#who is also kind of old for a rookie

[kdsburneraccount]

why does adley rutschman remind me of joe burrow 🧍

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[interiorlulus]

It's been a year since I finished art school and I still got no clue what the hell an artist portfolio is supposed to be like and now I'm too afraid to ask (yes, they never explained it to us).

[comically-callous]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader?(no age gap). He saw that someone was flirting with her and she was oblivious to it. Then, he swoops in to ‘save’ her from a bad flirt when in reality they were just jealous. He also feels insecure about his age and to make him feel better, she reveals that she had a surprise for him. You decide what it was. Just something fluff and romantic. Tag me later!! Thanks :)))

You make me feel so …. I don’t know the word in English! -McLaren Fernando Alonso x ObliviousWife! Reader

Plot: Marrying Fernando Alonso was the best decision you ever made, you loved how manly and protective he was with you. However, recently he’s been getting jealous of the other men of the grid and how they treat you.

Fernando Alonso had been your husband for many years. You were sort of childhood sweethearts who married young on a whim and stuck together through it all.

You were able to travel the world with the person, later to be people you loved most. However recently you had a glow about it, maybe it was the fact that you were 1 month pregnant not to the knowledge of Fernando and not yet showing but just had that dewy, glowing skin that made you look radiant.

Everyone in the paddock took notice of this change, not that they couldn’t appreciate your attractiveness before, but now it just made them swoon anytime you breezed into the garage in one of your pretty sun dresses.

Today was no different, it was a beautiful sunny day in Mexico, and you were handing out water and fruit for the mechanics and engineers hard at work on your husbands car. You knew them all by name, you made sure you did, so greeting them was never an issue.

However, nobody told you of the rookie employee that had joined them for Mexico in McLaren garage. You immediately started to introduce yourself to the man, talking to him about what he was doing to the car and asking when he had joined them.

Unknown to you, the mechanic was smitten with you and everything you were telling him about your life. He was listening to every word you were telling him, and that was the effect you had on a lot of people.

“So are you, I dunno coming to the team dinner tonight?” He asks scratching the back of his neck and your about to answer with an animated yes until you feel a hand snake round your waist and pull you closer to them.

You look up and see your husband making you smile and pull him into a gentle kiss.

“Mmm my wife will be attending the dinner” Fernando says, you can’t tell but it’s said with a grit in his teeth and a sharp foxy look in his eyes that tells him to back off.

Fernando was used to you getting male attention, but lately it was constant and you didn’t even know it was happening, you were just so oblivious and he hated that you didn’t realise all these people were flirting with you.

And that mechanic wasn’t even the last of it.

Maybe it was something in the Mexican air, but even Fernando couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you over the weekend, especially after your run in with Lewis, and your old friend Jenson.

When Lewis come up to you, you had a big grin on your face.

“Hey darling. How are you?” He asked kissing either side of your cheeks looking over you with those eyes that would draw any woman in, but you. You had no idea those flirty eyes were intended that way. You just saw the kind chocolate brown and assumed the sparkle and glint in there was happiness to see you.

“I’m really good Lew! Just getting to that point of the day where I’m so exhausted, not all of us are young athletes that look 10 year more youthful than they are” you joked to him making him laugh.

“Mmm you definitely don’t struggle in that department” he says looking over you and you beam at him.

“It’s just so warm, do you recon you can help me take my jacket off? I’m not sure where Fernando is, and the buttons always get caught in my hair” you ask, looking round quickly to see if you can in fact bother your husband with the minor inconvenience at hand.

“Of course, turn around for me” he instructs before pulling your hair back and carefully peeling the tight jacket from your body, now showing off the full look of the sundress you were wearing and how it clung to your most valuable assets in the best ways.

“New dress” Lewis asks observing it making you nod.

“Mmmm, I love getting to wear these kinds of dresses in this heat, they make me feel very pretty” you smile as you shove your hands into the pockets of your dress that when you first got it you couldn’t stop telling Fernando about them, before doing a little spin for Lewis, showing of the small slit in the dress.

Fernando came over the minute he saw the look on Lewis face, who was holding your jacket as he spoke to you.

“Lewis” Fernando faked a smile at the fellow driver, once again wrapping his arms around you so you were in front of him with a tight grip and nowhere to go.

“Hello Fernando” Lewis smiles coyly with a slight smirk. The two make idle conversation before Fernandos dragging you away trying to lightly ask you to stay out in the garage and don’t stray away.

But once he was in the car, you found yourself needing the toilet (Curse the start of your baby sitting on your bladder) and another drink due to the high temperatures Mexico was experiencing that day.

There you found Jenson who was just finishing up with an interview before his eyes landed on you.

“Well if it isn’t Y/N Alonso, looking as beautiful as ever” he grins and you pull him into a hug.

You’d known Jenson for pretty much your whole life being childhood friends from Primary school in the UK. You met Fernando when you went to university in Spain, you always joked that you would have still met someone even if it was later in life because Jenson would have likely introduced you.

So when Fernando saw you and him jokingly messing around with one another his face was like thunder.

Jenson could immediately tell and said a quick goodbye to you not wanting to be at the brunt of the Spaniards anger.

“Fernando baby, what’s the matter?” You ask, coming close to him and trying to thread your fingers through his but he shoves your hand away lightly.

“When will you see it?” He demands and you cock your head to the side, not understanding what he meant, making him groan at how cute you looked.

“See what mi amor?” You ask, using Spanish to see if he’d be calmer.

“You don’t see all these BOYS flirting with you and trying to win you over and you don’t see how it affects me and upsets me! And you make me so mad when you entertain it’s and and I don’t know the world in English because I don’t even think there is a word to describe it!” He exclaims all at once making you step back.

He was really really hurt by all this… and you hadn’t been able to see it.

“Have you ever thought that I don’t notice it because I only have eyes for you?” You ask softly, taking his hand happy and satisfied he lets you this time.

“I know I know, I just think… all of these men coming up to you … they are younger than us and it just makes me think they could give you more than I can” he sighs and looks at you with those little puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t you dare say that!” You exclaim almost offended. He had in fact brought your age into it aswell!

“How dare you say that they could give me more than you can, when you damn well know you’ve given me everything!” You say raising your voice.

“Fernando, I love you, and only you! How can you not see that!” You ask.

“I do see it, I just someone feel insecure and I worry that we are too late to experience certain things and its all my fault coz I put it off because of my career!” He explains and your head cocks to the side once again, wondering what he feels like he’s too late to experience.

“What, what do you think we’ve left too late?” You question.

“Kids, travelling the world without my career being there … I dunno I just had a different timeline for us when we first met” he sighs rubbing his temple before pulling you closer to him and resting his head in the crook of you neck as he takes in your sent.

“Baby, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I was going to wait for after the race so we could tell your parents too but I think this will cheer you up a little … and stop you from worrying about me running over with your colleagues” you joke and he sighs with a light smile pulling back to look over you.

“What is it mi amor?” He asks looking over you. You take his hand and place it on your still pretty flat stomach.

“You can cross a kid of your timeline” you say nervously with a small gulp worried for his reaction.

“Are you being serious?” He asks with a huge grin and he feels around you more to see if there is a more obvious sign.

“Yeah, i only found out before the flight out here” you nod smiling at him and he lifts you up, being as careful as possible with you as he pulls you into a hug.

“I love you so so much! I’m sorry I get so jealous of you, but you can’t blame me when I’m married to such a beautiful woman. Thank you for everything” he smiles pulling you into a light kiss.

Fernando couldn’t be more content with his life right now.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[kiss-inthekitchen]

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings from him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips. “It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.”  

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

[hannieehaee]

OUTTA MY MIND (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.

content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 924 (teaser); 7.7k (full fic)

release date: may 31st

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: ive had this in the drafts for a while but kept forgetting to finish it lol anyways i hope u guys enjoy it once it comes out<3 (also not 100% proofread oops..)

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.

You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.

Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.

It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.

It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.

Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.

Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.

Jeon Jungkook.

Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.

You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?

Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.

And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.

Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.

Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.

It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.

Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.

Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?

....

you can check it out today on my ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one!

[c-rowlesdraws]

Also. Another important theme/message of this version of Ratatouille would be how folks can break cycles of abuse, instead of perpetuating them just because “this is how things are done/how things are”:

Colette is a young fine dining chef in Paris. She learned how to cook professionally in one of the most toxic work cultures on planet earth, and she steeled herself and pushed through in order to excel. After Remy convinces Colette to teach him how to cook, she tries to at first to replicate the ways she was taught in the kitchens of her past, the ways she’d always taken for granted as the only ways to train a rookie into a chef worth anything: brutally reprimanding him for mistakes, raising her voice, letting those ghosts of previous head chefs rise up inside her. And then, in a moment of lucidity, she looks into his big, wet, little rat eyes on a particularly difficult practice day, and sees the hurt there, the confusion, the shame… and she feels her heart quietly break for her younger self and for him, that they both took this kind of abuse, and feels her heart break for her current self, too, about how she’s let herself turn into the kind of chef her younger self had nightmares about, a monster who could make a green cook with big dreams cry.

Trying to replicate this teaching method had been emotionally trying for her, too, and this is the final straw: she shouts this particular epithet or turn of phrase at him, sees how he looks at her… and she flashes back to when that same thing had once been shouted at her through a haze of steam from across a narrow, crowded line when she was in the weeds, her hair falling out of its kerchief and sticking to her neck, the old fan on the wall doing nothing for the hot, humid air but circulate it weakly around the kitchen, and she’d let the sauce split again, how could she be so stupid—

And she decides that she never wants to see that look in Remy’s eyes, or any young cook’s eyes, ever again.

[octuscle]

From tutor to rookie of the year

Hi, my name is Jake. My company has hired me to tutor a few students with poor grades. That's not necessarily the reason why I started working at the auditing company. But first of all, I'm new here and I'm not going to refuse right at the beginning of my career. And secondly, becoming a teacher had actually been an option for me. Maybe it's fate now or something.

The first lesson gets off to a very promising start. I almost have to tear myself apart to leave your office and get to school on time. But when I arrive, there is a yawning emptiness in the classroom. Only after fifteen minutes I hear noise in the corridor and a couple of football jocks barge in the door. A few still in football gear. And all obviously unshowered after training. Phew, it stinks. And as I look into the handsome, square-cut faces of the boys spraying with testosterone, I'm suddenly back at school. The small, clever but shy boy who, at best, the stars of the football team overlook and, at worst, stuff into the toilet. I clear my throat and say that I'm not here for fun either and that I'm asking for some attention. The boys barely react. Damn it, it's not my problem. I explain a few linear algebra problems on the blackboard and ignore the paper airplanes. I have my school-leaving certificate. I have my master's degree. And my bonus doesn't depend on the grades of these idiots. At least I hope so.

After the debacle of the first tutoring session, my appetite for the second is very dampened. But it was already hard enough to get this internship. The firm is one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the city. And if my pro bono job as an intern is tutoring the idiots on the football team twice a week, I'll survive. Apart from the 60 hours a week in which I have to pore over balance sheets, that doesn't matter any more.

These days, the musclemen are even on time. And somehow nicer than last time. They even ask me reasonably sensible questions like whether you can predict the trajectories of footballs. I take this as an opportunity to tell them something about vector calculus. They collapse with laughter. "Bro, I was joking. And football isn't math. Football is strength and speed." I'm about to take a breath and say something about Newton and the relationship between force and speed. But instead of listening to me, the jocks start bragging to each other about their heroic stories on the field. And I can't help but listen to them spellbound. When the lesson is over, I look after them with fascination. I wish I could have been more like them at school.

Shit, because I'm the only nerd on the senior team who isn't a complete failure at sports, Coach made me give math tutoring to the football team. He thinks the Meatheads might have a little bit of respect for me. Shit! Them for me? I for them might be more correct! The thought of explaining math to my secret crush forms a wet spot in my Calvin Klein shorts.

I expected the boys to keep me waiting. If they were also punctual and disciplined off the pitch, they wouldn't need any help. And I don't want to tutor them any more than they want to be tutored. We reach a compromise. You listen to my math tutoring for half an hour. And then we'll go out onto the pitch for half an hour and play a bit of football. God knows I'm not unsportsmanlike. But soccer has somehow never been my sport. I'm more of a swimming pool or gym kind of guy. Team sports? Not really.

Shit, yeah, I'm no rocket scientist in math. But I have quite good grades in English and history. I'm not going to fail this year. Why the fuck do I have to go to tutoring with the other bros from the football team? I have no idea. But seriously, the tutor is a total loser. A beanpole in a stuffy shirt. The idiot even wears a tie. Seriously, who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear a tie, I'd change jobs. Or if I had to shower after training. Shit, these are just rules that can come from old fat men. Bros like me and my bros smell like test… Testo… Well that hormone stuff. Sweat, musk and Axe. If I didn't have to go straight to detention again, I'd let the loser smell my armpits… But I'm a sophomore on the team right now. Let the juniors and seniors do that.

