#who needs a good car when your driver is a god on track anyway

[norafaye]

max verstappen x fem!reader

⟢ summary. max wasn’t doing a very good job at being an attentive boyfriend, always busy and not paying you any mind, so when you voice your dismay he gives you exactly what you want.

⟢ contains. slight angst, nsfw, smut : unprotected séx, côckwarming ♡, softdom!max, crybaby!reader, he’s stubborn and mean asf (madmax hehe), you ride him in his gaming chair, dirty talk, creampie, begging, mention of alcohol consumption, usage of petnames (e.g. baby, sweetheart, love), wc : 6.4k

nora's ☆ note. peek-a-boo! srry for being gone, this has been in my drafts since jan LMAO. it’s my first time writing something angsty, hopefully it’s up to par w the rest of my writing (o´罒`o) anyway love u all, i’m going through all my work that’s been collecting dust <3

Your feet padded down the endless hallways of the penthouse you currently resided in, searching for Max with a glass of gin in hand. One of his favorites.

The boisterous district of Fontvieille Monaco has gone long quiet as the evening begins to fade in. It was the most treasured part of your day—when the sunset casts over the ocean and how the crowds of people start to diminish slowly one by one. Loud voices and laughter simmering down, back into their homes or into fancy restaurants and bars to enjoy the rest of their night.

Each roll of the blue waves along with the golden disk already beginning to touch the surface ocean water is a view you could never get sick of. The sun slips quickly behind the line of the horizon as it spreads its last rays—stunning hues of oranges and yellows seeping through the windows of your living room, allowing to emit a shadow of your figure on the floor and walls with each step you take as you continue your hunt for your boyfriend.

It is where you feel the utmost of tranquility—the calmness of this environment is a way for you to wind down without having to care for anything else outside of the place you call home, to help wash away any troublesome thoughts. Usually these hours are spent with you and Max watching a movie or making a home cooked meal together. Usually your limbs would be tangled with one another in sacred and intimate ways.

Though this time around, your surroundings don't put you at ease, it doesn’t shake away your worries. In fact, it’s worse than usual.

This current lifestyle by all means, was everything you could ever dream of. You were incredibly lucky to be the partner of someone like Max. The Dutchman who is portrayed and misunderstood as a villain half of the time is actually a gentleman.

Your lover was so genuine and kind, as sweet as the gleam of sun that is currently kissing your skin—the warmth filling your whole body, bringing an overwhelming sense of comfort. It’s the sole reason why you fell in love with him, and you fell hard.

His own love for you is like a garden—blossoming into heavenly flowers within his fast beating heart.

He dotes on you, cares for you when you need it most, like tending to a single daisy amongst a field of grass. Nurturing and watering it with the most fondness, just like he does when kissing you, and god his kisses are to die for. His lips soft against yours like a warm embrace, so tender and delicate, melting into each other's souls. It always felt as if it were the last, as if the world was crumbling beneath the bottom of your feet. Nothing around you mattered, just the two of you in that space sealing in the gap.

He’s a race car driver for crying out loud—bound to be blunt and direct. But the persona he shows to the crowds of people and millions behind a tv screen is only half of who he truly is. Sure he can have a nasty temper at times during the highlights of his career but those were all under heavy stressful circumstances. In no way shape or form has his impatience and anger on track reach you from behind closed doors…until recently.

That familiarity of admiration for you has suddenly turned into rushed and quick pecks on the lips, hugs lasting only a fracture of a second. There wasn’t any long lasting gentleness to those intimate actions anymore, no adoration laced behind them.

This switch in attitude has you dwelling on it in an unhealthy way. Concerns filling your brain as he hardly devoted any time to you recently. Perpetually blowing you off with an “I’m busy.” and other broken promises to make it up to you whenever you’d suggest going out together for the day.

You genuinely didn't mind it at first, you out of everyone understood how important his career was to him. But, he’s constantly conducting business calls, in emergency meetings, or practicing on the race simulator. You were aching for him, in more ways than one.

It’s lonely enough with him having to travel all around the world 12 times a year with an extra addition of other flights for further business matters. And, with your own work you aren’t usually there to accompany him more than you’d wish. So with the rare occasions of him actually having a break with you at home and to have him not pay any attention to you was, without any exaggeration…starting to annoy you.

In contrast to the beautifully painted sky outside your windows showcasing its eternal beauty of lovely colors, your mood was somber and gloomy. Almost like the soon to be night sky beneath a cascade of iridescent stars on the sandy shores of Monaco—the air thick with a cold breeze and scent of salt, the feeling melancholic.

With an intake of a breath through your nose, the tracks of your light footsteps halt when you finally reach the blackwood door that leads into his office you were positive he was in. You make sure to knock three times—an order you mustn't forget, not wanting to walk in on him potentially streaming a game or being in a meeting with his camera on.

Upon hearing a faint, “Come in.” from the other side of the door, you enter the office with caution. Staring into the dreary space, anyone would be aware of how grim it was; pens and papers scattered across his work desk messily, the trophies resting on the display shelf held a sheer layer of dust, and the cold temperature didn't make it any better. The atmosphere alone coerced goosebumps to emerge onto your skin.

Max himself looked disarrayed, sat in the race simulator on the other side of the room. You walk over to stand beside the makeshift car seat to get a better look at him. All the noticeable tell-tale signs didn't go unnoticed by you, he was pushing himself too much. It was really displeasing to see him not taking care of himself. His light brown hair framed his forehead with eye bags digging into his skin, and there was a prominent little line in between his eyebrows—indicating that he’s been focusing for too long.

“Hey, everything okay?” Setting down the cup of gin on the wooden desk concernedly, you pull off his headset and brush your hand through his locks—pushing them back into place. Max doesn’t tear his eyes off the screens of his multiple monitors, barely sparing you a glance or reacting to the contact of your touch like he normally would.

“Hi baby, yeah…yeah ‘m alright,” he mumbles slowly, almost as if he didn’t register what you said.

“I got you a drink.” A frown makes way onto your features when he doesn’t say anything after that, not even acknowledging the alcohol in front of him. With a tilt of your head you wait expectedly, continuing to burn holes on the side of his face—like you were trying to read into his thoughts. “You coming to bed soon? You should get some rest.”

“Mhm…in a bit.”

You didn’t know why you thought the outcome would be anything different. The monotone lack of response from him had you sneering as a combination of anguish and irritation consumed your body. He’s still looking at the screens, an intense focus in his irises—a need to complete the race laps of the simulator even with his headphones off.

