooded, dark and lusting. Pupils blown so wide the iris is nothing more than a thin ring of brown.

His cock juts from his body in a proud line, curved towards his belly. Smears of pre-cum glitter along the valley of his abs, and you have the strangest urge to lick him clean.

Seeing him look so debauched shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you want to kick your own ass for thinking about Jungkook like this.

Fucking him is one thing, actively appreciating him something else.

But no matter how hard you try to ignore it, the sight of him kneeling and lusting is a sucker punch to the gut. Breathless and yearning, you’re at war with yourself, contemplating round three when he opens mouth.

Again.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

The jut of his chest, the arrogance in his gaze ruins everything. Anyone halfway decent with their tongue who knows what a clit is can get a woman off. Jungkook’s nothing special - contrary to all those co-ed’s.

Just another run-of-the-mill asshole who thinks he’s a god. You’re reminded of this now that you’re not cum-dumb, brain dribbling out your ears. And just when you forgot why you dislike him.

“You know what, Jeon?”

If you could move, you’d shove him off the bed and get out of dodge. As it is, you’re in no such position; knees weak, thighs shaky as phantom waves of pleasure shoot from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes.

You settle for a nasty scowl. Half as satisfying, but getting your point across all the same. “I’m still not fucking impressed.”

His expression drops into a bitchy sneer.

You want to smack him, wipe that look off his face with your palm. It would be like all your birthdays rolled into one.

“The fuck you mean?” Jungkook asks, brimming with gruff impatience. Good. Arrogant prick. “I made you squirt.”

Ignoring the pounding of your heart, you scoff and dismiss his words, no matter how true they ring. He doesn’t need to know you’ve NEVER done that before. “So? Even I can do that, you’re no better than my vibrator.”

The muscles in his jaw clench, bunching and releasing as his stormy gaze sears you to the bone. For the first time since he started this little - whatever it is - he seems genuinely pissed, shoulders tense and mouth a thin line.

You swoon, the empty ache inside of you pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

“I’ll fucking show you who’s better.”

“Sure you will,” you simper with a nasty grin, tone dripping with sarcasm.

As soon as you prop yourself up on an elbow with full intentions of hopping out of bed, a set of large hands stops you in your tracks. Panic shoots through you, and any residual anger you harbored fizzles away.

He can’t expect you to — oh, but of course, he does.

“No, not like this,” you say while you squirm, attempting to roll onto your belly. “I can’t.”

Fucking face to face is too intimate.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, baby,” he croons, tone a mocking lilt as he cages you beneath him. “I wanna see your pretty little face when you cream all over my cock.”

Any response gets lost in a weak moan when he rubs himself against your slick folds, the fat head catching on the hood of your abused clit. You whimper, a sharp spike of arousal slicing through you, almost painful when it follows so swiftly on the tail end of your last orgasm.

You try one last time, voice reedy and thin when you say, “Jeon, please, I can’t - fuck.”

The tip slides into you without preamble, just far enough to feel it but not deep enough to get you off. The smug bastard thrusts gently, your tender, swollen walls suckling his cockhead, trying to pull him deeper.

Pure torture.

Mind wiped clean, embarrassment and protests all but forgotten, all your focus narrows down on how to get him inside you as soon as possible.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks. “Got something to say? You’re squeezing down so hard. Want me deeper, don’t you? What a needy little slut you are for me.”

“Shit, Jeon, come on.” You pant, biting down on a whine. “Just put it in already.”

“Whatever you say.”

He keeps it slow, languidly works his cock deeper into you, inch by agonizing inch. Your muscles flutter, milk his thick shaft. It takes forever and a day before he bottoms out.

And then your eyes roll into the back of your head, hands flying up to anchor your nails into the meat of his shoulders.

He’s right there, cockhead snug against your crevice. Every ridge, every throb; it stokes the embers of your desire higher and higher, stretched so wide around him you ache; he’s the biggest you’ve had. You’ve never felt so stuffed full of cock before, it’s almost scary how good it is.

The taut skin of his belly grinds against your clit when he gets as deep as possible, pelvis flush with yours. “F-Fuck, Jeon.”

Above you, he shoots a cocky albeit weak grin.

You can’t decide if you want to slap him or have him fuck you into the mattress. Probably a bit of both. He boils your blood, but you’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Fucking hell.

“See, what’d I say? I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

You groan, breathing deep and slow. “Are you always such a prick?”

He hasn’t moved, but you’re on the edge, and far from ready for this to be over. The asshole hasn’t delivered. You haven’t been fucked raw, and you’re not leaving this bed until he gives it up. Now if only he could shut his mouth long enough to get the show on the road.

“Bitch.” He rolls his eyes, his broad palms firm on your hips while he shifts until your thighs rest over his. “Ready?”

You snort, shoot a comment about his dick not being that special and more than ready to tack on another scathing retort when he decides he’s had enough of your lip, pulling back and snapping his hips forward in one smooth movement.

It punches the air from your lungs.

Your mouth drops open in a near-silent gasp when the head nudges the spongy tissue of your g-spot. The sudden flood of warmth spreads out to all your limbs, pussy throbbing around him.

Your voice is shaky, spread thin, “A-Ah!”

Jungkook isn’t faring any better.

Hot palms tremble against your skin, the furrow to his brow pulling at his piercing, his mouth slack and glossy. His abdominal muscles tense with every stutter of his hips, flexing and resisting the urge to plow into you at max speed.