"Jack, bro!" This is Chuck. The QB on the team. I can tell by his voice. And by his smell. And I'd also know it by the taste of his cheesy boner…. But he stays locked in his jockstrap cage right now. What a damn shame! "Bro, where were you in tutoring? The dean was there. You're in fucking trouble!" Shit, tutoring! I was at the gym. The other guys are all so pumped. I don't want to lag behind any longer. "Shit, dude, we said you were in the bathroom. The loser tutor didn't dare contradict us. But I think you have to let him suck you off so he doesn't tell on you." Hehehehehe, I like that idea. There are still 40 minutes until football practice… And I haven't cum yet today. "Is the loser still in the classroom?" I ask. Chuck nods. I fist bump him and say that I'll sort it out quickly.

If Chuck and Matt go to college next year, I have a good chance to be the QB. But until then I still have to build up a lot of mass. Those two are just in a whole different league. And I'm damn jealous of the hair on Matt's chest. You should see the bush under his arms. Dude, the man is going to be a fucking gorilla! Shit, I'm not half the man those two are. You can tell immediately by the size of the bulge in our compression shorts. Nevertheless, neither of them mind if I fuck them. But they like fucking me even more. Without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

We skipped tutoring again today. Coch covers for us while we're in the gym or doing our laps on the cinder track outside. Nevertheless, it's still up in the air whether Chuck and Matt will be at college next year. And whether I'll be a junior by then. But screw it, NFL pros don't need to know math.

[ylangelegy]

@lastgameforS: 241016 #에스쿱스 #SCOUPS Team Korea ❤️🔫

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol who, unlike the other athletes in his category, didn't start at a young age. it was more of a spur-of-the-moment thing, how he'd played with his old roommate's cheap pistol and at-home range only to find out hey, i'm pretty good at this.

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol who caught the attention of an international coach, enough for the shooting club to sponsor him his first match gun. he goes with the flow, just kind of happy to be there, until they ask him to give the olympic trials a shot.

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol who qualifies because he's the young, scrappy, and hungry type. itching to prove himself, fearless in the face of the big guns (both literal and figurative).

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol who refuses to put all of his eggs in one basket. he knows that being an olympian can't, shouldn't be everything, so he treats it more like a part-time job. outside of the sport, he works a regular nine-to-five. some business-adjacent occupation.

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol who, when you first meet him, isn't wearing shooting jackets, or gloves, or high-tech glasses. you meet him as the seungcheol who codes excel sheets and grabs a beer or two with workmates after your bi-weekly salary comes in.

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol is so cool about this little double life he leads. when he introduces to you the part of him that's a marksman, you can see the slightly cocky arch of his eyebrow, the amused upturn of his lip. that look on his face that very clearly says bet you didn't expect that, did you?

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol is the picture of calmness on the day of the competition. he's unruffled about being a rookie; unafraid of his much more experienced competition. he'll look at you and smirk, tell you, "can i get a kiss when i hit bullseye?" (not if, but when.)

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol gets his bullseye. he's brutally precise, after all, and he looks like he hasn't even broken a sweat. he looks like he belongs up there, with the veteran american shooters and the elite chinese marksmen.

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol doesn't clinch gold, though, because there are still dozens of people with worlds of experience over him. still, he ranks well enough to be put on peoples' radar. for sportscasters to start saying choi seungcheol from south korea is someone to look out for.

olympic sharpshooter!seungcheol doesn't feel the loss as badly as he thought he would. he got his bullseye, and as he leans over the railing behind him, over the bleachers— as his smirking mouth meets yours, as promised— he also gets his kiss. he'll have another olympics next year, but a first kiss with you? a once-in-a-lifetime thing, arguably better than any medal in the world.

[hoshigray]

hii love ur works 🫶🏽

can I req brat reader giving toji the WORST attitude? 💗.

*sinister laugh* Why, yes, you can, noonie! When I saw this, the first scenario that came to mind was the reader being another assassin who likes to get on Toji's nerves. So, imma stick with that!! Had to take an all-nighter to finish this up, hehe~ (no fr tho, it's 8:35 in the morning here) Thank you for loving my stuff, and enjoy~~

A/n: posting this bc I'm staling on my Geto fic since my brain has so much it wants to add...sigh. In the meantime, while I'm working on this, I figured I could drop this as an apology for pulling the fic back (~_~;) My apologies, and I hope y'all like this one! Also tysm for 1.7k followers!! Y'all are too kind and sweet, happy to be writing for you~☆ Cw: hard dom! Toji x bratty fem! reader - you and Toji are assassins on a mission together - explicit content; minors DNI - implied age gap (the reader is at least in their 20s; Toji in his mid-30s or approaching 40s, up to you) - fingering (f! receiving) - cunnilingus - sexual acts in a public place - degradation (brat, crybaby, slut, whore) - Daddy kink - reader talking smack, but Toji teaches you a lesson - tiny praise - pussydrunk! Toji - pet names (baby, doll, princess) - ends with penetration, but mostly Toji eating you out - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - overstimulation - clitoral play (pinching, pushing, and sucking) - mentions of blood. Wc: 1.8k

You recently joined the hitmen field not too long ago. Still young and new to the workforce, it wasn't the first place you figured to enter for some quick cash. But with your astute skills and abilities, no other occupation best suited you. Besides, it wasn't long before people looked past your recent addition and saw what you were made of. Not only were you good at your job, but you were climbing the ranks, swifting past your inferior subordinates.

It's nothing new, though. You were always good at what you do, better than others at what you do. Doing everything perfectly and effortlessly, that was your style. And everybody knew that.

Everybody but a particular individual. A specific man who always overshadowed you. An older man who snatched your attention the first moment he looked your way, the scar on his lip rooted up with the twinge of his lips.

"Rookies lookin' real cute these days, huh, doll?" were his first words to you. And from that day on, you did what you could to get close to him. Even if that meant irritating him.

From taking his missions to acting as a complete thorn in his side, you do whatever it takes to get Toji's attention. Especially his silent pissed off expressions, which are your favorite to see. And don't let your handler tell you that you two would be on a mission together because the teasing would be endless for the poor, experienced hitman.

Just like today, when you two are deployed to kill an old geezer and his goons for a massive sum of money, Toji goes to one side of the old warehouse to thin out the number of bodyguards and heads straight to the target's den, leaving you to the rest. But imagine his surprise when he sees the old man already dead on the chair at his desk, a stiletto pierced right through his neck, evident of his demise as a stream of crimson staining his yellow dress shirt.

And Toji notices a note left on the weapon, the familiar handwriting in pink with a kiss mark already tells him who wrote it. "Gotta be quicker than that, Grandpa ~" is what he reads in your charming voice, and it vexes him knowing you beat him to the punch.

He sees you leaning on a pallet rack when he returns to the warehouse, and you smile when you turn to him. "Well, that was fast," you play coy, stretching when standing straight up. "Took care of those punks like five minutes ago, figured I'd wait on you."

"I got your note." He wastes no time. He's so hot when he does that.

"Oh? Did ya like it~?" Your hand swiftly grabs something that came dangerously close to your temple — your stiletto. It was thrown with the knowledge that you would catch it. So serious, huh.

"Ya know, for someone callin' me a 'grandpa,' you sure act like a damn kid leavin' y'r toys everywhere."

You chuckle at his complaint. "Awww, did I hurt your big boy feelings with my little words?" You see his green eyes watch your every move as you walk up close to him. "Sorry~, not my fault you were too slow to get the final kill."

Toji raises a brow. "How'd ya get to him before me?"

You shrug with a cheeky grin. "Assassins don't tell their secrets, especially when your old head couldn't get it."

It's his turn to chortle. "Oh yeah? Ya think y'r too fast for me?"

"I wouldn't say that, just that you're too slow for me," your hands go up defensively when he takes a step forward, and you try hard to not get turned on by his well-built physique displayed by the shirt that does a terrible job hiding his features. "As a matter of fact, I bet you're slow at other things."

He takes another step forward, and before you register his next move, he already has you pinned to the pallet rack you once leaned against. His smirk grows broader while your eyes widen at the sudden shifting. "Was that too slow fr' you, princess?"

No, absolutely not. That's what you would want to say to him, his tall figure engulfing you under his presence. But you didn't want to let off that easily, your hand finding the crotch of his pants. When verdant eyes shut to the feeling of your fingers brushing against his bulge, you take the chance to say more. "Oh, that was totally too slow for me, geezer. Such a shame; I thought you'd be a lot more fun. But guess I'll have to go on to the next person who could do a better job."

"Mmm, don't start somethin' y'r not ready for, brat." His gruff voice dials to a whisper, your ears replaying the tone, making the throbbing sensation between your legs prosper. You can feel his erection, even with his pants blocking the view. "Good luck findin' someone who'd shut that pretty mouth of y'rs better than I do."

You giggle after grabbing onto his erect cock, forcing the older man to hiss and his face coming down to your level. You whisper to his ear. "And what makes you think a dumb, old, brute-for-brains like you could satisfy me? I fail to see what you're capable of, grandpa." Those were the words you chose to entice the man under your spell.

But what you really failed to see was the predicament you've gotten yourself in.

Lying on a pallet with your back, your pretty bottoms and panties now discarded to the dirty floor, you scream out to the empty warehouse. Tears and drool escape from your face, and the quiver in your legs is evidence of your body going through the absolute most right now. "Haaahh! Ahhhh!! T-Tojiii, Toji, please!! I'm—Hoooohh!!" You grab tufts of raven hair that are stationed between your legs.

The older man holds your legs up with one hand, the other nestled between your slick-coated folds as his middle and forefinger push in and out of your cunt. His tongue licks furiously on your clitoris, your cries evident of the abuse on your tender bud and vulva.

Toji removes the wet muscle and moves his fingers go an instantaneous pace, the tips of his digits scraping your walls resulting in more tears falling off your face without fail. He snickers, "Look at you; all that screamin' and hollerin' like a damn whore have you forgetting simple rules." His thumb finds your clit, pushing down on it every time his fingers are propelled inside. "What did I tell you to call me, brat?"

The unforgiving rhythm of his hand on your bare vulva has you seeing stars and choking on your spit. "I-I'm sorry, Daddy!! I didn't mean to make you mad at me!"

"You sure 'bout that?" His condescending tone matched the devilish twinge of his scarred lips. The digits doing a 'come hither' motion that has your body jerking nowhere, your legs still restrained by his firm arm pushing them to your stomach. "My 'big boy feelings' were crushed with y'r little comments, so here I am gettin' the payback I need. Was acting all high and mighty until I got my mouth on ya."

"But I said—Mmmph!! I'm sorry!" You wail out, your face hot with embarrassment and excitement. "And I already came—Oh fuck...C-Came three times!!"

"You called me names four times, so I expect you to cum one more time, you fuckin' crybaby." He replies coldly, your tears and pleas on deaf ears. "Heh, if I knew havin' my fingers in you like this would have you behavin', I woulda done it earlier. Grippin' on my 'em like a damn slut."

His fingers go faster with no smooth transition as his mouth returns to your soft button, your screams erupting from the back of your exhausted throat. Even with your voice filling the scene, you can only listen to the raunchy noises of the commotion between your thighs. It's enough for you to wish your ears burn at such lewd sounds, and your head pounding worsens the state of your already mushy brain. This is what you wanted all this time — to have the man you've been infatuated with give you the attention to so dearly strived and poked for. However, the intensity of it all was nowhere near what you had expected.

"Nnnmm!! Daddyyy," the title slurred from your mouth feels hot to the tongue, but it's the only way to address him before your punishment intensifies. You peer down to see his black hair come up, fierce emerald eyes taking in your expressions. "It's coming, gonna cum again!!"

"Yeah? Wanna come on my fingers again?" He chortles when you rapidly nod at him, pathetically desperate for your release. "Fine, cum on Daddy's fingers like the slut you are." He moves his hands to the back of your thighs and has his tongue slowly glide up your soapy chasm, tasting your wetness until he reaches your clitoris and attacks the bud more. Circling around and sucking on your precious nub prompts your orgasm to climb up, and it hits you hard when his teeth and tongue grind on your clit.

With final moans of pleasure, you experience your finish with the harsh treatment of Toji's mouth, hands purchasing his hair for faux stability. Your legs tremble with curled toes, and your body jolts with the shocks. And Toji doesn't stop until he licks the slit clean of your essence, slurping up your sensitive folds until his thirst has quenched. All you can do is submit and let him have his way with you, sucking up your fluids from your cunt to the mess of your inner thighs.

"Mmmm, fucking Christ, Y/n," you hear his mumbled curse below. "Taste so fuckin' good, baby..."

Your body soon calms down from the climax, trying to steady your breathing with even breaths. And Toji finally finishes drinking your wetness, drawing his head up to reveal his lips wet with your come, licking it and his fingers. "Bet that wasn't slow fr' ya, huh."

You meekly nod your head. "And I bet nobody's gonna make you shut you up like that, huh?" You nod again.

The smirk on his face scares you, especially when he straightens up to show his erect dick still hard and ready to be free from the tented pants. And when his cock springs out, your sweaty body runs cold immediately.

"Good," he says while bringing you close to him, arranging his cock to your wet entrance. "But we ain't done here." Complaints and pleas aren't able to enter the air because you just watch the tip of his cock bully through the lips of your chasm and enter inside you with ease. He gradually pushes his entire length into you, getting full with every inch as his girth intrudes between your tight, smooth walls.