You knew then that he’s not honest with his intentions, being dismissive as usual and leading you to the feeling of neglect yet again. Though this time you’ve reached your limit, patience running thin.

Whilst huffing out an annoyed breath you toss the headset into his lap without a care, “Liar.”

That was a terrible mistake.

His reaction was just about immediate, bewildered at your sudden outburst. “What was that?” Max finally turns his head, eyes narrowing to look at you as you saunter off to the door. You intended to just retire into your shared bedroom alone, tears already pooling at your lash line from all the pent-up frustration with your back facing him.

“If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t dare to walk out that door.”

Halting your footsteps, a shiver bolted up your spine, the previous anger briskly replaced with unease. You’d like to think it was from the cool air that was blowing from the vents instead of his bleak words.

“Get back over here,” he spoke assertively, voice low and ominous—like he was disappointed in your unexpected change of mood, making your skin crawl with uncertainty.

It was a dangerous gamble between wanting to defy him or to finally have all of his attention after two weeks. But you knew better than to test his warnings and tolerance especially after hearing that irked tone. Blinking away the unshed tears, you steel yourself to shift your body and face him again.

“Now. Sweetheart, don't make me repeat myself.”

Your breath hitches, this was probably the first time in days where he’s held eye contact intently with you for longer than twenty seconds and it just about has you stumbling over your feet. The icy glare spoke for itself, already irritated with the way you lashed out at him, which is rare coming from you. He’s got a pounding headache and the last thing he wants to deal with is your little attitude.

His mean demeanor nearly made your eyes water again by the time you returned to his side, following his order. Within a split second, Max chucks the headphones to the ground bitterly. The loud clank! it makes when it hits the wooden floor has you jolting out of your skin, his annoyance radiating off of the small scowl on his face and actions.

In swift movements he pulls you down to straddle his lap without a word, a squeak of surprise leaves your lips since you didn’t have time to process what was happening.

The proximity has your heart skipping a beat, a rush of heat spreading throughout your entire body with nervousness. It was slightly cramped in the space between him and the pc steering wheel—leaving you little to no room to breathe, chest brushing against his to not have your back pressed into the metal material.

You felt that familiar ache in your stomach building up from how close he was and how he was holding your waist to keep you steady. It really didn’t take much for you especially since you’ve missed his warmth—his big veiny hands on your body. Your mind begins to whirl already, making you desperate for more right away, it was easy to tell from your quickened breath.

He observes your small frame all but quivering atop of him, dressed solely in one of his t-shirts that was evidently larger on you and a pair of panties peeking from underneath.

“What’s gotten into you huh?” His eyes lingered a while longer on your bare thighs that were scantily covered. He strokes it with his hands lightly, the contact igniting a trail of fire in its wake on your supple skin before his sharp gaze snapped to return to your face, “always interrupting me.”

You can practically hear the erratic rhythm of your heart beating in your ears because of his fierce scrutinizing eyes, and it doesn't benefit you in the slightest when the expensive cologne he knows drives you crazy wafts into your nostrils—making it even harder to concentrate. The air gets thicker by the second around your heated bodies.

“What’s gotten into me?“ You’re muttering under your breath, looking everywhere but his burning stare to try and rein yourself, “Max you…you hardly have time for me anymore.”

He’s a busy man, engrossed and occupied in his job. You get it, you truly do, you understand the fear he must bear of not wanting to be last. Carrying that title of being number one is both a blessing and a curse. It doesn't help that he's his own worst critic, correcting what he thinks he could do better by practicing on the simulator as much as he possibly can—it’s the only thing that occupies his mind.

The amount of pressure he must feel has to be overbearing—all the more for a non-stressful winter break, he’s been losing too much sleep and he couldn’t even bother to mind your concerns. All you wanted was to take care of him in different ways, you’ve tried for days but those days turned into two weeks and you’ve had enough.

One of his hands smooths over your back, humming gruffly while the other jerks your chin to force you to look at him with a firm grip so you don't pull away, “Y’know I have to be on top of my work right?”

“Yes! Of course I do but—“

“I’m doing this for us.” He then takes both of his palms, dragging them down your sides tantalizingly to grasp your hips. Max kneads the flesh briefly before guiding you with a secure hold to have your clothed heat rub at his crotch that's already flinching, growing hard underneath you. He does so almost mockingly, knowing just what you want and eliciting a shocked choked gasp from you, “working so I could get you the things you want.”

Your small hands went to hold onto his broad shoulders at the unexpected friction, it was getting tougher to keep yourself grounded—body trembling with the effort to stay in check, to stop yourself from grinding down on him greedily like you so desperately wanted.

“Max,” your face is sullen as you speak just above a whisper, he was mere inches away, so close you can almost taste him. You could just…lean forward a bit, claim his lips and have him again, “I don’t care about that, I just want to spend—“

“Time with me.” He interrupts again, stealing the rest of the sentence out of your mouth like he’s heard it a hundred times before and you can't seem to get snarky with him at the moment because of the way he was gradually rolling your groin against his. A rush of butterflies stirs in your tummy from the staggering sensation.

Max reaches under the hem of his baggy shirt that's draped over you with an exasperated exhale, his touch ticklish as his fingers dance along the soft skin near the band of your underwear. You can start to feel your body seeking more of his attention, so close to being obtainable you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

“Is that it? Fine. If that’s the case, then you’re going to sit still.”

His words pique your interest at once that you seem to ignore his condescending behavior—content with just getting to be in his presence again.

He takes notice of your tongue peeking out to wet your lips in expectancy, earning a flicker of amusement on his features before quickly masking it back with a stoic expression. You can feel him trail lower and lower until the tips of his fingers reach your sensitive bud to circle it delicately over your panties, almost feather-light to tease you. The response from your body was instant, mewling and arching your back. Your clothed breasts were now flush against his chest, allowing more warmth to exchange between the two of you.

“All you wanted was to get your little pussy wet huh?” He lets out a scoffing chuckle, making a wave of humiliation wash over you from the way he puts it. You shake your head in denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that you are in fact sexually frustrated.

“N-Ngh! No!” But he can see right through your miserable bluff, especially with your heavy puffs of breath and stammering.

You were utterly touch-starved that your underwear was already dampening under his touch with your growing arousal. All from just sitting on his lap and light traces of contact.

“No? Then why are you soaking my fingers right now?” A sense of pride always filled his body knowing the affect he had on you, to have you heat up and slip into that sweet headspace with just a few ministrations. “Aww my sweet baby, you just needed a bit of my attention? Is that it?”