“Shit, baby, I forgot how tight and soft you are.”

Incapable of speech, reduced to mindless rutting. His broken moan shatters something between the two of you, and then it’s nothing but bruising kisses, sharp keens, rough hands, and frantic fucking.

He slams into you so hard the bed rattles against the wall, punctuating his filthy murmur of, “Perfect fucking fit, just like I knew you’d be.”

You appreciate his rippling muscles with your hands, caressing the firm lines of his body as you do your best to keep pace. Every other thrust has his cock slamming into your g-spot, your toes curling in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough.

“Jungkook, I’m - I’m,” you sound wrecked, unable to even finish your sentence. “Please.”

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he growls, voice full of gravel and hips never missing a beat, “I got you. Now do it, cum, wanna feel you squirt on my cock.”

A fingertip finds your clit.

Rubs once, twice, three times, and then you see galaxies.

Crying out, you clutch him close as the bubbling pool of heat overflows, crashes into you like a tsunami. Helpless against the rushing tide. Your body spasms, your cunt gushing around Jungkook’s pistoning cock.

The slick slap of your skin almost as obscene as his groan, low and lewd, when you clench and clamp down on his shaft. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.”

Boneless and panting, you sink back into the pillows and stare up at Jungkook with glassy eyes. The early afternoon light highlights the lines of his body, the curves of his muscles, the splashes of color etched into his skin. Tremors wrack your body as you lay there while he chases after his own pleasure.

“Shit, I’m gonna — fffu-ck!”

One last thrust buries him to the hilt, his cum flooding, filling you to the brim. Face slack with pleasure, his head drops into the cradle of your shoulder. He pets your sides with gentle hands, his breath puffing across the sensitive skin of your neck while his body twitches with aftershocks.

The both of you are weak, fucked out.

You lay under him for a long time, silent except for your shuddering breaths. Your bodies coming down from unimaginable heights. When your arms aren’t so useless anymore, you push at his chest and grunt.

“Get off.”

A flood of cum follows his swift exit, thick seed dribbling down your folds and pooling on the sheets beneath your ass. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a primal sort of appreciation curling through your belly.

Well, that’s new. And something you refuse to unpack now.

Flopping down beside you, Jungkook stretches, his expression far too self-satisfied for your liking. “For being such a bitch, you’re a good lay.”

Leave it to him and his goddamn mouth to ruin the afterglow.

You shoot him a sour look, dragging yourself to your feet.

There’s a moment where you almost fall, wobbly and off-kilter, before you regain your balance. You clean yourself gingerly with a towel hanging half out of the hamper.

Sore, tender, and vindictively pleased to see the white streak of his cum stain the dark terrycloth.

The asshole laughs at your disgruntled look, lounging on the bed like a lazy jungle cat. His thick arms cross behind his head and he watches you with dark eyes as you bend to get your panties.

Try as you might, you can’t help sneaking peeks at his barred chest. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth tells you he’s noticed the covert looks. You scowl. The smug bastard.

“Don’t be like that, baby. We had a great time.”

Scoffing, you refuse to dignify that with a response, and tug your shirt over your head.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

He ignores your sarcasm and continues, nonplussed, “I think you’ve never cum so hard in your life. I think you’re gagging for another ride.”

You pick something up off the floor, chuck it at his head and pivot on your heel. Anger pulses, white-hot and only partially satisfied by the pained groan from behind you as the object makes contact.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You know what that was for. God, are you always such a fucking dickhead?”

“I think you like it,” he says. “I think you like me - I think you’ve always liked me.”

You ignore the burn of your cheeks, and scoff.

The man’s ego is big enough without you adding fuel to the fire. He doesn’t need to know that was the best sex you’ve ever had. That you came so hard your toes curled, and your hands went numb.

“In your dreams, Jeon.”

Keeping your back to him, you’re about to put on your pants when an iron grip shackles itself around your wrist. You tug, testing the hold. He’s unyielding, spearing you with an intense, depthless look.

“...Jeon?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You blink, swallow and flounder for a response. “Um, I - home?”

He frowns, and tugs you back towards the bed with a huffy sneer, “Get back in bed.”

Wait, what.

You blink, and blink again at the blush stealing its way across his face, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks a soft pink, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours. Can’t help asking, “...What?”

“S-Shut up!”

“I didn’t even-”

“Just come back to bed.”

Still in disbelief of what’s happening, you let Jungkook rearrange you to his liking. You find yourself tucked into the curve of his chest, your nose pressed against his collarbone with his buried in your hair. His lips rest against your forehead, dropping the faintest of kisses to your brow.

“...We’ll talk when you wake up.”

You can’t tell if you’re curious or horrified, but for now, getting a few more hours of sleep sounds like an excellent idea. And, you suppose, it could be worse.

Shacking up with Jungkook isn’t all that bad, so long as he keeps his mouth shut. 

[autisticlancemcclain]

“You’re not going.”

Keith picks his head up from the table. “Huh?”

“To the Blades,” Lance clarifies, chopping up something that looks like a bright pink potato and throwing it in a rapidly boiling pot in what Keith would call an aggressive manner. “You’re not going.”

“…I didn’t say I was.”

He didn’t. He didn’t mention anything about the Blades to any living soul. Like, yeah, he had made the decision and was going to, but.

There’s no reason Lance should know that.

“Good, then, because I took your uniform — which looks like a slutty catsuit, by the way, just so you’re aware — to the incinerator last night. It’s ash now.”