"Keep up wit' me, baby," his eyes hone in on you, gauging your reactions before he starts moving his hips relentlessly. "because I'm about to show you what I'm really capable of."

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Lens Flare

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Over the past three months, your career has grown by leaps and bounds. Yet at the same time, you can't help feeling dissatisfied. A lot of your feelings stem from what you did the last time you saw him. Jake Seresin. Lieutenant Jake Seresin. It had been fun, in the hangar, under the dead of night - passionate and hot. So too had been the video you filmed and the pictures you'd snapped. But hindsight, well, maybe there is a reason why they say "Hindsight is Twenty-Twenty". Because Jake hasn't called, despite how badly you want him to. A new assignment in North Island might have the potential to change everything for Jake and our Shutterbug, including how they approach everything they hold dear.

Warnings: Once again, this is just some porn with plot. The feral plot bunnies ran away with me, I fear.

Word Count: 8502

A/N: Hiya everyone! I'm baaack! Enjoy this sequel to my fic Photo Finish. It's just as smutty and gorgeous as the last one!

This fic is brought to you all by the constant support of @horseshoegirl, @sarahsmi13s and @desert-fern. You're all my heroes and I love you to bits for keeping me from ditching this story before it even started! I couldn't have written it without you!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

An old photography teacher of yours once told you never to submit photos with lens flares to any publication, magazine or contest. He considered lens flares the biggest mistake for a rookie photographer. He’d declared, quite adamantly in front of your entire class, using your pictures as examples, how lens flares made photos look cheap and low quality. Given his dislike of the trick of light, he’s also taught you a plethora of tricks to prevent them. Over the many, many years since you left his class, you’ve started to relax and deviate from the rigid rules of photography he once taught you. For a large portion of your career, you've been photographing subjects which cannot be posed in a studio, which helps. Every snick and whir of your camera feels like you are letting go of rules and embracing your art.

You’ve always heard wildlife photography has a tendency to relax photographers' attitudes. It’s a truth you’re very thankful you had the chance to experience. After all, there are no rules when it’s just you, your camera and what feels like the entire world a hair's-breadth away from your camera lens. It’s hard to be frustrated with the sun glancing across your camera lens when it highlights fox kits gamboling in dewy spring grass. Or elk on a frost-bitten winter morning with clouds of their breath dissipating into the clear air. Those pictures were once-in-a-lifetime shots, perfect in their imperfection and richer with the sparkling halos of light.

Being back in New York after years of traveling has made you appreciate the photographs you took even more. Now you feel like you can fully appreciate the wilderness in them. New York is wild in an entirely different way. It’s louder, greyer, more populous, yet just as vibrant. In New York, you’ve been able to capture human nature, snapping minuscule interactions between people who are always in a hurry and always moving. But you also have to work to make enough money to fund your passions. Not having to travel helped bring some stability to your passions. But of all of the things you thought you'd be photographing, fashion models and clothes were never an option. In a way, photographing fashion and fashion models is capturing another kind of wild animal in your lens sights. Models and designers are wholly proprietary and protective over what they consider theirs, whether their clothing or their aesthetic appearance. You’ve had to shoot and reshoot, as well as touch up your photos more than you've ever had to before. Of course, in this case, your primary objective is to make the models and the clothes they are wearing look otherworldly and incredible. 

At first, the thrill of doing something new was alluring and exciting. But after a year, trapped in New York City, doing the same thing and working with the same people day in and day out, you can’t help but miss wildlife photography. It's like a persistent ache below your breast bone, something calling you back to the life you lived before. You're missing traveling in arid deserts and verdant forests even more now. And then the US Navy came calling. Now, while you miss the wilderness, you think you might just miss something else, more.

It’s late, half-past three in the early hours of the morning, and you’re sitting out on the balcony attached to your overpriced shoebox of an apartment. You’ve found yourself sitting out here more and more as the summer heat turns into the cool of fall. Your balcony is so small there’s only room for a single chair, and your feet are propped up on the wrought iron railing. New York’s the city which never sleeps and the crackle and groan of the city resonates around you. Your oldest camera, a Canon you bought in college with the pennies and dollars you’d saved from tips earned from waitressing, sits on your lap. All night, you’ve been trying and failing to chase away how unsettled you’ve been feeling by peering through the viewfinder and trying to see things from a different perspective. 

But it hasn’t worked. You've been feeling discomfited of late, unsettled and restless. Maybe your listlessness has something to do with your next assignment. You can’t lie, not even to yourself no matter how hard you try. It has everything to do with your next assignment. You should be excited. You should be asleep, because at least if you were asleep, the time would pass sooner. For once, you will not be photographing a new designer collection. In the morning, you're flying to San Diego to take pictures at North Island Naval Base for a follow-up piece sanctioned by the US Navy. Your team is joining you, which should be a comfort, albeit slight and slim. There will be more planes to photograph and possibly shots you can take from within the cockpit or from up in the air.

It took three months to publish the article on the US Navy’s newest hotshot aviation squadron. There had been countless revisions and rounds of approval with the US Navy's Office of Public Relations to greenlight the endeavor. It's been exactly the same amount of time since you met the Dagger Squadron, too - only three months after you edited the photographs, focusing maybe a little too much on one face in particular. Three months after you took the biggest risk of your life, professionally and personally. Three months after you made a sex tape with a client. It doesn’t help that he was a memorable client, too - and how you haven’t been able to forget him.

It's only been two weeks since the magazine hit newsstands with your picture of the Daggers in all their finery near one of the jets on the front cover. Everywhere you go, it seems you see their faces - his face. Your phone has been ringing off the hook ever since. Everyone wants you to take professional portraits of their clients. But your phone has never had the voice you so desperately want to hear on the other end of the line. It's a nationally distributed magazine, after all, and like everything nowadays, published both physically and digitally. The magazine had also mailed special copies to each member of the squadron which was your subject. So he has to have seen it. So why hasn't he called? It's the one question on your mind. It may be the only question on your mind, but it's far from the only thought in your mind. 

Chances are, he doesn’t want to talk to you at all. After all, why would he want to?

You couldn't silence the thoughts if you tried - and you have tried, repeatedly. Getting drunk made you maudlin, going out had you seeing his face in every stranger’s and getting laid had made you wish you were with him rather than anyone else. Over and over again you’ve found yourself thinking about those last few moments with him, agonizing over every detail, from the kisses and touches to the last time you saw him. Maybe you hadn’t been entirely clear in your note to him. You can recall the note as if you wrote it yesterday, the note you'd affixed to the flash drive you handed him.

Sure, you told him to call you when he was in New York next. But really, you wanted him to call you, period. Or text you. Something, anything to show you’re lingering in his memory in the same way he lingers in yours. You thought your dalliance had been memorable enough. You hoped you were memorable enough. After all, it's not every day you let a man fuck you up against his jet and record it, forget a man you’ve known only for a few days. Maybe it’s a little silly how attached you’ve gotten to him, given the short time frame, after what should have been completely meaningless sex. 

But it’s not meaningless anymore, at least not to you, after how many times you've seen the video since you last saw him. Your camera hadn’t hidden a single thing when you made your little home movie all those nights ago. You’ve seen how his hands had been gentle, his eyes soft. Your entire countenance had been beckoning, beguiling in the throes of passion, needy in a way you’ve never let yourself be before with anyone else. He’s also spoiled you for any other man on the planet - or at least in New York. You haven’t hit the same heights since him, and a part of you is sure you never will again. And now you have to enter the lion’s den, venture right into enemy territory with your head held high and only a camera to shield your too-hungry gaze.

A thump on the railing drags you out of your reverie. Your neighbor’s escape-artist black cat makes himself at home on the railing, paws flexing as his tail lashes through the humid night air. Like you’re in a dream, you lift up the camera and peer through the viewfinder. Tonight, everything seems to be coming back to lens flares. The neon lights fracture in your camera lens, softening the visage of the cat on the railing, green eyes luminescent. With reflexes born of years of wildlife photography, partially stunted after nearly a year of fashion photography, you depress the shutter with a soft snick and a near-silent whir. What you’re left with is a long exposed image - neon lights blurring in the background as one shines behind the cat’s head. Even his fur is blurred, only green eyes in focus, piercing into your soul. It’s perfect, as expected, and you hope it’s an omen for the days to come while you’re in San Diego.

Green eyes, different from those of your neighbor’s cat, haunt you, even more, the following day as you pile out of one of the minivans the studio rented for you and your team, as well as all of your equipment, on the tarmac at North Island. The humid, sticky air stinks of jet fuel and salt water. The wind brushes past you, snatching at your hair and ripping your sun hat right off your head. It's hot as it brushes by, providing no relief to the insistent heat.

Your team just laughs as you chase, bedraggled and exhausted, after your hat. The wind pushes you towards the hangars at the end of the tarmac, colossal doors thrown open while rows of jets stand gleaming. For the first time, you think you understand why Jake is so in love with being up in the air in his jet, how close to the elements he must be with adrenaline coursing through his system. You raise the camera resting against your chest, leaving your hat to fly where it wants, because you have to capture this.

When your camera focuses, you start snapping with abandon, capturing the sun-drenched metal and heat waves rising off of the pavement.  You’re not sure what pictures the editors will select to go with the article the journalist is going to write. Regardless, you’re stealing the time to take some filler shots now, when it’s bright out still, and blindingly golden outside. Your team is far behind you, still clustered by the cars, as you trail between the shining metal hawks, cockpits closed and emblazoned with names and callsigns. Your heart stutters in your chest when you see his jet, the text dark and fresh, announcing he’s been promoted. So, he's still operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. 

Faintly, you can hear voices emanating from one of the open hangars, so you creep closer, your old Canon camera clutched to your chest like it can protect you. Twenty-four of the US Navy's best aviators are saturated in gold, settled in creaking plastic chairs. Jake’s at the podium, laser pointer in hand, completely relaxed as he talks about things you couldn’t understand if you tried. The light glints across his face, catching angelically on the burnished strands of his hair. A singular fluffy lock has broken free of his hair gel’s hold, trailing softly across his forehead. It makes your fingers ache to push it back into place. But you can’t, because you won’t interrupt or embarrass him. So you take pictures instead, breathlessly, silently, framing the aviators limned in gold like they’re deities waiting to go to war.

You’re not sure when it happens, but he sees you - bright green eyes colliding with yours, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing his brow before the skin smooths. He doesn’t look happy to see you. In a way, it makes sense. You were just a one-night stand, something sexy to indulge in - not someone he'd want to keep forever. The look lances through you, skewering you in place as the wind and sun stick your blouse to your back. He doesn’t acknowledge you but for one curiously blank look, and you’re mortified as you walk silently back to your crew, who are now grouped around the jets in awe.

As expected, Adam and Lea, your stylists extraordinaire, are already scribbling away. Lea's flicking through the tablet in her hands. If you were a betting woman, you'd bet good money they are already planning outfits to take advantage of the blue, gold and white theme of North Island.

“Hey, Boss!” Amy, your assistant, is nearly bouncing in place with her excitement. You're not sure how she's so energetic despite the heat and the hours of travel. “Our liaison should be joining us soon. They'll give us a tour of the base and then show us where we'll be setting up shop this week.”

She doesn’t notice how frozen your smile feels and how mechanic your nods are. All you can think about is Jake. He must have known, right? What are the chances he didn’t know you were coming to North Island to take more pictures? There must have been some briefing or notice informing the aviators why you're here. After all, you’re here to photograph the Dagger Squadron. Then why was his face so blank when he saw you earlier? Thinking about him is driving you crazy, but you're not sure you can stop. All you want is to know whether he could ever feel as strongly for you as you do for him.

When your liaison walks up ten minutes later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see you have not one liaison, but two. Neither of your Navy appointed liaisons is Jake, something which you should have expected, but you were still hoping for regardless. Lieutenant Commanders Trace and Floyd are smiling from ear-to-ear as they greet your team by name. Lea and Katie seem especially enthused at seeing the soft-spoken bespectacled WSO again. Lieutenant Commander Trace is her same unflappable, cool, collected self. Her presence and dry sense of humor has you in stitches as you and your team follow behind her like a herd of ducklings. There are familiar faces around what seems like every corner of the base. But none of the faces are the face you still want to see so desperately.

Jake Seresin shows up again as you’re oooh-ing and ahh-ing over the big hanger, burnished yellow, orange, red and pink in the light of the sun. You’ve got your camera up to your face, lips pursed in concentration, eyes squinting as you peer myopically through the viewfinder. It's his voice you hear first. Just hearing it, with the same rough timber, makes you remember what he told you, before you fell into his arms and headfirst into this situation with Jake Seresin.

God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum.

It’s not a good sign, is it? How you’re unable to even look at his face without giving yourself away. The evidence of your feelings must be on your face, which feels uncomfortably hot. The heat is completely unrelated to San Diego's sky-high temperature and you shy away from eye-contact when you pivot and face the rest of your team, and the trio of Lieutenant Commanders. The sight of him hits you in your solar plexus, robbing your breath and leaving your palms uncomfortably clammy.