Max continues to work you up with a lazy smirk on his lips, watching you closely for each little face twisting reaction, “answer me sweetheart.” He lightly taps at your clit, another chuckle almost slipping from his throat when you sit up straighter because of it.

“Yes Max, I…want you.” Your voice comes out a bit whiny than you intended but you don’t seem to care because of the way your brain is clouding, craving more without question.

“There’s my good girl.”

With your lower lip sucked between your teeth you brace yourself for more, blood pumping with excitement. He was finally going to fuck you like you’ve been wanting for days, right?

Wrong.

What you didn’t expect was to be fully naked, straddling his cock whilst he ignored you.

Dumbfounded was an understatement.

As you watch the clock on the other side of the office—perched on top of the door behind him, your sanity quickly dissolves with each passing tick. It took you about ten minutes to realize the vast amount of self-control he held. So while you were sitting on his lap, firm length sheathed deeply inside you—Max simply returned to the simulator, superbly content with this proposal. You on the other hand, couldn’t stop the tremor of your thighs.

Breaking the tense silence with an unsatisfied grumble, you wrap your arms around his neck in hopes to get more direct contact of his skin on yours. Your frame was taut and rigid above him, trying your damn hardest to not make any sudden movements like he ordered.

Being able to finally feel him again like this but not allowed to do anything about it has you on edge, you eagerly wanted—no needed some sort of relief. So with much contemplation your movements get bolder with a grind of your hips, though it only makes him give you a stern look in exchange, enough for you to force into a stop at once.

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, giving a light smack on your plush ass as a warning. “Stop fuckin’ moving,” he hisses through gritted teeth, still annoyed with you and it had your heart aching uncomfortably.

You should be the one that was upset but you felt so vulnerable and deprived, especially with him still being fully clothed, his shorts and briefs pushed down just enough to free his cock making you feel all the more exposed and in the mercy of his hands. You so miserably needed more of him, all of him.

“Max please,” you can’t help but beg now, knowing that it’ll usually weaken his resolve with that angelic voice of yours, “I can’t.”

It doesn't seem to deter him though. A sense of disappointment engulfs you, he was so hellbent on teaching you a lesson that you know you don't even deserve.

“You can and you will. What happened to being my good girl?” His hands never leave the steering wheel behind you and his voice, not even in the slightest—doesn’t waver whenever he speaks, practically like he was unaffected with your warm wet cunt wrapped around him, “besides, isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t make me punish you.”

He’s mocking you. You can almost see his lips quirking up into a smile as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck with no retaliation afterward, so eager to please him.

The only thing you can possibly do was snuggle closer for the little bit of warmth his clothed body can radiate in the cold office and listen to the loud roar of V6 engines coming from the game. With tightly shut eyes, you try to think of something to distract you but nothing works as your mind parades itself from the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix, stuffed full.

This was already punishing enough, none of this was painful oh no—it was the complete opposite. But, the pleasure rising up and not having your desires fulfilled was tearing you apart. It was borderline torture.

The stretch makes slick from your pussy drool on his girth, a mess pooling straight down his balls and whenever he would move his feet on the pedals of the simulator—his thigh jumps, making you shift on his lap and bounce ever so slightly on his shaft. It has you whining against his ear like a bitch in heat.

Max’s eyes burn into the screen of his pc after perceiving the sound of your soft whimper and whines against his ear, breath tickling his skin and making it prick up. He always loved any noises that he could pull from you, his possessiveness and ego feeds off it. He's transfixed—entranced by how sweet it sounds. He can’t lie, he did miss you. Missed having you close like this, desperate and easily acquiescent for him, your soft voice all breathless and needy.

Just the feeling and connection of you.

He clenched his jaw when your velvet walls fluttered around him, his own self-control was close to snapping. But being an asshole just to spite you seemed more pleasing, he purposely moved his legs more forcefully on the pedals to elicit more of those pretty little cries of pleasure.

Though he completely freezes up the moment he hears you sniffling against his neck, hot tears hitting his shirt seconds after.

Max knows he's been a shit boyfriend but he's too prideful to admit it, so frustrated and harsh while his sole center of attention was on how to be better, better, better with his work that he seemed to forget your own needs. He’s conflicted at the moment as he thinks about it, infuriated at himself for taking it out on you.

You were trying so hard for him, to be his good girl that you always were despite your own discontentment and bitterness to his treatment towards you. You didn’t want to upset him any further even if this was his own doing, it made both his heart stammer and his cock twitch from how kind you are to him. He didn't deserve you.

When you feel that certain jerk inside of you, your one track mind really couldn't stop your lips from speaking once more through your small sniffles. “P-Please Max,” you attempt again with hesitation, lip bitten raw from your constant chewing, “I can’t take this much longer.”

His self-restraint finally snaps.

Your ears perk and pick up the sound of him sipping, completely downing the glass of alcohol that was disregarded earlier in one go. He hisses harshly after the burn cascades down his throat with each gulp and then leans forward, muscles flexing slightly as he places the now empty cup on the desk with a soft clunk before turning off the gaming system.

The unexpected silence causes your stomach to twist in a knot, no longer capable of hearing the thunderous engines of formula one cars—just his ragged breathing and ticking of the clock.

Anticipation nags in the back of your mind, a hundred things running all at once while you sit there pliantly and unmoving, silent tears cascading down your face.

You can't help but think that you’ve surely done it this time, you’ve pissed him off now haven’t you?

“So ungrateful for all the things I give you, hm?” He eventually speaks amidst the strained quietness. The words he utters out didn’t hold any actual malice, voice softer now. His anger giving away to more vulnerability as his hands went to pry your face away from his neck, holding it in his palms gently.

It ached to see you hurt, the pain in your features mirrored in his own heart. His hands trembled subtly while he cradled your soft cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears that fell—trying to comfort and soothe you, “always complaining.”

You lean further back slightly to get a better view of his features, seeing a mixture of emotions swirling in his irises.

Pity. Sadness. Longing.

You could feel it with the way he held you with care, you could feel it in the air—through his soft breath against your skin. Your own heart tugs a bit when you realize that he was feeling guilty. Guilty for doing this to you, for mistreating you.

“I miss you.” You hiccup whilst his thumbs continue their calming motions on the apple of your cheeks.

He focuses on your pretty face stained with wet tears before brushing some loose strands of hair framing your face, tucking it behind your ear and he couldn’t help but marvel at how cute you looked. You were nuzzled into his hands like a kicked little puppy—doe glassy eyes staring into his own.