Keith stares at his best friend, jaw dropped, hands resting limply on the edge of the dining table, because — huh? pardon? what happened?

“Whatever identity crisis you’re having can happen here,” Lance adds, shaking some spices into the boiling pot and stirring it a couple times. He dips in a spoon, brings it up to his lips, then makes a face. “Here, try this.”

He marches over to where Keith has been moping as he makes dinner and shoves a spoon into his gaping mouth. Keith chokes, hot stew making its merry way down his trachea, eyes watering and chest heaving.

“A little too salty,” he rasps.

Lance scowls. “Fuck. I knew it. Gotta add more barbie potatoes.” He turns down the heat, grabbing more potatoes from the sack and busying himself with peeling them. Slowly, as he recovers from the fear of his actual lungs collapsing in on themselves, Keith stands, hesitantly approaching Lance and reaching for a knife to chop what he peels.

“So,” he starts.

Lance ignores him.

But Keith is used to this dynamic. It’s either this or flipped. Friends or not, if there’s one thing they can’t do it’s use their big boy words. So he carries on.

“I take it you…don’t want me to go, then.”

Lance grunts. “Oh, look, the caveman has room in his skull for a brain after all.”

“Uncalled for,” Keith says, scowling. “I am not the one who’s refusing to communicate right now.”

The corner of Lance’s mouth twitches upwards.

Score. Point to Keith.

“Obviously I don’t want you to leave, you stupid dumbass,” Lance admits finally. He wrestles the chopped roots out of Keith’s hands and practically dunks them in the pot, turning the heat back up. Keith smears his starch covered hands on his shirt in revenge (and then wisely takes three quick and giant steps back, well out of backhanding range).

“But there are too many paladins,” Keith points out. “You said it yourself.”

Lance grabs a dishtowel, twisting it menacingly in his hands. Keith tries not to think about the scar he knows Hunk has from when Lance snapped a towel at him when they were kids, wrestling in the McClains’ kitchen. He fails.

“Do you actually have any braincells left in your head at all?”

“Yes, jackass. That’s why I did the math. I leave and the numbers add back up. Problem solved.”

“You leave and Voltron falls apart,” Lance snaps. “So maybe crunch those numbers again.”

Keith stills. Lance steps towards him, still glaring, still menacing, but he doesn’t move — he holds Lance’s gaze, searching his dark eyes, looking for the words he isn’t saying. Because Keith…Keith isn’t the one holding Voltron together. There was a reason his heart caught in his throat when Lance came to him downtrodden and talked about being a seventh wheel. There’s a reason his duffel is packed, a reason he’s talked to Kolivan. He knows who needs to step aside.

“You just don’t get it,” Lance says, frustrated. He takes another step.

“You talk to us about teamwork all the time.”

Another step.

“You’re favourite thing to whine about is the bonding moment.”

Another step, this time as he pitches his voice high and mocking, flapping his hands.

“You never shut up about training as a group.”

One final step and he’s toe to toe, shoes to boots, nose to nose. Keith realises, startlingly, that they’re the exact same height, now.

“We are a crew, imbécil. Team, group, boyband. Whatever you wanna call it. All for one and one for all. The whole nine yards, all that cheesy bullshit.” He pokes Keith hard in the chest. “You don’t get to ditch.”

“But it makes more sense,” Keith argues, weakly and half-desperately. “We only have so many resources. If I can be useful at the Blades —”

“Fuck the fucking Blades.”

Keith deflates. His hand comes up to stop Lance’s jabbing finger, curling around his knuckles. Lance softens, slightly.

“I just want to be as useful as I can be.”

“And if you’re enough as you are?” Lance asks quietly.

Keith opens his mouth, but stops, automatic I’m not dying in his throat. For the first time in his life, it doesn’t seem like the truth, with the determined set to Lance’s jaw and the sliding of their fingers together, gripping tightly.

“Then I guess I’m staying,” Keith breathes.

Lance nods. “Good.”

Keith notices his hands are kind of clammy. His forehead, too, is a little sweaty. The air between them feels hot. Keith swallows.

“Your stew is on fire,” he croaks, voice rough.

Lance drops his hand, cursing.

“Oh — por amor de dios, hablas en fucking serio —”

———

At dinner, Keith eats his burnt stew without a word of complaint. When Lance drags him to the sink to help clean up, after, even though it’s not his turn, he goes, and he lingers too close and too long, and he’s grateful that the duffel he packed to leave home for good is laid emptied on his bed when he turns in for the night.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 20

Part 1 Part 19

Steve’s shirt is wet where Eddie’s face is pushed into it, and Will’s hand is clutching his arm tight enough to hurt. Steve wants to sink into it. But the door's still open, and Wayne’s shotgun is lost in the woods somewhere. He hopes the man won't be too mad.

"Okay, okay," Steve says, taking two shuffling steps forward. "Let go of me."

The arms encircling his waist drop him instantly. His own weight settles back into his heels at the same instant the vertigo hits. A small hand clutches his elbow, keeping him upright with a grunt of strain.

"Shit, Harrington, sorry," Eddie says, voice warbling. "What do you need? What do I do?"

"Just–" he closes his eyes, listing sideways. He's so tired. "The door, Eddie."

The door closes with a quiet creak, lock sliding home with a metallic snick!

It's a tissue paper door, Steve knows it's a tissue paper door, but his legs go out anyway, finally safe enough to drop. Eddie catches him, hands clutching hips as he practically drags him to the couch.