“Hi.” 

It’s a quiet greeting, your voice swallowed by the sight of him. It feels like your tongue is two times bigger than it should be in your mouth, unwieldy as you force it to move like you want it to. He doesn’t hear you, or even acknowledge you standing there waiting for him to notice you. Standing there, you finally realize how big a gulf there is between you and Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

It's a sharp contrast. He's standing there in his khaki uniform crisp and new, blond hair dark at his temples from the shower he must have taken. In contrast, your shirt is covered in wrinkles, your hair is frizzy with flyaways escaping your braid and your worn jeans are butter soft but have definitely seen better days. He ignores you for the rest of the afternoon. It hurts, of course it does, when he doesn’t notice you in the same way you notice him. But you have a job to do. You can’t - you won’t - jeopardize your career for a man, not even a man as beautiful as he is.

The now-trio of Lieutenant Commanders shows you the Officer’s ready room, where you'll be setting up for the interviews. Each member of your team is also given a badge on a lanyard allowing you limited access to certain areas of base. Soon enough, you're left to survey the ready room and prepare your team for the days ahead.

“I know it's been a long day already for you all.” Your smile is a little wry as you continue, “It's been a long day for me too. All I want is to unwind and get out of these heels!”

You let the scattered chuckles from your team peter out before continuing.

“Before I can do so, we need to sync up on what we're going to be focusing on over the next few days.”

“First and foremost on our list? Getting pictures of the Daggers while they are being interviewed. The interviewer is an old friend of Admiral Kazansky's and will be spotlighting each of the Daggers. As a part of the interview, we will be expected to get photos of each member of the squadron in their flight suits, their khaki uniforms and their dress uniforms.”

You raise your hands up to stall any questions. “I'm aware this isn't exactly the type of photo shoot we're used to. Katie, you’ll be on hand to help with their make-up during the interview. We're keeping it light and subtle. For the interview photos, we want the aviator's uniforms and medals to shine.” 

“Seb and Kris - the two of you will be measuring the light levels in this room during various times of day and setting up artificial studio lights as necessary. I'll also need you both to check on the lighting situation in the big hangar we were in with the desks and the United States flag on the wall.”

“Adam and Lea, it may not sound like it yet, but I will need you both on your A-games. By special request of Admiral Mitchell, we've been asked to stage a beach bonfire. He wants this interview to echo the beginnings of this squadron. They became a team on the beach and now they are a family. I'm thinking we need cozy textiles and bright winter-toned colors. I'll leave the color palette to you both. All I ask is we have a cohesive palette for the squadron as a whole. As always, measurements for the aviators are included in this dossier. One of the minivans is yours. Our office in San Diego knows to expect you both.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when Adam and Lea make a beeline for the doors as soon as you’re done with them. You’ve worked with them both long enough to know how they operate. They’ll be downtown and looking through the clothing on display before you can blink.

“Ames, while I run point with the admirals,  you'll be sourcing the beachfront we can use for the bonfire. I'm not sure who you'll need permission from, but there might be a bar owner who can give us permission.”

Before long, it feels like you're the only island of calm in the entirety of base. Seb and Kris wander in and out of the room, measuring the light and carting in and out lighting equipment. Even the teleconference you have with the Admirals, both of whom are in Hawaii, due to fly back in a couple of days, goes smoothly.

Over the next few days, you find yourself building on the rapport you created with 6 of the aviators in the Dagger squad in the following days. You also meet the other half of the Dagger Squad. But at the same time you are building a relationship with the other Daggers, it feels like you're losing the relationship you once had with Jake.

The only time you see him during the four days of interviews and pictures is when he is being interviewed. Even then, he spends more time chatting with Amy and Katie than you. Even when you address him directly, he's silent, content to play puppet to your puppet master and then disappearing to an area off base you don't have access to. It hurts, and you’re starting to get weird looks from the other Daggers. They’re all too polite, or too cognizant of their positions in the Navy to ask you any prying questions. At least, until the bonfire.

It hadn’t been difficult to organize at all, in the end. All Amy needed to do was speak to the proprietress of The Hard Deck, a little bar a few miles off base. Penny had been more than happy to hand over the usage of the beach outside her bar for the night. The combination of good food, even better alcohol, and of course, no interviews relaxed the Daggers enough for you to get the candid shots the magazine was looking for. Halos of light spark across your screen with each snap you take - lens flares sparking to life, again and again.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with Jake?”

The question makes you jump and nearly chuck your lens cap into the bonfire. You fumble awkwardly as you try to collect your composure.

“Lieutenant Commander Trace. What can I do for you?”

Your voice is a little shaky as you wheel around and face her.

“You don’t have to do anything for me!” She’s smiling at your discomfort, something wicked curling her lips. “And anyways, didn’t I tell you to call me Natasha three months ago?”

 You’re smiling despite yourself at her antics.

“It’s good to see you again, Natasha.”

“Forget about me. Why aren’t you talking to Jake?” 

You should have known she wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Three months ago, you could barely keep your eyes off of him and the same was true of him. He went out of his way to chat you up every chance he got. And now? Something happened between the two of you after we all left the hangar, and now neither of you is talking. You were fine when you showed us the pictures the next day. But now?”

You shrug, lifting your camera up to snap another couple of pictures of the squadron having fun.

“Oh my god. I can’t with the two of you. Either you walk over there and talk to him, or I’m going to get him to talk to you!”

You grab her arm before she can march away.

“I can’t, Natasha.”

You try grabbing for her, but before you can, she’s already gone. His eyes cut over to yours the more she speaks, and you’re not sure you like the way he’s glancing over at you. Your heart is in your throat as he skirts around the bonfire and sidles up to you.

“What are you doing here? Natasha has this crazy idea you’re heads over heels for me, but the way you’ve been acting says differently. So what are you doing here?”

His voice is so quiet you can barely hear it over the crackling bonfire. His face doesn’t change its expression once the entire time he’s speaking to you, barring one tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it smirk. Once again, you have to thank Adam and Lea for their work because the Lieutenant Commander looks good enough to eat in his sweater and butter-soft jeans. But you know he's not happy to see you. The disappearing act he's been pulling ever since he saw you outside the hangar four days ago is proof.

“You know what I’m doing here, Jake.” 

“You're taking photos for another article. I know, I know.”

His smirk deepens, eyes twinkling maddeningly as he prowls closer to you.

“But between you and me, it’s just the official excuse, isn't it?” He tugs at a strand of your hair, reeling you closer to him. “But unofficially, I bet you want more of me. Maybe you want to make yourself another home movie? See my handprint on your ass cheeks again?”

His words have heat rising to your face, never mind how your skin already feels too toasty from how you've been huddling near the bonfire all night to keep yourself warm. Form-fitting dresses are not beachwear, especially not in late November. But you’re dressing to impress, wearing sharp blazers and business frocks. Add to the dress the camera and purse you’ve got over your shoulder, and you’re definitely not equipped for the beach.

“How do you know what I want?”

Your voice is thready and light, and your head spins the closer he gets to you. It's weird. You've been aching to have him this close to you all week, but now, when he is actually close to you again, you feel like it's too much, like he's too much. Every night in your hotel room, you've been coaching yourself to ignore him. You’ve had to in order to compartmentalize and be professional while on base. Yet, after only a few minutes in his presence, all your defenses are shredded like tissue paper.

“Because you're looking at me like this.”

Wafts of fragrant wood smoke drift by you and him as you stand mere inches away from each other. You can’t refute his statement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. You've never been able to mask your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve and your feelings in the pursed set of your mouth and the raise of your eyebrows. But you’re still not sure what you can say. If he’d propositioned you with the same vulnerable look in his eyes the first day you were in North Island, when he first saw you again, you would have folded like a cheap lawn chair. Then, you probably would have been more than content to pass on your expensive hotel room and make his lonely base apartment a little warmer. But he didn’t, and you’re not sure you can take the risk anymore.

Jake’s shoulders hunch, sinking into the impossibly soft cashmere of the sweater at your lack of response.

“I…” His smirk flattens, something like his Hangman mask taking its place. His shoulders never drop past his ears the longer you stand there with him at arm’s reach and pretend like you’re having a blast at this beach photoshoot turned bonfire party.

“I’ve read this all wrong, haven’t I?”

His sigh is gusty and almost too loud. “I was waiting for you to say something, because I’ve been dying to see you again. But then you ran away when you were taking pictures of the Top Gun class. Afterward, I - I didn’t know how to say I missed you, which is weird, I know. We only knew each other for a singular night.”

If your jaw isn’t on the floor already, you know it will be soon. Already, you’ve been getting too many questioning glances from your team and the Dagger Squadron. Then there is Natasha’s well-meaning meddling from a few minutes ago. Even the admirals have glanced over every once in a while at you and the normally cocky Lieutenant Commander standing in near silence. It’s not a conscious thought which has you whirling around in the silky sand and snagging a hand into his sleeve. You’re not sure why you’re doing it. All you know is if you’re having this out now, you need to have it out in private where it will not be injurious to your career or his.

Thankfully, Jake doesn't fight you as you pull him towards a corner of the parking lot. Your face feels flushed, and your chest heaves with panic at the thought someone could know what you and Jake did.

“I…” 

You cover his mouth with your hand, pretending the feeling of his skin on your hands doesn't burn, like you’re not completely aware of the masculine heat emanating from his skin. For several long moments, you stand in the shadows between two pick-up trucks in the parking lot. Each of your muscles is tense, waiting for someone to realize you've disappeared with Jake Seresin, of all people. You don’t want to think about the possibilities they were assuming. The prickling, uneasy sensation doesn't pass with the moments but does fade a little.

“What was that about, huh?”

You just glare in response.

“I thought it was better to have this conversation where we were less likely to be overheard, is all.” 

Your voice is prim, and your nose is tipped upward. It's obvious Jake doesn't feel the same way you do about this conversation, if he’s asking you questions like this.

“C'mon, sugar. If you wanted to let me down, you could have just said it by the bonfire. I promise I won't harass you.” His brow is furrowed as he thinks through all the implications of your statement. “Then or now.”

“I…” You fling your hands upwards, feeling this sudden urge to rage at the stars above you. How have things gotten so twisted? In your head and between you and Jake? 

“I don't want to let you down, Jake.”

You growl, then, because you know what you feel, but the words aren't coming out of your mouth the right way. He's patiently waiting for you to figure it out, lips pressed into a thin line, and green eyes scorching through you.

“I’m not rejecting you, Jake. When I came to North Island Naval Base and saw you standing in front of the lectern, I wanted you to smile when you saw me. I wanted some indication you felt the same way I did. I also wanted to kiss you, but it wouldn’t have helped then.”

You're smiling again, just a slight curve to your lips, a smile Jake is mirroring.

“Then you pretended I didn't exist. You pretended I was just someone you worked with before. Not someone who you were intimate with. Not someone whose life you changed with your stupid smile and your piercing eyes and your big, gentle hands. I…” 

To your embarrassment, you're sniffling and fighting back tears. “I didn't know why, or how to deal with it, so I just pushed back all my feelings. I pretended the same thing you did, and tried to ignore how much it hurt.”

“Fuck.” The quiet expletive echoes around you. “I messed this up, didn't I?”

He's pacing now, back and forth in front of you, shoes sliding through the gravel as he marches. He's ruffling his hair, face scrunched up in anguish at your words.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I've watched our video so many times, I know my favorite parts. Fuck, sweetheart, I even took the picture of your ass with my handprints on it with me when we were deployed a month ago. I was nearly given so many demerits because of how hot that picture is.”

Your heart seems like it’s going to burst out of your chest, beating as hard as it is. 

“So why didn’t you call?” The same plaintive, sad tone is in your voice again.

“What could I have said?” He’s finally stopped pacing back and forth at least. He flings his hands out from his hips “Sweetheart, I want you, I need you. I wish I could fly to New York right now to taste you again?”

You have to snicker at the sarcastic, sardonic note in his voice. 

“It’s a little melodramatic, but I would have taken it.” 

Just as quickly as you snicker, the laugh peters away into a gentle sigh. “All you had to do was tell me you missed me, Jake. All I wanted was for you to tell me you wanted to see me again.”

“Would it have mattered if I did?” 

He’s stepped closer again, close enough you can feel the heat of his skin against yours. One of his big hands cradles your jaw as he looms over you.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” There’s a smirk on his face as he ghosts his lips over yours.

“Why would my answer matter then?” You’re not sure where the sass is coming from, but it’s making Jake smirk even more. “Knowing the decision you made?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to think of a response with a brain wholly occupied by the man drawing you into his arms. You melt into the kiss like it's something visceral you've been missing. His hair still feels the same against the pads of your fingers, golden silk, as you wrap your arms around his neck. He still tastes like you remember, too, cinnamon and smoky spice intermingling on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. Your heart sings when he gently positions your camera so it isn’t crushed between the two of you.

You whimper when he pulls away, chasing after his mouth like you're addicted to it. He still kisses like he flies, you note dimly, thoughts far away. The car at your back is cool, the metal searing into your skin as the sun has long since set. But the cold temperature of the car has nothing on the man crowding you up against it. His eyes are lidded, gaze hot as he takes in the sight of you. The dual temperatures are enough to make you shudder.