Max lets out a shaky breath out his nose when a pout adorns your pretty pink lips, he wants to kiss it away, hear those moans you’d make against him. But first, he really needs to apologize for his negligence.

He coos at your broken voice, torn between his self pity and yearning for your presence even if he didn't deserve the slightest bit of your leniency, “‘m right here baby.” His chest continues to sting as your tears increase, the weight of his words hitting you harder than he expected.

He knows that his reassurance has touched a nerve, that you've been longing to hear those words for days. That he was never really gone, he still cared for you the same, just too stubborn about his own emotions. While keeping his tender hold on your face, his gaze never leaves your watery eyes. He wants you to feel his unwavering love, a necessity to put your mind at ease, “let me kiss you, can I?”

A soft hum coming from your throat and a small nod is enough confirmation for him to pull you into a fulfilling gentle kiss, one that you were familiar with, the kind that you yearned for so severely. The adoration was felt again as he put much effort and devotion behind it. It felt so good being cherished like this again.

With a pleased sigh passing through you, Max tilts his head—removing one of his hands from your face to hold your nape, intending to deepen the kiss even further. He takes the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips when you part your mouth.

The taste buds on your own wet muscle begin to flood with the flavor of bitter alcohol as it dances and tangles along with his. It was all so, so intoxicating. And he revels at how your lips always manage to be plump and soft, as tasty as he remembered. He mutters against them gently yet firm as he speaks, trying to convey his conflicted feelings, “so sorry my love, ‘m so sorry.”

He places a few chaste kisses on you before pulling away slightly so he can stare up at you for a moment, his pupils tracing every inch of your naked body. He can't get over how beautiful you look with desire and need whirling in your eyes. His heart stutters again with so much regret when you sniffle and hug his shoulders, pressing closer like you were trying to meld into one.

A small glimmer of light breaks through the storm of emotions when the sound of a sheepish giggle comes from your mouth. The lighthearted noise that he’s grown to love over the years of knowing you filling the tense air. Your saccharine voice overflows his ears with words of forgiveness, too compassionate for your own good. He muses at the fact that even through the stressful and pressuring times—the neglect, you were always there to welcome him with open arms.

Max rids the confines of fabric still clinging to his body with a sense of urgency, like a man on a mission to make it up to you. He tosses them to join the pile of your clothes forgotten somewhere on the floor before returning his mouth on you, this time on the column of your neck, peppering it. Starved and parched for you, just as much as you were for him.

His kisses are hot and wet, tongue lapping at your skin while his hands wander over your chest. He can feel you responding to his touches once more, pulse quickening just beneath his fingertips, your breathing coming out in faint gasps.

Small “I love you’s.” tumble from him like a mantra without stopping his focus on your skin. The once pained expression on your face now changed into an alluring one within ticks—cheeks flushed, eyes blown wide, and mouth slightly parted from all the attention.

It only fueled his hunger even more, growing impossibly harder inside of your pussy. “So fuckin’ pretty, I could stare at you like this forever.” His lips work their way up to your ear, licking the shell of it provokingly, the action has the hair on your arms standing stiffly. Max’s voice was direct and rough as he whispers, “fuck yourself onto me, go on baby you can move for me now.”

It's like a fire switch has gone off in your brain. At last, you lift yourself up until his flushed pink tip peeks out to the point of almost slipping out and slowly sink back down. Both of your mouths fall open to let out a low satisfied moan in unison. Your eyelids flutter, half-lidded now, barely being kept open with furrowed brows as you gape back at him.

“Haah!—“ your breath gets caught in your throat as he braces his feet on the floor and plunges his hips up to meet yours when you lift yourself again, stuffing his fat cock into your soaking heat in one instantaneous push. Your small hands claw on his shoulders in surprise, leaving red scratch marks on his pale skin.

“Breathe for me baby…yeahhhhh just like that. I can see you dripping for me, my needy girl look at you—so fuckin’ wet,” he bites his lip to stifle the guttural moan that threatened to slip at the sight before his eyes, “Missed you so much too—shit.”

He continues to run his filthy mouth with a vein protruding his neck and stills his hips so you can set your own pace, your walls shuddering around him in response to his all of his words. Whilst you repeat the same action again and again, you’re already not able to formulate a single thought from the mind numbing sensations. Just mentally saturated at being filled to the hilt over and over and over.

“F-fuuuuuck, so good Max—feels so good!”

“That’s it, just focus on feeling good, ‘m here s’okay. You have me now.” He devours your mouth once more, this time with great fervor—his tongue exploring every inch of the wet cavern more hastily, tasting every bit of what you can give.

He swallows each and every little sound coming from you, every whimper and whine because of each drag of his length, feeling it reverberating through his mouth down to his chest—now full of warmth and contentment.

Max’s hands on your breasts continue to squeeze, fondling your mounds until his calloused fingers pinches and rolls your nipples between them to pebble up in the cool air, adding a jolt of pleasure in the mix. The feeling of you taking him inside, the sounds of your sweet gasps—it drives him insane. He groans deeply, breaking the kiss to have his head fall back against the chair.

You’re fucking him so good all of his tension and worries are melting away from each roll of your hips. Maybe a little too good that he’s biting the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from ramming into you like a madman.

"Keep using me however you want sweetheart, don’t stop ‘till you're satisfied,” he mutters, ragged and hoarse.

You can hardly focus, it was too much for you to endure. All you can make out is how good he feels, how his mushroom head hits that spongy spot with the way you’re taking him in so deep at this angle. This is everything you've ached for, so it’s no surprise how easily you’re falling apart so early on along with him. So overly sensitive and responsive to each stroke of his stiff cock, being able to feel every ridge and vein.

The observation of him splitting you open was incredibly arousing to gawk at. Strings of slick connects where the two of you continuously meet, hot and sticky with a translucent white painting the base of his length as you continue to cream around him.

He swears he feels like he’s floating, going absolutely delirious, and it’s obvious with the way he wouldn’t shut his mouth. Max always gets this way from the taste and feel of you, it’s like his mind couldn't fathom anything else around him.

“You're so good baby, so good for me," he praised, palms going to grip at your hips tightly. He’s clutching you so securely as if he can't bear to let go, leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips from his blunt nails. "You love this, you love being filled up by me, don't you?"

“Y-Yes, Max," you moan out needily, your own fingers digging into his shoulders, "I love it so much. Mnnh—so big.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he tries to hold back, to prolong the need to just pound into you, his breath coming in ragged, shallow pants. The sound of wet plaps! from skin slapping against each other fills the office walls when you move a little faster—air thickening around you further with the smell of sex. His brain clouds, losing himself in the pleasure you bring upon him. He can feel his willpower slowly giving way to his desire and need for you, but he wants you to have this.