"You're okay," Eddie says. "You're okay, right?"

Steve nods. His forehead lances with pain every time he grimaces, and his cheek throbs. The wound on his shoulder has definitely reopened, and something unpleasant had happened to his ribs when he'd fallen in the woods. But he’s fine.

Will interrupts the conversation by dumping the remains of the Munson's medicine cabinet on the coffee table.

"You're bleeding," he says.

"Shit, right," Eddie replies, rifling through the contents. It's slim pickings, but Eddie plucks up a few bandages and gets to work.

His mouth is a moue of concentration as he combs Steve's hair off his forehead and puts bandages across the entirety of the laceration before blessedly leaving it alone once he reaches the hairline.

Eddie's prodding the bruise on Steve's cheek hard enough to feel the bone, when Will asks, "My Mom?"

"She's fine, Byers." He tries to smile, but loses the will halfway through, closing his eyes.

Will bursts into tears. "Thank you," he says.

Steve flops his hand forward. Will takes it. Steve doesn’t realize how cold his fingers are until Will’s warmth starts leeching into him.

"Your Mom's a badass, baby Byers," Eddie says. "She was always going to be fine."

Steve hums his agreement, too tired to vocalize. There, sitting up on Eddie's ratty couch, covered in dirt and blood, Steve falls asleep with Eddie's palm cupping his cheek and Will’s hand in his.

He's not sure how long he sleeps, but when he awakens, Eddie's sitting with his back to the couch. His hair's plastered to his head with grease and grime, and he's starting to smell a little. Steve wants to cry at the sight of him.

"Eddie?" he asks.

Eddie turns to him, a finger to his lips as he gestures his head toward where Will's sleeping in the recliner across the room.

"Back with me, big boy?" Eddie whispers.

Steve nods. "Did you guys make it out okay?"

Eddie scoffs. "We were fine, man." His eyes well, a few tears running down his cheeks. He swipes them away impatiently. "We thought you were dead."

Steve feels small, his voice comes out even smaller. "I'm sorry."

Eddie turns back around, back pressing into the couch, eyes trained on the door. Steve reaches his fingers out, rubbing back and forth slowly, consolingly. "Thanks for coming back."

Steve's breath hitches. It wasn't a sure thing. The line between Steve coming back and Eddie finding Steve's body decomposing in the Byers' driveway was razor thin. He should know - it's painted along his forehead in claw marks, painted in the way his vision is still a little red with the blood that had dripped into his eyes.

"Anytime," Steve says. Does it count as a lie when he really wants to mean it?

"Good, because we're like, out of water, dude," Eddie laughs. "The kid's the only one smart enough not to forget his backpack.”

"Fuck!" Steve says, a little too loudly. Will stirs, then settles. "Not the quarry again."

Eddie laughs, but not like he thinks it’s funny. “Yeah, man. I’m with ya, but there’s the kid to think about now.”

They both look over at Will. His face is smushed into the back of the chair, knees curled up to his chest beneath the blanket Eddie must’ve given him, like even in sleep, he’s doing everything he can to make himself a smaller target. Something unfamiliar in Steve’s gut wrenches.

He doesn’t want to go back there, maybe ever, but especially not right now. Right now, the thought of crossing the threshold out into the wider world makes ants crawl under his skin.

The Demogorgon’s claws are still parting his skin like butter every time he moves wrong. They’d moved through him as easily as Steve’s Father’s knife had while he’d skinned the deer, Steve standing beside him as he tries his best not to cry.

Steve doesn’t want to be the deer. But the shotgun is gone, and so the hunter must become the hunted.

“I lost the gun,” Steve says.

Eddie’s shoulder slump, Steve’s hand falls, settling in the crack between the couch and the middle of his back, stuck there when Eddie leans back into it. “I figured,” he sighs, sounding disappointed, like maybe there’d still been a glimmer of hope that Steve had just snuffed out.

Silence descends. It feels like the force of gravity kicked up a notch, the way the quiet fogs over him and pushes him down down down. The silence drowns, let’s the Demogorgon prowl through his mind. Eddie Munson throws him a brick disguised as a life preserver.

“I saw your shoulder,” he says, barely audible.

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eddie asks, turning around completely, back to the door. His eyes are wide. Steve can’t read his face at all.

“What’s there to do?”

Eddie sighs. “Nothing, maybe,” he says, spinning his rings on his fingers nervously. “I cleaned it up as best I could, but that’s bad, man. We’ve gotta get you out of here.”

Steve’s eyes flit over to where Will’s still sleeping, but Eddie’s eyes stay planted firmly on his face. He doesn’t answer, what’s there to say? There’s no way out of here.

“Let’s just get water so we can stay alive, just a little bit longer,” Eddie says when it becomes clear that Steve has nothing left to say.

Steve nods, asking, “should we bring the kid?”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but Will beats him to it. “I’m not a kid,” he says, clearly still half a sleep with the way his words are slurring together. “I’m coming.”

“He’s right,” Eddie says. “I mean, not about the kid thing, he’s definitely an infant, but we can’t leave him unprotected.”

“Hey,” Will mumbles, burrowing into the chair further and falling back asleep, clearly reassured that he won’t be left behind.

“We can’t keep him safe,” Steve whispers.

Eddie reaches out, pats his knee. Steve misses the warmth when he pulls it back.

“We’ll do what we can.”