“Look at you, darling.” His hands are just as hot as his gaze as he trails his hands down your sides. “A single kiss, and you’re aching for me.”

You can’t deny the effects this man has on you. In truth, the time for denial would have been some time before you made the movie at the hangar. You’re so far down this path there isn’t a way to turn back. 

“You want me just as much.” 

Your voice is quieter than the rush of the waves, yet loud enough you can see the impact as they hit his ears. He’s still just as fit as he was three months ago, all hard, hot muscle as he presses up against you, cedar and plum wafting through the air off his skin. You can feel the jut of him against your hip as he muscles you even further against the car, spreading you out like a meal he wants to eat. He transfixes you with a glare when he pulls away, even as he smirks at your breathy moan. You watch, eyes lidded, as he opens the truck door and sets your things on the broad seat. You’re panting with need when he comes back to you, body shivering as he leans into you again. His hands find their home against the curve of your waist, fingers still nimble as they focus on tracing your curves in a way which might be driving you just a little mad. You almost wish you were wearing a blouse and skirt again like last time, because at least then you could feel his hands spread across your ribcage, searing their heat into your bones.

You’re lost in him, utterly captivated by the way his tongue tangles with yours, the way he makes you moan. Unlike the rough, claiming kisses of your first sexual encounter with Jake Seresin, these kisses are tender and sweet. They’re searching and tasting, like he’s trying to learn what makes you tick and what makes you moan. In truth, it feels like he’s trying to take you apart only to put you together again. This time, you’re not sure you’ll ever be the same, forever changed by the man in your arms. 

“Fuck…” The word is an exhale pressed to your pulse-point, sticky, sweet, and blindingly hot. “Baby, let me take you somewhere other than this dusty, dirty parking lot. I think I really need to see you spread out on my bed this time.”

“Yes, please.” The words leave you in a strung out moan as you tug him closer, fisting your hands in his hair and sweater as you see fit. You’re past caring so long as he’s pressed so perfectly against you.

When he finally steps back from you, you’re gratified to see he looks just as rumpled and debauched as you feel. For a few moments, you stand there, drinking him in, hands aching to draw him close again, to touch him again. He takes your hand, entwining his fingers and yours. His hand dwarfs yours, skin slightly rough as his hand cradles yours. You let him lead you to the truck and help you in, because a part of you isn’t sure you’re going to be able to let him go even when you have to.

It’s silent, but for the sounds of the road as he starts his pickup, one hand never leaving its spot on your thigh. Your hands find the camera again, snapping with abandon the vista blurring past the windows and the man driving you. The streetlights halo through the lens view, speckling the pictures with circles of golden-butter light. It seems like time slips past in a slow trickle. You’re still looking through the camera when the engine cuts off, the sounds of the night trickling slowly back into your ears.

Jake’s eyes sear through you when you carefully gather your camera and bag up, legs shaky from that look alone as you step onto the pavement. His hand finds yours again, as you follow his broad back up a flight of stairs and through an unassuming white paneled front door. You’re surrounded by the cedar and plum of his cologne as you step in, the scent lightly drifting through the air. Jake crowds you against the door as soon as it closes, hands divesting you of your things even as his mouth slants over yours again. The heat sparking between you ignites again, a flame bursting to life in your chest, fed by the soft moans leaving his lips as you kiss him with wild abandon.

For much of the way to his bed, your eyes are closed. You trust Jake to lead you the right way, not to hurt you as you stumble and shudder your way through the apartment in his arms. His lips don’t leave yours once, moans ripping out of your mouth as he leaves you breathless. He’s far from quiet too, softly grunting when you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, gasping open mouthed into yours as you rub at his bulge. Arousal bubbles in your veins, crashing over and through you. You squeal when he pushes you onto his bed, the mattress so firm it's almost hard as you bounce against it. Your hands shake as you fight with your clothes. Adrenalin makes you clumsy as you nudge your shoes off and fight futilely with the zipper at your back. Eventually you give up, choosing to lean back on your palms. When you look up, Jake’s staring down at you, eyes trailing from the curve of your mostly exposed legs up to your chest and back down again. He’s got his lower lips between his teeth, brow furrowed as he shrugs the sweater off.

Once again, you remind yourself to thank Lea for her work, because if you thought the shirt looked good buttoned up, it looks even better as it slips off his arms. He’s still wearing his dog tags, the silver chain glinting in the moonlight through the windows as he prowls over you.

“You’re still prettier than the pictures you take, baby.”

You feel like you are barely breathing as Jake licks into your mouth. The heat of his body grounds you, the points of contact just enough to tell you this is real.

“Breathe, beautiful.” His hands draw you up until you’re kneeling on the bed, your hands on his shoulders as you peer up into his eyes. Your resulting exhale is shaky as you drag in breaths with just enough oxygen to keep your head from spinning.

“Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, huh?”

“Jake.” His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer. His hands are practiced, sure as they drag the zipper down from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine. The fabric of your dress gapes forward until it’s around your waist.

Jake's eyes seem to glow in the moonlight as he takes in the simple black bra you're wearing, hands tender and hot as they drag over your bare skin, mouth wet and sharp as he drags his teeth across your collar bones.

“Mmm, baby.” His moan has you gasping, your body listing into his as he purrs the words into your skin. “I'm going to make you feel so good.”

When he lets go of you, your nipples are firm peaks in the cool air. When he removed your bra, you're not sure. All you know is you want him, desperately, urgently. Your panties feel like too much material as they cling to you, the gusset damp. Your hands are clumsy as you wrench the dress off, shaking as you peel your panties away from your skin, you flush as Jake's chuckles echo in your ears.

Divested of your clothes, you're faced with one of the prettiest sights of your life. Because, Jake’s standing there, with his belt unbuckled, and the jeans unbuttoned. His cock bulges out through the v-shaped opening, and your mouth waters as you look him over.

“God, Jake, please.” Your voice is a whine as you reach for him, fingers resting against his taut abdomen, back arched as you wait on all fours.

“I’ve got you baby.” 

His promises drip over your bare skin like hot and gentle summer rain. Your eyes close as he cups your jaw, the rustle of fabric foretelling his bare skin joining yours on the bed. You let him position you where he wants, drugged by the sensations of his big hands. You steal the opportunity to kiss him again, palms splayed over his pecs, and the cool chain of his dog tags brushing against your fingers. Falling into him is too easy. It’s just a series of kisses, a sweet tangle of tongues as you let him cradle you in his arms. Sparks of need, of want traverse your moon-stained skin, hips canting against his thigh in need.

“How long has it been since you’ve cum, sweetheart?” 

There’s amusement in his tone as you wrap your arms around his neck, breasts pillowed against his chest as you nudge his nose with your own.

“Just a couple of days ago.”

His chuckle makes you pout. 

“And how did you cum?”

He rolls you over, ghosting a kiss over your lips as he peers down at you. “Was it some guy you brought home? Who didn’t know how to make these pretty moans spill out of your mouth? Did he make you think of me the whole time?”

When you moan, it’s because he’s pressing into you, the stretch of him making your toes curl.

“N-no.” You screw your eyes up, trying to string the words together. “It was just me. With a vibrator, watching our video.”

“Fuck, there’s my good girl. Waiting for your Lieutenant Commander to make you scream, right?”

You’re so far beyond words all you can do is tug him down, fisting your hand in his hair until you can kiss him again. He’s just as eager to pull you in, hitching your legs up until they’re propped over his arms, keeping you spread open as he pistons his hips until you see stars. 

“Please, please, please.” 

You’re babbling, your orgasm crashing over you with each sharp thrust. Your moans intertwine with Jake’s guttural grunts as his hips stutter at their steady pace. It feels like you’ve been set on fire when you cum, pulsing waves of heat washing over your body. Jake’s shivering as he slumps over you, blanketing your body with his. His hair is sweat-damp as you card your fingers through the fluffy strands.

“Missed you, Jay.” 

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” The words are languid and soft, syrupy and sweet. 

It feels like you could fall in love with Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin as he gathers you in his arms for what must be the hundredth time tonight to clean you up. Every glimpse of the man you see when he's not putting on his Hangman mask intrigues you more. There's a gentleness to him when he's like this, a secret softness shining past his imposing exterior. You want to know more. You have to know more. 

The realization of how little time you have left with Jake eviscerates you. Only two days left. Two days to love this man as much as you can. You can’t tell him how close you are to falling for him. Looking at his apartment, you have a feeling it would just scare him away. His apartment is almost austere, the off-white walls blending into the pale cream carpet on the floor. Everything is bare, with no pictures on the walls and no personality. It’s a trend throughout the entire space, everywhere but the bedroom. There's a cheery quilt at the foot of the bed. It's the only vibrant color in the apartment, the one thing which screams home.

“It's pathetic, isn't it?”  You jump at his words, gripping at the footboard of the bed in an effort to keep from falling.

“It's not pathetic, Jay. Just…” You turn, clad in the soft tee he'd pulled over you after the shower. “Just different than I expected.”

“I know what it looks like, sweetheart.” The same sad soft tone is in his voice again. “It looks like I don’t have any roots. Like I’m scared to let people in.”

He slides his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, his golden hair dripping as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “Maybe that is the truth.” 

Your heart breaks a little at the soft surety in his voice, even as he does his best impression of a koala around you.

“Because like it or not, I’m going to leave one day. I’ll have to leave one day. Another deployment. Another mission. And chances are, I may not be coming home.”

You clutch at him tighter, because right now, you’re not sure you can think about him not being in San Diego the next time you’re here.

“I was okay with my reality.”

When you wrestle your way out of his grip, you’re maybe a little too rough, evidenced by the grimace on his face as you walk away. You’re not sure where you’re going but away has to be enough. You’re not sure you can face him after he’s said something like this. After all, here you are, ready to risk it all in a sultry cross-country romance, ready to give your heart to him, possibly years of your life to him. Then there he is, admitting so callously he might not be coming home one day.

You’re staring unseeingly at the stars when he slides his arms around you again.

“Are you okay, Shutterbug?” 

You lean back into him, because he feels perfect against you still.

“Shutterbug is new.” You’re trying to change the subject, because if he’s insistent about it, you’re going to explode.

“Nuh-uh.” His hands turn you around until you’re looking at him again. “Tell me what’s bothering you, pretty girl.”

“You’re so callous about how you’re ready to never come home again! Why would you say that to me, Jake? I’m ready to risk everything for you. A cross-country relationship, half here, half in New York or really, wherever it’s convenient for us to meet. If you’re not willing to do the same, then what is the point of what we just did?”

You’re choking back a sob as you stand in front of him. Your eyes are screwed closed, hands wringing the hem of the t-shirt clothing you. 

“Why does it matter that you missed me, and that I missed you?”

“It matters, because, sweetheart, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

Your arms wrap around his waist easily as he tugs you closer.

“I was going to say, I was okay never coming home before you. You’ve been running around in my head, the center of every thought, the subject of my every dream for three months. You kept me going when we were deployed, too. All I wanted was to come home safe so I could fly out to New York and see you again.”

“Now, at least I know I’ll be welcome when I come by.”

You’re smiling from ear to ear as you kiss the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, you will be.”

You're still smiling as you walk into the Officer's Ready Room at North Island the next morning. You've got the same swagger you had in your step the first time you and Jake crashed together. Only this time, you have his phone number on your phone and the promise of a romantic dinner for two tonight. You'd be lying if you said you weren't still worried about the long distance relationship, spending half your life in New York and half here. But more than anything, you're ready for the challenge and excited to. At least you know who you're going home to - and, he knows who he is coming home to, as well.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @a-reader-and-a-writer @hookslove1592 @mshistorylover @hangmanssunnies @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[natailiatulls07]

Fake lovers

Lando Norris x female!driver!reader

Summary - McLaren wants to repair Landos image and Lando just wants to protect the papaya sunshine

Warning - one night stands (not between Lando and the reader), alcoholism, doing drugs, stalking and stalker, violence, sexualising, harassment

Reader drives for McLaren

-

McLaren had a problem. One of their drivers was creating a bad reputation for himself, partying every night, different girl in his bed every night and same old hangover the next morning. Lando was painting a bad picture for McLaren, making them look like they took on someone incapable of taking care of themselves and those around them.

Yet McLaren had another driver, Y/n L/n. She was their golden girl, new to the formula one business, quickly getting to grips with each car and track. Never was she painting a negative image of McLaren, the complete opposite to her teammate, Lando.

It was similar on track, Lando would always find a way to fumble on track and then would proceed to let out his anger towards the team, the other teams and the press but not his teammates. Headlines filled with his frustration and attitude.

F1 News

Once again, Lando Norris has become unruly to anyone in his way. Will this once golden boy ever get his shine back or is his future in formula one just dull?

But Y/n L/n, oh how the fans loved her. Always stopping to sign anything, to take photos or even to just have a genuine conversation. On track, she’d try to avoid any collisions, penalties or arguments. Even if she didn’t get on that podium, you’d see her sporting a proud and exciting smile whilst looking up the three on the podium.

In contrast to her teammate, Y/n’s headlines were seemingly always positive.