The view of you riding him and your sweet whimpers was making it harder for him to control himself. He shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw to focus on not coming so quickly, “You're so tight, so perfect. Can’t even fuckin’—hah! Can hardly think straight.”

He makes it a point to hold out for you, so you can come at the same time just how he always likes. But you whine and suddenly stop, legs starting to strain. The vulgarity of his words, the sensations, it was all getting too overwhelming.

Max groans at the loss of pleasure, reopening his eyes to look at your flushed disheartened face, “What's wrong baby?”

“Need you,“ you whine frustratedly and press your forehead against his, swapping breaths as you both pant, “I can’t…”

"Need my help?" He grabs your hands to place it behind you so you can grasp at the steering wheel, this allows you more leverage and support to slam down onto him, “Lean back and hold onto this sweetheart, hold on tightly.”

For extra measure he snakes a strong arm around your back, holding your waist sturdily as he helps guide you to fucking him more harshly now.

“Oh f-fuck! You’re s-so deep!” You tip your head back, bearing your hickey covered neck to him. He almost came from the sight alone, a low groan bullying it’s way out of his mouth.

“Yeah? That’s better isn’t it baby?” He asks softly but there’s a clear hint of teasing, a playful mocking in his tone. Though his voice is finally starting to waver, all of it sends him into overdrive as he draws close to bursting at the seams. His fingers from his free hand tease the skin of your inner thigh, making your hips stutter slightly. “Oooh, s-shit just felt you squeeze around me, you like that?”

“No teasing Max,” you whine and cinch your brows together, looking back at him with a small scowl but it looks more of a pout in his eyes, “touch me please.”

“Demanding now are we?” Deciding to not be mean anymore than he already has been tonight because of how precious you looked—he licks the calloused pad of his thumb and presses it harshly against your clit, neglected and swollen. He circles it, spreading his spit and your wetness slowly. You shriek at the added stimulation and grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white.

“My good girl, my everything, all I ever need.” He’s babbling again when your pussy clamps down on him at the praise. Both of your brains seemingly go fuzzy yet in tune with one another, only thinking of one thing and it’s that sweet release.

With each moan from you, a sharp groan and grunt comes from him. His own hips begin to move with you again, no longer capable of keeping still, his thrusts matching each lift of your body. The pleasure builds and builds, becoming almost unbearable.

“So. Fucking. Good.” He punctuated his words with each buck, becoming more sloppy as time goes on—hanging so dangerously close to the edge. And he knew that you were almost there too, he could feel it in the way you were moving against him desperately, clenching and shaking around him. "You're close, aren't you, baby?"

Incoherent babbles of yes's and pleas were all you can respond with. Each drive of his hips were now constricted because of how hard you squeezed around him, your walls pulsing like a vice as your body goes taut.

He didn't stop, couldn't stop, he needed you too badly, needed to feel you as you fell apart for him, all because of him. His thumb rubs more vigorously against your bundle of nerves to heighten the pressure in your core, ready to burst at any given moment.

“Y-Yeah I know I'm right there with you, come on baby,” he urges and leans forward, licking and speaking against your ear, knowing that it’ll drive you even closer to your peak, “I want you to come for me–come with me.��

Your vision begins to blur, nerves on fire as you can only focus on the blissful pleasure. The moans coming out of you now louder and more high-pitched as you chase for your orgasm. He angles his hips and snaps up into you harder, now hitting your sweet spot more incessantly. You suddenly go quiet, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you come around him in a silent scream.

“Holy shit, gooooood fucking girl,” his concentration switches to pure ecstasy when he watches you shake atop of him, he can feel everything—every muscle and contraction around him, it was enough for the heat burning in his abdomen to explode along with you. The base of his cock throbs as spurts of cum shoots inside of you while a guttural moan rumbles deep within his throat.

His thrusts begin faltering as he tries to coax the most of your orgasm out of you, pushing his cum further into you as much as he can until the fat head of his now flaccid cock burns in overstimulation.

You collapse onto his chest blissed out and limp when you finally come down from your high. Completely fulfilled again as he hugs you to his sticky body, not caring to pull out, keeping you plugged full of his cum. His chest heaves against your head, rising and falling almost like a soothing lullaby, sitting there and just listening to each others heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry again my love,” he speaks after a while of calming quiteness.

“Shhh don’t talk about it anymore,” you chide playfully, resting your chin on his chest to stare up at him, “just don’t ignore me like that again.”

“Oh I don’t plan on it.”

The familiarity of your bond re-emerges. The tension and hurt from earlier is entirely gone, replaced by a sense of comfort and ease with you lax in his arms. His eyes drinks in the sight of you with a content smile plastered on his face. He’ll have to book a getaway for the rest of his winter break and take you over and over to make up for lost time.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost.

[totohasitprintedout]

How I imagine things went at redbull before Las Vegas-

Christian: okay so did you guys remember to pack the correct rear wing?

Mechanic 1: uhhh-

Mechanic 2: well-

Mechanic 3: look at this cool M4X WDC merch that just arrived

Christian: ...

Christian: ...

Christian: ...

Christian: ✨ omg so cute let's try them on ✨

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Kinktober - Day 2

2nd — choking, Lewis Hamilton

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Cat and mouse. You’d spent your life running from Lewis, all while trying to catch up with him, consider him both some sort of your admiration, an idol, no less but at the same time all you want to do is to beat him up, to be the only one beside Michael Schumacher to match up with him, 7 titles. You did try to put him in the back of your mind, but he was everywhere you went. He is still there on the track, fighting neck to neck with you every weekend. He is there during the drivers’ parade, in the debriefing room, in Monaco, he is even your neighbour. And you hated it, you hated him for having haunted you in your sleep, your mind, even your body almost every second you were awake or asleep. But how can you stop it? You can’t. Not when it comes to Lewis Hamilton anyway. Instead, you have a big fat crush on him. 