Steve doesn’t want to go back out there. They’re safe in here, hidden away. But he will. Because Eddie asked, and Will needs him. That’s more than he’s had in a while.

He hopes it’s enough.

Part 21

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Max Saving You From A Group Of War Boys

Max Rockatansky X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, mentions of death, rotting bodies, stealing, vehicle accident, suggestive materials (reader is worried she'll be placed in Immortan Joe's harem), injuries

Word Count: 2.1k

(A/N:) I have had a heck of a time getting this bad boy finished. But I couldn't have got it done in more perfect timing with the Furiosa movie out in theaters! I'm going very soon and hopefully there will be more Max inspiration take place cause I love Fury Road! I rewatched it here recently and my love for Max has been kindled once more! So hopefully this helps feed my fellow Mad Max fangirls! Enjoy and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

To survive in the wastelands you have to do anything and be willing to suffer any consequences. You could always lay over and just die, letting the vermin that scuttled about in the sands, take care of the remains. Or you could stand and fight, taking whatever you need no matter who it's from. That's how you've survived for so long, scavenging, taking from unlucky fellow survivors that just so happen to be in your path. Food, water, clothing, guzzolene, anything of value it was all fair game. Your biggest score, was your car. Though you didn't take it from anyone living. Raiders had come across some poor sap, killing him and taking everything of value, except for his car. It had taken some doing but you found the key buried under the sand close to the rotting body of the man who had just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His loss became your gain. Now you could make it across in different areas of desert in less time. Though the need for guzzolene became a problem. So far you had had good luck being able to get it whenever you needed it. Though you knew for certain that eventually your luck would run out.

And run out it did. Unfortunately you had grown cocky with your string of wins. The tires of your car spun, throwing up clouds of sand as you tried to gain traction on the loose ground. You released the pedal, quickly shifting into all wheel drive. With a roar from the engine the car finally burst forward, pinning you back. The group of war boys behind you yelling as the chase was on. You hit the steering wheel cursing yourself for screwing up so severely, you'd be lucky to make it out alive. You had seen the war boys yards away and you knew they hauled all the equipment they needed, thanks to Immortan Joe. If you could score off of them, you'd be set for a month. But it hadn't been easy and though your skills was above average you didn't get to swipe one thing until they had swarmed you. Now you were trying everything to get away. Dodging lances and hooks that would kill you in an instant, you blinked back against the sand in your eyes. You hadn't had your car long enough to become an elite driver yet and they were gaining fast. Despair crushed your lungs as one war boy pulled up beside you. You darted away only to run into another war boy rig. The two drivers started to pull towards one another, pinning you in between them.

Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel harder. The war boys cackled and spit, toying with you before they ended you.

"Bring her to Immortan," they crowed. "Bring her to him! He'll take care of her!"

They all agreed and the two vehicles pulled away, leaving you free. With the pressure off the sides, your car slid fishtailing and you lost control instantly. The war boys only got louder as your car went airborne and crashed down on it's hood. Your face smashing against the steering wheel as your car began to roll over repeatedly. The last roll and you were ejected from the shattered windshield. The hot sand cushioned you, but it wasn't much as you skidded to a stop. Your chest wheezing as you tried to breathe. Your car destroyed and your life forfeit, any hope of living left you. The one thing that you wished to happen was the war boys finishing you here and now, you heard what Immortan Joe did to women he liked or wished to continue his line with. You blinked at the sand as several of the war boys raced towards you.

"Immortan Joe will be pleased with us," one sneered. "Steal from Immortan and pay the consequences."

You shook your head, trying to clear your sight. Apparently you had hit your head harder than you first realized as the illusion of a man walking towards you, refused to dissipate. No he only got closer and you surely knew the Grim Reaper was now on his way to bring about your end. You'd gladly take his hand if it meant that the suffering would end and you wouldn't have to face a fate worse than death.

"Eh what's that there?"

Okay maybe you weren't so crazy as the war boys were seeing the being too. His arm raised and gunfire had the war boys scattering while two of them fell beside you. A small flicker of hope kindled, unless you were trading an end brought by Immortan Joe's battle fodder for this stranger. Though if he wanted to end you, you were pretty positive that he would have ended you already. You were an easy target unlike the war boys that were scurrying around, trying their best to fight back. Screams and thuds surrounded you as the man only kept stepping forward. Not backing down or flinching at the bullets and explosions all coming towards him. When he was close enough for your hazy vision did you finally get a good look. With short hair and a stocky build, he was quite handsome for a desert dweller. Though he looked healthy it didn't mean that he had lived an easy life. A haunted look was in his eyes and his face would twitch every now again. Something was wrong with him, but beggars couldn't be choosers as he was saving your butt.

The last war boy fell to the sand, spraying blood from his wounds and you felt well enough to sit up. You whimpered at the pain shooting through your head but when the stranger knelt before you, you quickly bit back any more noises.

"Took a tumble," he mumbled.

"Just a little one," you agreed spitting a mouthful of blood out.

He rose back up looking through all the now abandoned vehicles and even searched through the wreckage of yours. You felt a little indignant as he took several items out of yours. Sure they were stolen goods, but you had pilfered them fair and square. You attempted getting up, your shaky legs barely keeping you up. Attempting a step, you stumbled and quickly caught yourself.

"That's my stuff in my car," you glared. Though you hoped that he would listen, there was no way you could fight him, if he wanted to.