F1 News

McLarens golden girl is back from the summer break and she is better than ever. She is smashing the drivers into the dirt, yet also being very polite. How can anyone be mad at the rookie?

-

McLaren needed to get the situation under control, get Lando back to his normal self. Everyone could see him losing himself to drugs, alcohol and sex, and McLaren wanted to save him before it was too late.

So that is why McLaren came up with the plan to get the two drivers to 'date'. They planned this to inprove Lando's image.

That’s how’s Lando ending up standing outside Y/n’s apartment. Knocking on the door, he heard a faint call from inside. “One second, sorry let yourself in”

She had known it was him. Clumsily Y/n had lost track of time, and was late getting ready.

Walking in, Lando found Y/n rushing around her bedroom. “Hi..” He was nervous, not used to this old school ‘romantic’ situation.

Usually he’d be getting ready to go to yet another club to get yet another girl that he would sleep with and never remember her again. But he was here, watching his current teammate and soon to be fake girlfriend rushing around her bedroom before their fake date.

“Hey, I’m so sorry! I was reading and sort of lost time” Y/n quickly looked up from her vanity where she was finishing her makeup, she had a genuine shameful and sorry look in her eyes.

“It’s um it’s okay” This was totally not his element, however he felt somewhat comfortable. Anyone who had spent some time in Y/n’s presence could tell you that she had that relaxing aura about herself.

“You can make yourself at home if you want, I won’t be that long” Once again Y/n looked up at the British man offering a kind smile, she was just finishing her mascara.

Lando nodded his head before making his way towards the cozy living room. Fairy lights lit the room with a tranquil vibe.

-

It wasn’t long before Y/n’s heels started to echo throughout the small Monte Carlo apartment. Lando looked up from his phone to see her walking out of the bedroom.

She was wearing a dainty black dress. “Are you ready?” Y/n sent Lando a small graceful smile, whilst he got up from the the soft couch.

“Yep let’s go..” His voice was still quiet, still apprehensive of the whole plan.

At first he refused the plan; despite not caring about those around him, he felt bad for bring this sunshine of a driver into his problems.

Lando knew of the hate he got for his attitude and his lifestyle. And he desperately wanted to keep her away from those people who looked on him that way.

-

That evening, Lando swapped out constant drinks for nonalcoholic drinks. He swapped out multiple girls at once for one soft spoken and genuine women who was patient and easygoing.

They spoke openly with each other for hours whilst at the restaurant. Speaking up until a waitress, who was slightly nervous to be waitering two formula one drivers, came over to notify them that the restaurant was closing.

“You know…I don’t agree with what the media or the press say about you..” They were making a slow pace back towards her apartment, when she looked up at him with sympathy.

“To be honest I don’t care, I mean I see them but I don’t take them to heart” Lando had a awkward smile following his comment.

“But you don’t deserve it…like that one time when we were waiting for post race press, you let me borrow your jacket because I forgot mine” It was back when they were in Canada, the weather was horrible.

And whilst they were waiting for their press interviews, Lando had noticed how every so often Y/n would shiver. So he shrugged off his papaya McLaren jacket before pulling it over her shoulder. Of course, Y/n was quick to protest against it politely as to which Lando quickly turned her arguments down.

As they continued to slowly walk back, Lando didn’t reply to her comment. He wanted to agree with her but he knew that his career was on a downward spiral.

-

The next morning, the two driver woke up in their individual apartments to many articles with several paparazzi photos of their ‘date’

F1 News

McLaren’s resident bad boy and their resident good girl has chemistry brewing between themselves. They were seen in Monte Carlo on a date, different to Lando Norris’ usual evenings in different clubs.

Has the bad boy gone good for the golden girl? What will this mean for formula one’s good girl? Will Norris just dispose of L/n like the many other girls he brought home or is this different?

See picture below 👇

-

Over the next few of months, both Y/n and Lando started to attend more events together, going on more ‘dates’ and even becoming more and more affectionate in the paddock. It quickly felt normal to have that affection with each other.

Soon enough the media and the press started to calm down on Lando, they saw how his lifestyle changed.

He went from night clubs to cafe dates. Most of Lando’s time was consumed with the sunshine that was his fake girlfriend but he didn’t complain. He loved it!

“Hey Lando..” Y/n called from the living room.

“Yeah?” Lando was in the kitchen, making both himself and her a quick snack.

“The guy in my instagram dm’s just sent me a text…” Over the past couple of months a random guy had been sending Y/n uncomfortable texts.

Some were more concerning then others;

Oh doll, I’d love to see you in my bed

Your boyfriend doesn’t deserve your body, come to me babygirl

I know where you live little lady, you might as well come to me now

Every time, Y/n would block and report him yet he would make other accounts before continuing. Each time Lando would send him a dm, protecting her.

“Okay please give me the phone” Walking back into the living room, Lando was handed her phone.

He quickly sent the older man a message once again protecting the poor driver. Sitting beside Y/n on the couch, but his typing was cut short when there was a knock on the apartment door.

“I’ll get it” Getting up from the couch, Y/n slipped on her soft slippers before making her way to the door.

Upon opening the door, she was greeted with the same man who had been harassing her on instagram. “Hey little lady”

He had a creepy and sickening smile on his face, Y/n could smell the strong smell of alcohol radiating off of him.

As soon as Lando heard the old man’s greeting he was up from the couch immediately, making his way to stand in front of Y/n.

“Sir please can you leave my girlfriend alone both here and in the future, it is very clear that she is beyond distressed” Lando urged the man to leave.

“Why should I listen to you? You want her for the same reasons as me, you might as well share her” He wasn’t listening, just continuing to harass the girl.

“No. I am asking you to leave out of her life completely because she is my girlfriend, not some sex whore, the love of my life and as her boyfriend it is my duty to love and protect her from people like you”

It was when the man started to laugh that Lando pulled forward, colliding his fist with the man’s sickening face.

“Right, I don’t like the way you are talking and laughing about my girlfriend like she is a fucking object! So do us all a fucking favour, fuck off out of her life and my life too!”

It wasn’t long before the older man started to practically run off with his tail between his legs back to the apartment building exit.

Once until he was long out of Lando’s sight when he turned to face Y/n, who had a frightened and bewildered facial expression.

“It’s okay he’s gone..” Pulling her into his chest, Lando let her calm down in his arms, listening to his heartbeat through his thin cotton t-shirt.

-

After an hour of sitting on the couch watching Y/n’s comfort film, she turned to Lando who was sat close by her.

“You know you didn’t have to do that…I mean I totally appreciate it a lot but I don’t want you to burden yourself with my problems…” Along with being a golden girl, Y/n struggled to let people help her with her issues.

This didn’t surprise Lando, he knew it wouldn’t be long for her to apologise for no reason. “I’m going to stop you right there.” Taking a quick deep breath, Lando looked over at the shameful look in her eyes. “I did that because you are the love of my life…I am here to protect you. You are the sweetest, most pure and giving girl, I know…I love you Y/n”

That shameful look in Y/n’s eyes soon turned into confusion. “Lando, we’re um we’re alone…you know we don’t have to act like this..”

“I’m not acting, what I just said is the truth” Before Y/n could reply to his comment, Lando pulled their faces together colliding their lips.

Y/n’s lips were soft on his, he could taste her strawberry lip balm. It felt like fireworks were going off behind Y/n.

Pulling back, a small smile made its way onto her lips. “I think I love you too” Y/n’s voice quiet but sure.

“Well that’s good to hear, Darling”

-

It was true, McLaren’s golden girl had fixed their bad boys image and reputation. He was happy to be with her whilst she lost her track of time with her head in a book.

He was happy to indulge in her healthy and easygoing lifestyle and personality. All because he loved her, just for herself.

He was grateful for the early nights and slow bittersweet mornings. Grateful for her.

-

[back2bluesidex]

20 Years Late - KSJ

Pairing: Divorced, single dad!SeokjinX Best friend, Fem!Reader

Theme: Angst, Fluff, mutual pining, confessions, slice of life au, bf2l au.

Wordcount: 1.3k+

Summary: Seokjin could count on his fingers the things that haven't changed within these 20 years of his life, and one of those is you..

Warnings: mentions of unsuccessful marriage, divorce, mutual pining, quite angsty (Not like girl crush I promise), love confessions, crying, Seokjin is 40, reader is 39. SFW.

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Happy Seokjin day! Hope our baby is happy and healthy. 💜

And I hope you all like this short piece. I personally like the way it turned out. Tell me what you guys think.

“Appa, you know you have to do it today, right?” Seokhee’s voice sounds less like encouragement and more like a threat. Seokjin knows his daughter well. He knows she will make his life a living hell if he fails to complete his mission today. 

So, he has to do it. He has to do it today at any freaking cost. 

“Yes, Seokhee! Appa knows.” Seokjin tries to calm his daughter down but in reality, he fails to stay calm himself. 

He is nervous. There is a tremble in his hands, which he used to experience back in his rookie days. 

Now that he is thinking of those days, he realizes so many things have changed, have been altered even. He used to be youthful, used to throw dad jokes all around, used to hit the club twice a month but now.. All he has is back pain, impending migraine before each boring meeting, and a skin thicker than earth’s mantle. 

But he also has more experience, both professionally and personally, and patience. Certainly, a wrong marriage, fatherhood and a divorce has taught him enough about life and he is grateful for that. 

He could count on his fingers the things that haven't changed within these 20 years of his life, and one of those is you. 

You were with him when he used to be reckless and wild, you were with him when he took the vows he couldn’t keep, you were with him when he held Seokhee for the first time in his arms, you were with him when he signed those divorce papers and you still are with him. 

You took care of not only him but also his daughter selflessly. He is grateful to you for all of it, but he is even more apologetic. You kind of sacrificed your life for your best friend, him, and his daughter, Seokhee. And as a result, you are 39 and unmarried. 

What unsettles Seokjin even more is that he could have easily held your hands, looked into your eyes and told you that he loves you, he has been loving you for 20 years now… but he failed. 

He failed you again and again on several occasions for numerous times in these 20 years. However, that is not what he wants to think of today. He is finally giving himself a chance, giving his life another chance… and giving you an idea of what you and him could be... together. 

“Hey handsome, where are you so lost?” you appear out of nowhere and sit down beside him on the sand. Handing him the ice-cream cone, you take a lick from yours. 

Seokjin jolts at your sudden appearance. He tries to calculate for how long he has been zoning out. He looks at his phone only to find out Seokhee has cut the call and the screen went back to his wallpaper.. him, Seokhee and you, a happy family... only if it actually was. He puts the device in his pocket.

“Took you so long.” he comments softly as he tastes the vanilla-flavored goodness on the tip of his tongue. 

“Yeah. The queue was pretty long.” you point at the ice-cream shop residing a little far away from the place you two are sitting currently. “But it’s worth it. The ice-cream tastes really good. Seokhee would have liked it so much.”  

Seokjin scoffs. He sometimes feels jealous of his own daughter because these days all you talk about is her. Is Seokjin nothing more than Seokhee’s father? Are those 20 years long memories fading from your brain or something? Can’t you look at him as Kim Seokjin, the 40 years old businessman, who loves you?   

“You miss her, don’t you?” he turns his head to look at you. The mellow sea breeze has ruffled up your hair making it messy, you have a little bit of chocolate at the corner of your lips, your right elbow is covered with sand, your eyes are red and there are eyebags under those. But you are beautiful nonetheless. As beautiful as when he had seen you for the first time, when he was 20 and you were 19. 

“Of course I do. I know your ex-wife takes good care of her but I can’t help being a little worried, which makes me miss her even more.” you pout a little. Seokjin’s heart melts into a puddle. 

“And what about me? Do you miss me?” he adds a little suggestively, trying to find an answer or a question in your eyes. 

“You are practically right here, Jin. Why the fuck will I miss you?”  you giggle, nudging his shoulder with yours in the process. 

“Not that, Y/N. Don’t you miss your Jinnie? You best friend? The person I used to be before getting married, before having Seokhee?” If Seokjin's voice sounds a little desperate, he does nothing to mask it. It’s you after all. He can show you the real him, the desperate version of himself who craves you and your love. 

You smile a little, but there is a sadness in it that tugs at Seokjin’s heart strings. 

“Yes. Yes I do. But I can’t let that take me over. Otherwise I will start wishing for impossible, forbidden things that I buried long, long ago.”  

“What if those things are not forbidden? Not impossible? What if- what if the wishes are mutual?” Seokjin suggests. 

Your expression changes in a heartbeat. When you look at him, he perceives moisture in your eyes. And you look hurt, as if he has trespassed a territory you clearly asked him to stay away from. 

“You don’t know what you are saying, Seokjin.” Your voice trembles. 

“Don’t call me that. Call me Jinnie, just like you used to 12 years ago.” Seokjin scoots closer to your body. 

“I- I can’t-”

“Let’s start afresh. Both of us, you and me, together. Please?” Seokjin cuts you off. 

“What? What are you even.. Jin? Are you pitying me right now? Are you extending your kind hands seeing me approaching my 40s without a partner?” Fat trails of tears roll down your cheeks and break Seokjin’s heart.

“No- what the fuck! No-” Seokjin tries to establish his ground but you cut him off.