You’ve felt it for a while now, this strange tension. It’s always been there, bubbling beneath the surface whenever you’re near him. The world sees your rivalry, two fierce competitors battling it out for glory on the track, but they don’t see the real war—the one that takes place inside you every single day. You despise him, don’t you? Or at least, you try to. But there’s something magnetic about him, something you can’t shake. You tell yourself it’s just the competition, that burning desire to be better, to prove that you’re the one who belongs at the top. And yet, it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s the way he carries himself, the confidence in his every move, every word. He doesn’t just race to win—he is the race, the man who’s conquered everything in his path, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t ignore that. You’re used to pressure, to the heat of the moment, to the roar of engines and the sting of sweat in your eyes as you push yourself harder, faster, always looking for that apex. But when it comes to him—Lewis—it’s different. The pressure comes from inside, twisting in your gut, tightening in your chest. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, a need you can’t quite name. Every glance across the paddock, every shared moment in front of the cameras or behind closed doors feels like an unspoken challenge. And God, you hate it. You hate that he gets to you in ways no one else can. But underneath the frustration, there’s something else—something darker, something that pulls at you in the quiet moments when no one’s looking. 

At least that’s what you thought. You thought all your glances were discreet, but he noticed it all.  The way your eyes lingered just a little too long when he entered the room. The soft smile that played on your lips when you thought no one was looking. Even the moments when you'd glance away quickly, your pulse quickening, pretending to focus on something else. He saw it all, every flicker of interest, every moment of hesitation. You didn't realize how often his eyes found you, how he'd quietly observe the subtle shift in your expression when your gazes accidentally met. He never said anything. Just let it unfold in silence, a game only he seemed to be playing. 

Back to now, you had your hands on your steering wheels, eyes locked onto the track waiting for 5 red lights to go out. There were 5 races left. It is the United States Grand Prix. You knew this was going to be a difficult race but you knew your team was going to get you through the race quickly and safely. Everything felt super surreal to you at the moment. You were ready. You knew this race was going to be a good one. You felt it in your bones. All of a sudden it was “lights out and away we go!”. Everything was going well until lap 49. You and Lewis had been battling all race long. Suddenly,  your car was hit from the left side and the next thing you know, you and Lewis were all done for the race, with no points at all. you’re both fuming when you head back to the paddock, Lewis comes to your driver’s room and knocks on the door, which you assume that it’s someone from your team looking for you so you open the door

“What the hell do you want?” you scowl at him. 

“An apology would be better, Lewis says, pushing his way into your room while you scoff at him, shutting the door behind you. 

“An apology for what? I assume it is you who owes me an apology.” 

“You fucked up my race, you took both of us out.”

“Me?! you crashed into me!” 

you go back and forth like that for a couple of minutes before your back is slammed against the wall

“God do you ever shut up?” Lewis asks

“Make me then,” you say.

Neither of you could deny the sexual tension between the two of you that had been growing more and more with each race weekend. So when your lips crashed onto one another, neither of you were surprised. You can practically feel the tension still radiating from his body; his muscles taught and flexing, rippling underneath his skin where it was flush against yours. Barley a minute Lewis is now shoving you against the wall. 

"You drive me crazy... " He whispers huskily in your ear as his hands slowly trail down your backside, gripping you tightly. Lewis then picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist, carrying you over to the couch, where he gently lays you down.

He crawls over you on the couch, his muscular body pinning you down. Lewis's intense green eyes bore into yours, filled with lust and barely contained desire. “You've been teasing me all season, haven't you?” His voice is low and gravelly as he grinds his hips against yours.

His hands slide under your racing suit, caressing the soft skin of your thighs. Lewis leans down, his lips brushing against your neck as he inhales your scent. “God, you smell incredible…” He places hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

Lewis's hands roam your body possessively as he kisses you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. He groans into the kiss, his hardening length pressing insistently against your core through the thin fabric of your racing suit. “I want you so badly..”

“Then have me.” You whisper back while your fingers gripping onto his broad back. 

With a growl, Lewis shreds your racing suit, baring your skin to his touch. He rains kisses all over your body, his hands mapping out every curve and contour. When he finally settles between your thighs, he looks up at you with fire in his eyes. “You're mine.”

“I think I have already been yours since before I knew it.”

Lewis's expression softens briefly before a hungry grin spreads across his face. He leans down and kisses you slowly, sensually, as he slowly enters you. He pauses to allow you to adjust before beginning to move, his hips rolling in a rhythm that drives you both wild. “Say it again…”

“I’m yours, Lewis. As long as you have me.”

With a satisfied groan, Lewis buries himself deep inside you, his movements becoming more frantic as he loses himself in the feeling of being reunited with you. He captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounds into you. 

“Mine... You're mine…”

You feel a surge of emotion wash over you as you realize that despite the tension between you and Lewis on the track, he still considers you are his. The passion between you intensifies, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer.

“No one else fucks you this good, isn’t that right baby?” Lewis whispers darkly against your ear.

You attempt to sound an answer to his question, but all that ends up leaving your mouth is a pathetic mewl as he fucks you even harder, slamming into you. 

One of his hands then snakes to your front, gliding up your body until his fingers wrap around your throat. His eyes are dark with an intense lust, a slight anger that you’d probably find frightening if it wasn’t so arousing. 

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he seethes. “Use your words,” he commands with unquestionable authority. 

His fingers squeeze your throat for a second, a promise of what was to come, a challenge to try and answer his question.

“Y-yes,” you barely manage croak, your voice breathy.

“Yes, what?” He snarls, his teeth scraping across the delicate skin of your ear.

“No one fucks me… fucks me as good as you,” you whisper brokenly, your eyes wide and pleading as you look back at him.

Lewis keeps his hand around your neck as he continues to fuck you. His eyes locked with yours, Lewis tightens his grip on your throat, not enough to cut off your air supply, but just enough to make you feel dominated. 

“Fuck, you gonna come, baby. You love it with my hand on your throat, don’t you,” he said. 

Your face turns red from the lack of oxygen and the intense pleasure. You nod eagerly, digging your nails into his shoulder. The tension between you two on the track may have been fierce, but in the room, it was even hotter.

Lewis tightens his grip slightly, his muscular arm flexing with the effort. He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he growls. “That's it, take it like the champ you are. I know you can handle it.”

He squeezes your throat a bit harder, cutting off your air supply completely for a few seconds before releasing it. You gasp desperately for breath, your body shaking with the effort. “Fuck, you look so pretty when you can't breathe,” he says, his voice dripping with lust.

Your vision starts to blur and you feel yourself losing consciousness, but the pressure on your cervix and the lack of oxygen keep you on the edge of orgasm.

With a final, brutal thrust, he slams into you and tightens his hand around your throat.Stars explode in your vision as the lack of oxygen and the force of your release hit you at the same time. He collapses on top of you, his breath hot on your neck as he nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder. He loosens his grip on your throat, allowing you to drag in ragged breaths. "Good girl," he purrs softly, planting a gentle kiss on your neck.