He didn't reply just kept digging before he pulled out your worn pack. You protested loudly before he threw it at your feet. He still didn't say a word as he started searching through the war boy's vehicles and even going further and searching the war boy's pockets. When he decided that he had searched and grabbed everything of value, he handed you another bag and tank of guzzolene and jerked his head towards the direction that he had come from. You knew that if you wanted to survive the night you would need to follow him. He had proven himself trustworthy so far and your injuries were becoming worse, though your legs had finally steadied enough to walk.

On unsteady feet you remained close, the stranger not saying a word but waving at the air every little bit. Surely you didn't just survive the war boys only to be taken out by some mental man seeing ghosts? His car came into view, worn and beaten up, but sturdy and reliable looking. Tossing his gear in the back seat, he looked back and waved you forward.

"Why," you sighed, suddenly becoming dizzy. You wanted to ask why he rescued you? Why was he bringing you with him? But your adrenaline infused energy finally hit E and you collapsed to the ground.

"Don't go to sleep," he muttered suddenly at your side. Tapping at your cheek. "Wake up."

"Tired..."

He shook you harder, "Wake up."

You couldn't answer, losing the battle with the darkness overtaking your vision. And then you knew nothing else.

The rumbling of tires was all you could hear as you came in and out of consciousness. The sun was still so bright and the mystery man behind the wheel muttered to himself constantly. Promises dripping from his tongue and you licked your chapped lips before succumbing once more to the darkness.

You had no idea how much time had passed in your unconscious state, until at last your eyes opened and you were able to remain awake. A small fire crackling in the background provided a little bit of illumination in a small musty cave. Your body hurt and the ache in your head had your temples pounding a horrible drumbeat. Across the way your savior leaned up against the cave wall. His body lurched forward and his chest heaved as his eyes opened. You jerked, surprised by his sudden movement. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes before his attention was drawn to you. He took a cup that sat by his leg and moved towards you.

"Drink," he muttered holding the dented tin cup to your lips. The water was warm and gritty from dirt but you didn't care as you gulped the entire contents down, but still your throat burned for more. Wordlessly he filled it back up and brought more of the precious resource to you.

"Why," you croaked when you finally had your fill.

He shrugged.

"There has to be a reason why you helped me?"

He shrugged again.

"Stubborn fool," you retorted. After a long, quiet, and awkward pause you finally spoke again, "Thank you."

This time he grunted.

Sitting up, it took a moment for the cave to stop spinning before you were able to see only one of him again. You scrounged around in your bag, searching for the bit of dried lizard you had kept. Finding it, you ripped it in half and offered him the larger piece. Sort of an offering of peace and that you could be a friend he could trust. He took it, before devouring it quickly.

"I wasn't going to take it from you," you laughed while ripping a bite off of yours. "Now that we have broke the proverbial bread, aka dried lizard maybe we can have an actual conversation now?"

Once again he shrugged and you really were fighting the urge to throw something at him.

"Gotta name at least," you asked, unwilling to give up. If he could be stubborn so could you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping against the metal brace on his knee. Finally he sighed and turned dark eyes onto you.

"Max."

Finally a start. You gave him your name before sticking out your hand. Reluctantly he took it but he did shake your hand. Silence filled the cave again and you were beginning to feel exhausted again. You yawned gaining his attention.

"Get some rest," Max said his boots scuffing against the ground as he stood up. "We move in the morning."

Morning came so quickly, the fire had been doused and Max had packed up everything. The cave floor bare with no signs of someone staying there. You thought that you'd look around and he'd be gone, but his silhouette filled the cave entrance blocking out the majority of the harsh sun rays. Sitting up, you gained his attention and he nodded to his car.

"Can I ask why you're saving me now," you asked once in the passenger seat.

Max sighed, "Maybe I just want to redeem myself of all the times I failed."

His gaze towards you, looked sad, tired, and lost. Your heart broke and you could understand that ache buried within him. Why he seemed distant, but kind. This world had it's way of taking anything bright and lovely and tainting it in the worst way possible. Max started the engine and started to shift it into gear when your hand covered his.

"This world is ugly," your voice wavered causing Max to cock his head. "But that doesn't mean it has to make us ugly in the process. I've done things I regret, stealing, taking from others to survive. But I always want to reach out that helping hand when I can. Like you did for me. I owe you a lot now Max, maybe this was just a chance meeting or maybe it's meant for something more."

He nodded, shifting into gear and roaring off. The wheels churning dirt into a cloud. Honestly you both didn't know what was in store ahead, and it wasn't set in stone that you would remain with Max. But right now it felt right and you wanted to see where this path would take you. Maybe this was a chance of redemption for two hurt people to find their reason and place in a world gone mad.

[hockeyshmockey]

Lance Stroll- Biggest Champion

summary: a moment between the oldest wolff and lance after some scary moments in Qatar. lance stroll x wolff reader

warnings: talk about the medical issues in qatar!

wc: 1.1k

“Papa,” you said worriedly as you say next to Toto in the Mercedes garage in Qatar. Since you had begun seeing Lance, throughout this season, the set up usually was you watching your boyfriend and friends race from the Mercedes garage and stepping out to see Lance pre and post race. Unless Chloe was in town where the two of you could be found giggling in the Aston garage, this seemed to work for the two of you.

That day in Qatar had been otherworldly hot. Lance had not been having the greatest weekend, taking ice baths every hour it seemed like and spending a lot of time in his drivers room trying to work through his frustrations. You had joined him some of the time, offering him silent comfort which seemed to be what he needed with all the pressure sitting on his shoulders.