“Then why? Tell me why are you proposing something so unreasonable like this? Are you joking with me?” you spat at him. 

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? I love you! Are you happy now?” Seokjin shouts back, “do think it’s unreasonable to finally give my feelings a chance after debating for 20 fucking years?” 

“Jin-” 

“For god’s sake, Y/N. I have more gray hair than black these days! Do you think I will be joking about getting married with the woman I love at this age?” 

“Are you-”

“Yes! Yes I am serious. I have been loving you since when I was 20 and you were 19. Hell! I took my wedding vows imagining your face and you are now accusing me of pitying you!” Jin’s own face is smeared with tears now. He didn’t even realize when he started crying. 

“Was I the reason behind your unsuccessful marriage?” your voice sounds unsure as you address the elephant in the room. 

“No. It was a marriage of convenience, none of us were happy. It had to end at a point and it did. You have nothing to do with it.” Jin replies, wiping the tears off of his face. 

He finds you biting your lips as you stare at the sea ahead. 

“It’s okay if you-” Jin gets silenced as you whip your head at the speed of lightning and place a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“I love you too, Jinnie. I have always been in love with you, maybe even before you fell for me.” you murmur, connecting your forehead with his. 

Tears roll down Jin’s cheeks again, but this time due to happiness. You wipe those with your thumb. 

“Finally.. Finally you are mine.” Jin whispers as he leans in for another kiss. 

“Yeah, you are a little too 20 years late but we are finally there.” you place your lips on his. 

“I love you, Y/N” Jin mumbles in between the kiss, pulling you closer by your waist. 

“I love you too, Jinnie.” You reply, wrapping your hands around his neck. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

BL Premiering in April

01/04 | 🇰🇷🇹🇭 Love is Like a Cat MDL When global superstar Piuno is threatened by those who wish to see him brought low, there’s only one thing he can do to save his reputation and his career: work at a pet daycare. Pushing aside his severe dislike for animals, Piuno begins working alongside the daycare’s director, Dae Byeol, who helps him find ways to overcome the trauma that first inspired his hatred of animals. As his heart begins to soften, unexpected feelings for Dae Byeol begin to arise. Could their current working relationship grow into something more?

03/04 | 🇹🇭 We Are MDL For this friend group, no matter how hard their university studies are, there's always something more to do their head in; the chaos of life and love won't let anyone rest. We are... friends, but we fight each other and like each other so much we might hit on each other.

11/4 | 🇯🇵 Living with Him MDL With his parents frequently away for work, Natsukawa Ryota had been the main caretaker for his younger sisters and the housework, but now he’s finally about to go to University, he’s looking forward to being able to live freely on his own! However, in a surprising turn of events, he’s surprised to discover his roommate will be his childhood friend Tanaka Kazuhito. Despite his picture-perfect looks and pleasant personality, Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend. Curious, Ryota accompanies him in searching for the reason why, but is unable to find any flaws and finds his heart fluttering over Kazuhito’s kind words and actions. As he gets to know more about Kazuhito, their relationship develops. Thus begins their cohabitation life where they’re mutually self-aware of each others presence! 11/4 | 🇰🇷 Gray Shelter MDL With no dream aside from to survive, Soohyuk reunites with his friend, Yoondae, who has no place to go. The two end up sharing space together; will this cohabitation spark something?

18/4 🇯🇵 At 25:00, in Akasaka MDL Shirasaki Yuki, a rookie actor, finally lands an audition and is chosen to star in a BL drama alongside current superstar Hayama Asami, who was also his senior at university. Feeling anxious and troubled before his first major role, Shirasaki is approached by Hayama with the proposal to form a “romantic relationship for the sake of character development” until the filming concludes. Their pseudo-romantic involvement off-screen leads to a moving and beautifully crafted love story exploring the intricacies of relationships within the entertainment industry and among actors. 26/4 🇹🇭 My Stand-In MDL Joe, the stunt man of famous actor Tong, happened to meet Ming. Having developed a deep relationship, Joe didn't realise that Ming had always seen him as Tong's replacement. When the truth is revealed, Joe has to take work on a foreign set where an accident takes his life. When he wakes, Joe's in the body of a young man likewise named Joe who'd met with an accident on the same day. With help, he's soon living the same life as he was before—with the same people—and he meets Ming once more. In this life, Ming wants Joe back at his side as before and Joe doesn't know why. Ming, who's kept all memories of the old Joe, tries to find the truth about Joe's continued life in order to return Joe to his side and give him the explanation he never had the chance to.

?/4 | 🇰🇷 Boys Be Brave! MDL Jung Ki Sub is Kim Jin Woo's slacker friend - and secret crush. So when Ki Sub asks to crash at his place, his heart tingles to be near him everyday. But as the short stay turns into permanent mooch, how long can Jin Woo keep his true feelings under wraps and hold back from confessing? ?/4 | 🇯🇵 A Man Who Defies the World of BL 3 MDL Mob realizes he’s trapped in a world straight out of a boys’ love comic, complete with typical love story scenes. Determined to remain a background character and avoid becoming the main focus, Mob tries to keep a low profile. However, in this sequel, the love and comedy intensify! In an ultimate BL world surrounded by extremely handsome men, will Mobu be able to avoid the situation where B becomes L? The main cast will return, with Inukai playing Mob, who fends off advances from handsome men tossing out “BL love flags.” Yutaro will return as his younger brother, Ayato, while Akihisa Shiono will be Tojo, Ayato’s lover. Asahi Ito will come back as Kikuchi, a college student who has a crush on Mob. Also couldn't find definite info on 🇹🇭 Knock Knock, Boys! to be sure it will premiere this month or not.

[sinofwriting]

Judo Tracks - Ollie Bearman

Words: 4,535 Summary: What happens when an Formula 2 (cough and now technically kind of an F1) driver and an Olympic gold medalist Judoka start dating? Note(s): Thank you so much to V on Kofi for commissioning this! I had so much fun writing it (and I got to do so much research and take so many notes for). Reader does Judo. Uta Abe is the inspiration for reader and I’ve used her amazing achievements as readers as well. Also, mentions of blood, injuries, pain. I also completely changed the 2024 F1 season because of Ollie being called up for Saudi Arabia (I literally could not help myself). Fun fact: Ollie Bearman with just his rookie F2 season in 2023 has just over triple the amount of points needed for a super license (aka the license for F1).

Masterlist | Support Me!

She takes a deep breath, eyes closed as she lets the feeling of the sun hit her skin, pouring into her as she stretches out on the grass. Her thighs and calves are burning, her big toe has split open again, Jain will have her head for it. Her arms are loose by her side, wrist aching as she rotates them. Letting out the breath, her eyes open.

The brick in front of her is rugged, chipped, and would be considered peeling if it was painted instead. It’s like cinder. The cinder at the first gym she went to, not old but worn down and chipped at from overuse and abuse. She still has a piece of the first cinder block she broke skin on, blood speckling a small corner of it. Another piece from the first one she broke. Her hand throbs at the memory and she flexes it.

Her eyes flicker to her hands. Calluses and scars decorate them. Dents and bumps, spots dark and light. Clenching them, she watches as the skin stretches over bone, more scars seeming to pop out, becoming angrier. It’s a miracle, she supposes that the skin of her hands is still soft.

“You didn’t take your phone.” She doesn’t flinch at the sudden sound of a voice or the body that plops down next to her in the grass. “I needed to breathe.” They huff out a laugh. “Kid. No one is going to tell you not to breathe. We’d actually prefer it.” They nudge her shoulder lightly, teasing, but she doesn’t return it, can’t. Her eyes are still glued to her hands, to the skin she can see, the bones underneath them. They sigh and it feels like a punch to the gut. “What’s going on?” “I fucked up.” Tears are stinging her eyes and it makes her dig her nails into palms, body starting to shake. “I had one chance and I fucking blew it. This is my thing.” She shakes her head. “This is the one thing I have, the one thing I’m good at and I blew my chance.” “You didn’t blow your chance. Ridgle did a dirty move, you got injured. It happens. You’ll recover, you are recovering. You won’t make it this year, but next year? You’re gonna win, kid.” She looks at Jain, tears in her eyes that she still won’t let fall, a quiver to her lip, and her voice so small and high at just fourteen. “Really?” “Really, kid.” Jain smiles, patting her on the shoulder. It makes her nod and she forces herself to take a few breaths, forces the tears away, and then she looks away sheepishly at her feet, at her left foot. “I might’ve split open my big toe again.” Jain lets out a groan, “Dammit kid. Didn’t I just fix that up for you?”

—

She doesn’t want to be here. She knows that, Jain knows that, her parents know it, Amy knows it and she’s sure that the poor driver who was forced to drive her here knows it as well.

Hunkering down in a corner, she drains the glass of whiskey she managed to snag from the bar. The taste makes her nose wrinkle, and the sound of a chuckle makes her tense.

“Strong?” She turns her head, eyebrows furrowed for all of a second before they loosen from her eyes widening. The guy was cute. A little boyish, but she was constantly surrounded by guys that weren’t. It was a lot of weird large muscles, clear scars and repeatedly broken noses, baby fat gone as soon as their balls dropped. Not that she notices any baby fat as she looks closer at his face. “No.” She finally says. “Really weak, watered down, probably.” He huffs out of a laugh. “Wouldn’t think that they’d served watered down drinks, but who knows how they want to save their money.” “If they wanted to save their money, they wouldn’t throw this event.” She scowls. He nods, smile a touch sympathetic now. “Not a fan.” “Not in my job description.” She corrects. “It is a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” She nods fast. “Yes! So ridiculous.”

He smiles at her, extending a hand. “My names Ollie.” “Y/N.” She tells him, shaking his hand. He repeats her name to himself after letting go of her hand. “Want to ditch with me?” She looks at the rest of the large room, eyes lingering on the bar, but she wouldn’t need that if she left. “Absolutely.”

—

“So,” she asks two hours after they’ve left, a shared meal between them. “What sport?” He looks at her amused. “Guess.” Her eyes narrow at him, and she tugs the fries away from him a bit. Cheekiness didn’t get you fries as far as she was concerned. Her fingers lightly tap against the table as she lets her eyes drink his form in.

He was lithe, no heavy, thick, full muscles. But he was muscled, a little bit like a swimmer or a runner, all hidden strength. His build alone ruled out MMA, boxing, and sports like it. Also, the perfect unbroken nose was a dead give away. Maybe football, but he was a little awkward in certain movements that didn’t line up with the few footy players she had been around. He was tall too, which made things even more interesting.

She wondered if somehow he made it into basketball or baseball, primarily American sports, and they had their international players, but she had never heard of a British one.

Her eyes linger on his neck, the muscle was weirdly developed. “You aren’t one of those guys who do the slap competitions, are you?” He laughs, shaking his head. “No.” She hums, “I’ve got no idea. Is it something weird? Something I’ve never heard of?” “Padel. Junior champion.” He tells her with a smile. Her eyes immediately dropped to his hands. “Bullshit.” He laughs again. “Not padel. I’m an F2 driver.” “Ah.” She nods, leaning back in her seat. “That explains the neck.”

—

“Ollie!” She looks behind her at the sound of Jain’s voice. Just barely catching a glimpse of Ollie before she has to straighten back out, she only had a few more minutes of her run to do then her cooldown, she could wait. “Hi, Jain. How are you doing?” “I’m doing good.” They smile at the kid. “She’s keeping me busy of course. How are you, though? Nervous for your next race?” “A little bit. I feel like I haven’t done enough y’know? Hopefully Baku will be better for me.” Jain shakes his head. “You're doing great for a rookie Ollie. I know this one,” they tilt their head towards her. “Is excited to be going with you. Hasn’t shut up about it.” They tease. “I can hear you, Jain.” She says, taking a drink of water as she slows the treadmill down a bit. “And I will kick your ass again.” Ollie stifles a laugh as he watches Jain roll their eyes at the threat, though he doesn’t miss the way her trainer pats at their ribs.

He watches her finish out her workout, trying not to let his eyes linger too much on her, but knows he doesn’t succeed by the way Jain snorts and how she seems to purposely draw out a few stretches.

Reaching into a fridge, Jain tosses a drink at her. “Drink that, shower, and get out of the gym. I will see you both when you're back from Baku and do not go to the gym more than Ollie does. This is your rest period. You go when he goes and don’t push, even with a trainer.” “Got it.” She nods, smiling. “Thank you, Jain.” They smile at her. “Of course, kid. Now have fun both of you and I’ll make sure to watch the races Ollie.” “Thanks, Jain.”

The two watch as the trainer goes to the back part of the gym where an office is. When the door shuts she finally looks at Ollie. “Hi.” He grins at her, eyes getting all crinkly. “Hi.” She wants to dart forward to hug him, kiss him, but she’s all too aware of the sweat covering every inch of her body. Twisting the cap off the drink, she quickly chugs it, not really wanting to taste what’s arguably the worst flavor of all the drinks that Jain makes her drink. Tossing the container in the bin, she gives him a sorry smile. “Let me shower and then we can,” she gestures between their bodies. “Darling,” blood instantly rushes to her cheeks. “I don’t need to wait for you to shower.” And before she can protest, his hands are framing her face and his lips are against hers.