He rolls off of you, pulling you close to his sweat-slicked body. His strong arms wrap around you possessively. "You're mine now, you know that? I don't care about the track, about our rivalry. In here, you belong to me."

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[idyllcy]

this is a drama. i am the drama.

word count: 10.4k

WARNINGS: mentions of SA, mentions of sex trafficking, mild violence (all r kinda glossed over but still warning), Nonexplicit smut

summary: your soul drowns Tim, but he finds comfort in it.

The city of Gotham is not phased by much.

From the drug trafficking in the docks to the human trafficking happening under everyone's nose, the average citizen doesn't really care. Though, arguably, they do mind when their sleep is disturbed by the sound of racing cars— something else that isn't necessarily new in Gotham. However, there had been news that the racers were steering off into the city at night, so Tim finds himself in civilian clothes, holding up a pass to access the venue that the racers were using, stepping in past the loud noises and people screaming. Ah, he made it in time.

He's surprised to find actual racing cars— cars that look like they could be in a grand prix.

From the seats, he meets eyes with a racer. He can't tell anything, but from posture and body frame, a woman. Now that he looks at it, all the racers seem to be female-presenting. He turns down the drink offered by one of the men, striking up a conversation instead, batting his lashes at the man, hoping to seduce him in some way. He wore too much clothing to be able to do so with his body, but it was still worth a shot. He hates dressing up like this anyway.

"So, what's a goody two shoes like you doing here?" The man smiles, sliding an arm around his shoulder.

"A friend gave me his pass because I said I'd never watched a Gotham street race." He bats his lashes. (Hopefully the fake lashes Stephanie glued don't fall off. God, did he hate dressing as Caroline)

"Really? Usually we place our bets on a racer." He hums, waving a guy over, dropping a twenty in a box. "I'd recommend you vote for Spitfire, she's an oldie and usually wins."

"Who are the others?" Tim slips a twenty from the back of his phone, blinking at the other names.

The man chuckles. "Lightwing is another good contender. She's been around forever. But also, her vision is spotty from an accident last time, so she's not as popular as before."

Tim nods slowly, staring at the other two names. "Who's Moonknight and Aquastar?"

"Moonknight is making her debut tonight, but her test run streaks were pretty bad because she doesn't have as big of a team as the rest of them." The man waves his hand. "You don't need to bet on her, pretty girl." He grins toothily. "Oh, and Aquastar is a visiting racer from a nearby city. We usually have more racers, but Cardinal got suspended for going off the race tracks and breaking into Gotham two weeks ago."

Now that he thinks about it, all of the names were practically knockoffs of the vigilantes and heroes who protected the cities. Although, he's surprised the street racing had ended up this big without any of the bats shutting it down. Someone must have a hand somewhere. He just wonders if it's Hood or B. It could be neither for all he knows.

"How does one race?" Tim blinks at one car in particular. It looks too much like a batmobile for comfort.

"You'd have to talk to the racers for that."

"Ey, Chris, are you hitting on newbies again?" A woman walks up the stairs, shoving him to the side playfully, tilting her head at Tim.

"Oh, come on, Spitty. You know I only do that so I can collect profits when you win."

"Arguably," She tilts her head at Tim, pausing. "You should bet on Moonknight."

"A-ah?"

"If she wins," Spitfire smiles, "then you collect all the profits. It's only a twenty, after all."

Tim frowns.

"But there's also a tradition for newbies to bet on newbies." She laughs. "You never know. That girl's got more speed in her than Cardinal. She just refuses to tell people."

"What's the cash prize?" Tim raises a brow.

"Driver gets ten percent of the bet money on top of the two million that WE pours into the track." She pauses.

"WE pours money into this?"

"We're not sure why, but they have been for a while now. The whole race track was from them." Spitfire sighs. "It's an old story, so it's not that surprising anymore."

Tim glances at the car again, pausing. Ah. This was where Bruce tested out his batmobile by using other people. No wonder he didn't push anyone to check the driving out. If Bruce was testing out all of his vehicles here, then there was no way he'd want it to be shut down. It would explain why he handed him an access card without having him get one. Tim glances around to look for seating, and Spitfire notices.

"You wanna sit in the grandstands?" She smiles. "My treat."

"Really?" Tim puts the money into Moonknight's box. The woman was right. It's only a twenty. Worst case, he loses the money. Though, he wonders what kind of a racer would have a leading champion telling him to vote for her. "Oh, is there a reason all the racers are girl?"

"We tried co-ed racing for a while." Spitfire holds her hand out for Tim, and he takes it. "But the men would get too aggressive and lead to unnecessary accidents on the track. Our goal is to test out cars for our sponsors before they're taken onto the field."

"Is that why there's a pass to get in?"

"Yeah." She hums, pulling the door open. "Come on in."

"Spitfire, favoring a newbie?!"

"Spitfire, who do you think is going to win!"

The woman turns her head, smile on her lips. "Me, obviously."

But it proves wrong when Tim meets eyes with the same woman from the first time.

You stare into his eyes, white racing suit snug on your body, a look in your eyes he recognizes. Though, the longer you look at him, the more you seem to read him— as if his entire past were exposed in front of you at a table. There is a sort of darkness to both your eyes and hair, the stare of a thousand souls. He breaks eye contact first, waving goodbye to Spitfire as she hops back to her position, final checkups of the cars in progress as Chris asks him if he wants a drink. Tim waves him down, but he mentions a can of Zesti would be fine. Chris barely makes it back in time for the announcements.

Tim catalogs the majority of the announcements in, checking for their voice on his phone, blinking when he finds a lack of match for it. He'd ask Chris, but the man is practically leaning over on the stand, eyes glittering as the cars prepare to race. He stands up, cracking open his soda, blinking when the four racers seem to fly off, and his eyes glance at the big screen, camera flying after the cars.

Moonknight goes from second to third, and Spitfire goes from third to first. He doesn't have much faith in his twenty bucks, but he wonders if the batmobile would really be helpful in a race like this. It didn't—

Moonknight goes from third to first at the final moment, boosting past Spitfire and racing to first place as she makes it into the second lap. Tim pauses while recalling the batmobile, and he remembers the change he had made just a week ago on the car, letting it accelerate faster than the other cars. Seeing his own creation in action hits something in him, blinking as she swerves.

"Oh, I might actually lose my money today." Chris laughs. "I didn't think she'd be able to do it."

"Who is Moonknight?"

"She's a completely new racer. She's called Moonknight because he sponsor gave her a car that looks eerily like a batmobile every time. Though, her car is in light grey." Chris points. "I'll hand you the pamphlet later."