As you and Toto stared at the screens showing several onboards and now sharing Logan’s voluntary retirement, your worry crept up for not only Lance, but your friends as well. A hand fell on your shoulder, squeezing to offer support as Lewis joined your little group. Carmen was standing off to the side with George’s trainer, chewing on her nail as she shared similar worries about her boy in the drivers seat.

“I really can’t believe this,” Lewis shook his head as Logan was wheeled into the Williams garage. “This is so dangerous. The FIA can't let this happen again.”

The group all watched as more and more drivers chimed in over the radios about not feeling well. Alonso pretty much asking his team to throw water over him on his last pit, which they couldn’t do. After another round of Max crossing the line first, finally some relief hit as the groups shoulders lifted knowing their final driver and friends would be getting out of the cars soon.

Watching the other team onboards which your father kept on a separate screen for your benefit, you winced as you watched Alex have to be assisted out of his car. Switching over to Lances, you watched as he sat in his car for a minute before trying to haul himself out. You felt slight relief as he made it from the car, leaning over by the tire for a second. But that relief was short lived.

As you saw him stumble, you gasped, hand covering your mouth as your father frowned, the two of you watching as Lance’s knees buckled and sent him fumbling into the door of the ambulance. Toto put a hand on your back as you both watched medical personnel approach the driver, before the feed was cut.

“Go,” Toto nodded as you looked on helplessly, taking no time before hightailing it from the Mercedes garage to the Aston Martin one down the row.

“Is he ok?” You asked breathlessly as you saw Lawrence and Lance's Engineer standing together with matching frowns.

“He had some trouble with the heat,” Lawrence said as he put a hand on your shoulder in sympathy. “He didn’t look too good getting out of the car but they took him right to the medical center.”

“Will they let us in?” You immediately asked.

“I’ve got to wait for Fernando,” Lawrence sighed, looking over at Ben and Henry. “I think they’ll let Henry in, you want to go with him and work that charm? Check on our boy?”

“I’m on it,” you smiled weakly as Henry nodded, leading you out of the garage to where he grabbed an Aston golf cart and drove you over to the medical center. Considering the state of the drivers, the usually calm area was a mad house with other team members, drivers, and some partners as well.

You followed Henry’s lead as he walked up to one of the track workers. The two spoke for a moment, Henry gesturing over his shoulder to you. As the worker saw you wringing your hands and the clear worry on your face, her own expression softened and she nodded before pointing down the hall.

You hurried after Henry, keeping up with his long strides as the two of you approached a curtained off area. Henry peeked his head in before pulling back the sheets, showing your boyfriend sitting on the bed in no shirt and just his fire proof bottoms.

“Hey mate,” Henry said as he approached the bed, clapping Lances shoulder as the boy smiled up at him tiredly. “Boss man couldn’t get away but wanted us to make sure to come check on ya.”

“I’m alright,” Lance said, his words slightly slurred with exhaustion as he looked past Henry towards you. He reached out a hand, you immediately rushing over to grab it in both of yours. “Just exhausted. They’ve got me on some fluids right now.”

“Some good rest and food will get you right,” Henry squeezed his shoulder before looking back at you. “We’ll I’ll leave you and report back to Lawrence. You both should be able to get back to the garage but if not give me a shout, I’ll come get you.”

“Thank you Henry,” you said softly as he smiled at the both of you before heading back out the way he came. You took a long second now that you were alone to let your eyes take in all of Lance’s face- skin sweaty, eyes tired.

“I really am ok,” he murmured, cupping your cheek as he saw the unshed tears on your lash line. You nuzzled in to his touch, letting out a sigh as you felt some of the weight on your shoulders lift just having him in front of you.

“I’m glad, it was scary out there,” you rasped out, looking at him once more. “A few other guys apparently passed out in the mc post race.”

“God this should’ve never happened,” Lance shook his head. Any further talking was put on pause as a nurse shuffled in, taking stock of Lances IV drip and telling him he would still be here for another hour or so for observation.

“I know I wasn’t at my best this weekend,” Lance admitted thickly. “And I’ve got some apologies to make. But being in the car, feeling like I could’ve gone off at any moment. All I could think about was getting back to you. And telling you how much I adore you, and that I don’t say it enough, but I’m really thankful for you and everything you do for me.”

“Oh schatz,” you said as you leaned in teary eyed again, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re doing your best. Your frustration is something everyone understands, we just need to find better ways for you to express it. There is nothing I would change about you. I love you and I love being your biggest champion. There’s no getting rid of me.”

“I love you,” he smiled tiredly, pursing his lips with a pout till you rolled your eyes and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips.

[many-gay-magpies]

hello dead boy detectives fandom and bbc merlin fandom. i know there is a decent overlap between the two out there because i am either followed by or have followed several blogs myself that post about both merlin and dead boy detectives, so hopefully this finds its target audience. anyway a little while ago i became obsessed with the idea of merlin and kashi being besties, so i started writing a thing, and i don’t know if or WHEN i’ll finish the thing but i don’t want it to stay hidden until then so i am posting the incomplete and very unpolished version to tumblr. and who knows maybe if people like it that will give me the motivation to rewatch some merlin and actually finish it

anyways without further ado. here’s 1000 words of merlin engaging in (fairly mild) shenanigans in port townsend

—

There was a cat sitting on a rock.