Her eyes instantly flutter close at the contact, sighing into the kiss as her own hands come up to rest just below his wrists. Keeping his hands there despite what she had just said. She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, just soft presses of their lips, but she pulls away when he gives a small lick to her bottom lip.

“Trust me, Ollie, you don’t want that until after I brush my teeth.” The taste of the drink still lingered a bit on her tongue despite how quickly she had downed it. His lips form a pout, but he nods. “Alright. Be quick though? I’ve missed you.” She presses another kiss to his lips. “I’ll be quick.”

—

Ollie crosses the finish line and the whole garage goes nuts, just like it did yesterday, just like it somewhat did when Ollie managed to get pole with bent steering the day before that one.

There are tears in her eyes as she jumps around and screams with everyone at Prema. All of them start heading over to parc fermé and she goes to stay back, but René is pushing her along, passing her to the lead mechanic on Ollie’s car who puts himself between her and the rest of the people behind him as she’s nearly squished against the bars. It’s a sweet gesture, one that would make her laugh if she wasn’t overwhelmed with pride and happiness for Ollie.

She watches as he parks the car, watches as he gets out, watches as he runs over to throw himself into the arms of the mechanics just beside her. Watches as he tries to touch everyone at Prema, as he tries to talk to them but his helmet muffles his voice. Watches when he’s set back down and he notices her. Watches as he immediately starts wrestling with his helmet, yanking it, the neck part she can never remember the name for, and his baklava before he’s got his free hand on her neck and is drawing her in for a kiss.

—

She smiles at Ollie as she walks into the locker room. There’s a bit of worry in his eyes and she knows it's from how she’s got an arm around her ribs, but he also looks proud. “What’d you think?” “It was amazing. I mean, I had never watched any of this before meeting you, but it was so cool. And that kick you did at the end, it looked so easy!” She huffs out a laugh at his excitement, wincing a little at the pulling it does, but she ignores the pain. Jain wasn’t forcing her to sit down and get looked at yet, which meant she had just enough time to do this: extending her free arm, her fingers clutch at Ollie’s shirt, pulling him forward and down a bit to press their lips together.

“Congrats on winning.” He murmurs against her lips after a moment, the both of them just taking the moment. Blood rushes to her cheeks at the soft murmur. “Thank you for coming.” “Anytime I can, I’ll be here.” He tells her, echoing her words from Baku.

—

Her hands are clasped together, tucked under her chin as she watches the screens, her brows occasionally pressing together as she watches the cars go around. Feeling a small ache in her right foot, she shifts her weight only to gasp out in pain.

“Fuck.” She breathes. The man standing next to her tears his eyes away from the screen, and an arm is quickly wrapped around her waist. “Let’s get you sat down somewhere.” She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. I just put too much weight on it.” “Y/N,” he warns. “You need to stay off it. At least let someone get you a chair.” “David, I’ll be okay. Continue watching and I’ll find somewhere to sit.” He gives her a look, hearing the lie, but his eyes are quickly drawn to the car pulling into the garage.

She quickly moves away, wincing with every step and she just knows that when Ollie gets out of the car and is done with his press he’s going to be pissed. Jain was going to be pissed as well when Ollie inevitably tells them.

“Stop.” She halts at the sound of Andrea’s voice. Turning around, she gives Charles’ trainer a smile. “Hi Andrea. Will you still be helping Ollie with his cooldown after quali?” He gives her an unamused look. “I know that your knee is hurting. Now, come.” She wants to protest, but he gives her a look and she follows after him.

Entering Charles’ driver room, she easily hops onto the massage bed, folding her skirt up so the shorts she’s wearing underneath are exposed along with her knees.

He hisses as he looks at her left. “You’ve been putting too much weight on it.” “It’s fine, Andrea. I can’t just rest.” “You can when the muscle needs to heal. And it will heal.” Her jaw clenches and her eyes lock onto the clock in the room. “It will.” She gives him that, just like she gave the doctors, Ollie, and Jain. “But will it go back to normal? Not be weakened?” She shrugs. “Who knows? I just know that I got distracted during a match and nearly blew out my knee. So much for another Olympic medal. My career is over.” He scoffs, opening a jar of ointment. “Your career is not over, far from it. There are still months before the Olympics as well. You are young, just nineteen. You heal quicker, you just need to give your body time to rest, to heal. You can’t stand for so long or workout and train as you normally would. It needs time to recover.” She winces as he starts applying the cream. “I can’t though. It’s the Olympics. All I’m supposed to be doing is training and now I can’t. That lack of training could cost me.” “And training now will cost you a knee. It nearly blew out, but didn’t. You continue like this, it will and then your career will be over.”

“You have to take it easy.” He stresses after a few minutes of just silence in the room, finally done with the ointment and gentle massage to it. “I know Jain has told you that. Your doctors, Ollie. And I know that maybe my opinion doesn’t matter much.” She looks at him for the first time since entering the room with a scoff, frowning as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. “Of course it matters.” “Then listen.” He takes her hands in his, grateful that he wiped them with a towel already. “You will recover from this, heal from this, and you will be stronger because of it.” She shakes her head, tears falling and the words that have been building up inside of her since her injury happened come spilling out. “I’m scared, Andrea. This is nothing like my last injury. And I thought my career was over then. This is so much worse and Ollie,” she sobs. “Ollie has so much to worry about, the car wasn’t good last weekend and now he’s in an F1 car, in a Ferrari, I can’t add more to him. I don’t know what to do without Judo. Without the competitions, the training. I’ve been doing this since I was two. I don’t know anything else.” “And you don’t have to worry about knowing anything else. Not for nearly ten years. But think about it like this, while you rest, you think about your future. You think about your five year, ten year plans. You try some new things. You talk to Ollie and Jain. Because I know that you haven’t talked to them either.” She nods, sniffling as she wipes away her tears. “Okay.” She whispers. “Good.” He nods, before wrapping her up in a hug.

“Now, I’m going to get you a chair and you are going to sit in it and watch the rest of quali in it, yes?” “Yes.”

—

“Congrats on your first F1 points, baby.” She murmurs to Ollie hours after the race, finally back at their hotel room after the celebrations that had occurred and the team debriefs. He beams at her. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, I just didn’t want to damage the car, just wanted to bring it home.” She laughs, “well, you more than brought it home.”

Lopping her arms around his neck, she kisses him. “I’m so happy for you.” “I’m really happy too. And I’m happy you could be here, I know that you would have missed it due to training.” She shakes her head, “even if it wasn’t for my knee, I would’ve canceled my training sessions for this, hopped on the first flight. I couldn’t miss this. I didn’t miss any of your FP1 sessions last season. I wouldn’t miss this.” He smiles at her, “I’m just happy that I already cleared it with Prema for Spa, that I can leave immediately after quali. I have to see you win your second Olympic medal.” Her smile flatters a bit at the thought of the Olympics. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I wasn’t going to tonight, but do you mind?” He shakes his head and he sits down on the bed, taking her with him. “Of course not. What’s going on?”

Her lips thin and the words that she had managed to say to Andrea feel trapped in her throat. But she forces them out. “I haven’t been okay since my knee got fucked up. And I know you noticed.” It was impossible to not notice the way he’d worriedly look at her. “Just like you noticed that none of the swelling has gone down.” “It really hasn’t.” His hand gently rests on her thigh, squeezing the muscle. “Is something wrong? I mean more wrong?” She shakes her head. “I uh, I got in my head, that I fucked it all up.” She lets out a laugh and she hates that tears are coming to her eyes. Hadn’t she cried enough yesterday about this? “I was pretty sure that I ruined my career and uh,” she struggles with the next part. “I didn’t take it easy like I was supposed to. I’ve still been doing some training and I haven’t been resting like I should. And I didn’t talk to you or Jain about it, like I should’ve. I just spiraled, really quickly.” “Darling, your career isn’t over.” “I know.” She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. Because she did know after talking with Andrea and talking to her doctors while Ollie did his debriefs and race prep.

“I know that now.” She corrects, wiping at her face. “Andrea talked to me, talked me out of my head.” “Good, because you’ve still got championships and medals to earn. You aren’t done.” “Yeah. I talked with my doctors too, I’m gonna talk to Jain tomorrow and I’m going to listen to them when they tell me what to do. Because I’m not ready for it to be over. But that does mean I’m looking at about four weeks of rest and recovery.” He lets out a whistle, thumb rubbing circles on her fabric cladded thigh. “That’s gonna drive you nuts.” She laughs, “it really will. And I was wondering if I could come with you to races.” His eyes widened, thumb stopping its motions. “What?” “Andrea told me that I should think about my five and ten year plans with this time I’ll have resting. And I already know that you're in those plans. And I know that I can’t do Judo for another ten years, not at this level at least. And if I get another knee injury to my left one, maybe I’ll get five years. And I know you want to be in F1 in ten years, still be in F1.” “I do.” The words are quiet, nearly drowned out by the sound of his heart pounding inside his chest. “I want to be part of this with you, Ollie. Every part. The bad races, the good ones, the ones that make you happy, sad, angry. I want them all and this could be the start of that.”

There’s a lump in his throat that he struggles to swallow around, because this was like one of his dreams. Her wanting that with him, seeing that with him. Wanting F1 for him.

“I want that too.” He tells her. “I want you with me. But not at the cost of your career, never at the cost of it. I know we already talked about it when we got together about having to miss events and maybe championships because of careers, and that still stands. Even after you're done with this level of Judo. That will never change, even if you change careers.” His words are rushed as he makes sure she knows that he doesn’t expect her to completely just become a WAG when she’s finished. She stares at him, his expression earnest, and she doesn’t know what to say, how to say all of that back, so instead she says, “I love you.” His whole face brightens, “I love you too.”

—

“This fucking sucks.” She lets out a laugh, “Ollie, it’s okay.” “You are at the Olympics! The Olympics! And I can’t be there because of debriefing after quali. Fucking Ferrari.” He curses and she can just see him kicking at the ground. “There’s always the next Olympics in 2028. And you can’t miss debrief. Not for Spa.” A shiver runs up her spine at the thought of that track. “I know. It’s just I was supposed to be there, Prema approved it. Was even willing to push it completely to the next day, so I could be there for you. And now I can’t.” Her heart constricts a little, because she had been thrilled when Prema originally gave the go ahead for Ollie to potentially leave debrief early so he could see her at the Olympics. But F1 was a different beast and Ferrari was stricter. They wanted to see her win her second gold medal, wanted to support her, but they couldn’t let their surprise rookie driver miss the debrief to do it. “Fred already said that you guys would pause the debrief to watch it live. Really, you're just lucky that my group is going last, otherwise you’d be paying fines for missing press.” “Be worth it.” He mutters.

It’s silent between them, only the sound of slightly staticky breathing being heard.

“Why did Carlos have to get an infection?” She snorts, hand going up to cover her mouth, nearly dropping her phone from surprise. “What?” “Well, if Carlos had never gotten that stupid infection, he would have been back in the car by Australia or Japan and I’d be able to see you in person.” “Alternatively, you could have not performed so well and then when Canada came around they would have given him the seat, instead of keeping you in it.” He fake gasps. “Are you saying I should have performed badly?” She nods even though he can’t see it. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. But, no you just had to show and prove that you were worthy of the Ferrari seat. What is it now that you have? Four podiums, one sprint win, two sprint podiums, oh and of course your 166 points.” It’s quiet for a moment. “I love you so much.” She giggles. “I keep track.” “So, do I.” he retorts. “you‘ve got,” he starts, but she cuts him off. “No. We are not doing that. We both need to sleep. I’ve got the Olympics and you have quali.” He sighs, “yeah. I’ll be watching when I can. And I’m sorry I won’t see you win.” Blood rushes to her face at his confidence in her. “It’s fine, baby. And I’ll try to watch what I can of FP3 and qualifying. You’re gonna do amazing. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?” “Of course. I love you.” “I love you too.”

—

“Y/N Y/L/N wins her second Olympic gold medal!” She stands proudly with it around her neck, her country flag wrapped around her as she cries tears of joy, a beaming smile on her face. She can see Jain clapping their hands together so hard it must hurt, and that just makes her smile more.

Her eyes look around the whole venue filled with people, she looks at her fellow gold medalists, the silver and bronze. It was unbelievable just like the first time.

She listens closely as the ceremony comes to a close, and as soon as she can, she darts over to Jain, wrapping them in a hug as she cries in their chest. “We did it!” She cheers. “You did it, kid! Two gold medals!” Jain laughs, squeezing her tight before letting her go and spinning her around. She makes a confused noise, nearly falling over, but she’s caught. Caught by an all too familiar pair of arms.

“Ollie!” She gasps. He beams at her. “You won! I got to see you win!” “But, I mean, I thought,” He laughs, “I lied. Ferrari agreed as long as I did my debrief on the flight here, I just have to pay a fine for missing press.” “Oh my god.” She stares at him for a few more seconds before kissing him, his arms wrapping around her waist in the process and lifting her off her feet.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You were amazing, just amazing.” He whispers, when they break apart for air. She smiles at him, tracing a line down his cheek. “I’m just happy you're here.”

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