Port Townsend had quite a lot of cats, Merlin had discovered. There had been at least one in sight at all times since he’d arrived in the small coastal town. This cat was regarding him with an expression that might have been called scrutinizing, had it been made by any face other than a cat’s. That is to say, it looked rather like cats typically do, which is scrutinizing as it is.

“Hello,” said Merlin, just to be polite. He had a bit of time before Kashi’s host—Angie, he’d said her name was—came to the surface, after all, and he was in the mood for a spot of conversation.

“Oh, great, it’s another o’ you English twats,” said the cat. “The hell are you doin’ here?”

“I’m visiting an old friend,” said Merlin. “We meet for tea every so often, to catch up. This’ll be my first time seeing his new place. I won’t be staying long.”

The cat settled further onto the rock, folding all four of its legs underneath its body. Its tail flicked lightly before curling around its haunches.

“Good,” it said. “Hopefully you won’t cause as much trouble as those two dead little shits from a couple months back. Brits, I tell ya—ain’t good for nothin’. The Cat King’s still hung up on the stuffy little asshole.”

Merlin hummed. “Huh. I don’t think I’ve met a king of cats before. What’s he like?” He’d met a number of kings in his times, including, quite recently, the King of Dreams—but that number had never included a king of Cats.

“None o’ your fuckin’ business,” said the cat. “Hold on—who are you, anyway? You don’t smell human, and you’re not dead.”

“I’m Merlin,” said Merlin. He thought it sticking his hand out for a shake, then thought better of it. “Pleased to meet you.”

The cat snorted. “What, like the wizard?”

“Warlock, actually,” said Merlin. “But yes.”

The cat opened its mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a whispered voice floating up from the shore.

Arthur’s voice.

“Merlin,” he called, his voice sounding exactly as it always had when Merlin did something far too stupid and risky for a servant, and he had to hide his worry under blankets of annoyance. “Merlin, are you there?”

“Fuckin’ Christ, again?” The cat grumbled. “There wadn’t even no storm last night!”

Merlin cleared his throat, shaking loose the small lump that had grown there at the sound. Kashi had warned him about Angie’s hunting techniques, so he’d known what to expect, but it was still something of a shock to hear in person.

“I think that’s my ride,” Merlin said. He turned to the cat and gave a little wave. “I’ll be off, then. Thanks for chatting with me!”

“Wha—hey!!” The cat exclaimed as Merlin turned and headed for the cliff. “No—Oi, stop that! Don’t—oh, brother…”

Merlin leaned over the stone barrier to peer down into the water, where a large light was pulsing visibly just below the surface. As he watched, his phone began to ring in his jeans pocket. He was still watching when he brought it up to his ear to answer.

“Hello, my friend!” Crackled Kashi’s enthusiastic voice from the end of the line.

Merlin squinted against the rays of sunlight lancing off the water.

“Is that you down there, Kashi?”

“Yes, it is me. And this is Angie! Say, hello, Angie!”

A loud, almost thunderous roar shook the sound, sending waves clawing at the sandy shore below.

“Hi, Angie,” Merlin shouted down to the creature. Then he waved. He doubted she could see him, but it didn’t hurt to be polite.

To Kashi, he asked, “How should I get in? Should I teleport?”

“Best not,” said Kashi. “Your style of teleportation might upset her stomach. Just jump down! She will catch you. Being swallowed is not the most pleasant feeling, but I’ve asked her not to chew on you.”

“Yeah, I’ve been swallowed before,” said Merlin, thinking back to a very particular instance with a giant snake in the Andes mountains. That was the time he discovered he could bounce back from being fully digested—although digging himself out of a pellet of giant snake dung after his body reformed inside it had not been fun.

“Are you there, Merlin?”

Merlin shuddered and shook his head to clear it of the discomfiting deja vu. “Yeah—yep. I’ll be right down. I just jump in?”

“Exactly, yes,” said Kashi. “It is not a far drop, so you should be fine.”

“Right,” said Merlin. “Well, see you in a minute, then.”

“Looking forward to it!”

Merlin hung up and deftly tucked the phone back into his pocket. Then, he climbed up onto the stone wall, and—after ensuring there was no one around to be traumatized by what it would seem like he was doing—performed an exquisite swan dive into the water.

Being swallowed was about as pleasant a feeling as Merlin remembered it being. That is to say, he felt rather how he imagined toothpaste being squeezed out of the tube might feel, had it possessed any of the five senses or been in any way alive. This time, though, he did not have to endure the process of being digested—which had taken nearly a month, given that Merlin’s first time being swallowed had been by a gigantic snake—and was instead spat out onto the floor of a large, warmly-lit cavern, drenched to the bone and coated in fish mucus.

A step up from being digested by a snake, all things considered.

“Eugh,” said Merlin.

It was then, of course, that Kashi appeared, stooping down and offering Merlin a hand to pull himself up with. Merlin took it and thanked him.

“Welcome in, welcome in!” Kashi said, grinning widely. “Sorry about the mess. I tried to clean up a bit before you came, but things got thrown around in the journey to the surface. Speaking of—“ he raised a finger, and the ground beneath Merlin’s feet—which was disturbingly hard and dry for being the stomach of a fish—began to shake. “—she seems to be going back to the bottom now. Come, sit, so you don’t lose your feet!”

“Nice place you’ve got,” Merlin said, allowing Kashi to lead him across the quaking floor to a small table near the back. “Definitely the best-furnished stomach I’ve ever been in.”

“Yes, it’s very nice,” Kashi agreed.