"Thank you." Tim mumbles, watching as Spitfire races neck to neck with Moonknight. Tim wonders if it's going to be a tie. Though, he did add something else to the car. Maybe Bruce told you, maybe not. If she manages to find it, she could win. Though, he's more curious to know if rocket boosters were technically allowed in a race like this. Who knows.

You grimace in the car, pressing a couple of buttons as your fingers brush over something new. You wonder if it's the self-destruction button that Batman had told you not to touch. Yet, you shrug it off, clicking it anyway, slamming back into your seat as you speed past Spitfire, breaking past the finish line, steering with one hand as you try and stop the rockets on your car, clicking on the screen, grimacing. You'd rather not call Oracle. Last time you did, she tried pulling your social security number on you, only to find a lack of one.

Your heart races in your chest as you press the button again, the rockets only growing stronger, and you groan as you type in a code you had memorized from the Batcave, successfully shutting down the systems on the car, turning it back into a regular vehicle. You don't know who invented that line of code, but god were you thankful that you memorized it. The car eventually slows, and you drift next to the other racers, parking successfully. You step out of the car, leaning on the door as it closes, the blood in your body flushing your skin.

"Moon, are you alright?" Spitfire rushes next to you, hand on your bicep.

"I'm fine." You pull the helmet from your head, meeting eyes with Tim's again. You raise a brow, and you lower your voice to Spitfire. "That girl isn't a girl."

"Drag maybe?"

"No." You mumble, turning to shield your mouth from his eyes. "Undercover cop. Either that or they're a vigilante. They used Batman's card to get in."

"Ah." She frowns. "Are we safe?"

"I'll deal with it if he throws a fit." You stretch your neck, placing your helmet onto the top of your car. "Gotta submit a report later."

"I'm not looking forward to that." Lightwing groans. "Our next race is supposed to be motorbikes."

"Ewwww." Spitfire shudders. "I hate racing those."

"I hope they don't have rocket boosters like on my car today." You shudder.

"Alright, go get your cash prize, girlie." Spitfire smacks your back to send you walking to the podium.

You step over to the makeshift stage, taking the cheque from the announcer, blowing a kiss at the phones as you stare at the blank cheque. Two million was the max, but you were told you'd get to cash out five if you could win the race. You pause, though, when the girl you were staring at earlier makes her way out of the stands and walks over. Spitfire tries stopping her, but she seems to say something that has her quiet as she steps up the podium to meet you. You tilt your head at her.

Tim opens his mouth to speak before you cut him off.

"You know." You pause to wave the announcer off, hooking your arms under her knees to rest your chin on her chest. "You're real hot as a woman, but I'm sure you'd look better as a man."

Tim flushes as you press a kiss to the crown of his head, and you set him on the podium, lips pulled into a pretty smile. Your voice lowers as you rest your chin in the valley of his tits, blinking up at him. You jut out your bottom lip as Tim swallows thickly. Your fingers lace into his hair, nails digging into his scalp gently, blinking slowly, reading his emotions, his expressions, his everything. You look entranced, and Tim almost feels bad that he's here undercover and you're staring starry-eyed over someone who doesn't exist.

"What's your name, pretty girl?" You raise a brow at her, grinning.

"Caroline." He swallows again, heart racing in his chest. You're too attractive for your own good. Maybe you were using that against him. "Caroline Hill."

"Well, Carrie," You hum, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I think you're gorgeous. Care for a drink sometime?"

"A-as much as I would like to, I'm not into w-women." He stumbles. (A bold lie. He's never had a worse panic over a woman in his life.)

"Quite a shame." You mumble. "You're so pretty too..."

You step down the stage, holding the cheque up as the girls cheer with you.

Tim should really talk to Bruce about what the batmobile was doing in a street racing event.

Though, as Tim tries to run a background check on you, he finds nothing come up. Even in the private files of the batcomputer. Even on the card that gave him access, all the fingerprints were wiped clean. He finds practically nothing, not that it gets to him, he just looks harder. He practically lives in the cave now. He doesn't remember the last day he got regular sleep. He has nothing on you.

So, he shows up at the next race as himself this time. He enters with the same card, and this time, you find him first.

"So? You related to B?" You hand him a can of unopened zesti, and he raises a brow at you. You raise a brow back at him, pointing at his card. "Card. That's a B exclusive card."

"How so?"

"Sponsor card." You smile. "Since it's light grey, that means it's my sponsor. My sponsor is B."

Tim frowns. "Who are you?"

"My question first."

"He's an aquaintance. Now my question." He opens his can, pressing the drink to his lips.

"I'm a racer." You smile.

"I meant as a person." He clicks his tongue.

"Why don't you find out?" You bat your lashes at him prettily, hand pressed to his abdomen, leaning in to blink at him devilishly. "Or are you not into women too?"

Tim's heart races in his ears, swallowing as he tries his best to match your pace. "What does the media say?"

"Lots" You grin, pressing yourself closer to him, arms wrapped around his neck, your air mixed with his, lips pulled into a dangerous smirk. "But all I hear these days is how someone keeps trying to hack my personal information."

"Yeah?" He tilts his head, placing the can to the side.

"Mhm." You hum.

Tim smiles at you, dangerously, all while his mind is a jumbled mess. You had an effect on him that he dared not to pry further into, but god were you intoxicating — bad for his brain even. He finds himself leaning closer to you, all systems going off about how this was bad for him, but he doesn't care. Not when your perfume smells tantalizing and the only thing he wants to do is kiss you sick— make out with you until you're whimpering against his lips, knees giving out under you, and brain fuzzy with only him. His eyes darken with the thoughts, a smile on his face.

You remove your arms from him, tapping his shoulder twice with an innocent smile. "Thanks for giving me the last piece."

Tim raises a brow as you peel yourself from him, his mask in your fingers, smile not so pure anymore.

There was no way.

Tim grabs it back from you as you back up, both hands in the air, and as he shoves it into somewhere you can't touch, you hop over the stands, landing on the dirt with a thud. Tim frowns in frustration as you send a wink his way, starting final check-ups for the race. It's bikes today, and Tim recognizes all of the models. A copy of his own bike is in Spitfire's hand right now. Maybe this was how Bruce figured out whether or not his bike was safe to ride after his own customizations. Jason's bike is in another rider's hands, red helmet with black— presumably Cardinal, and Dick's bike is in Lightwing's hands. You have Bruce's bike still. It checks out now.

This was the testing ground for the vigilante vehicles in Gotham.

The fact that you had figured him out so quickly only meant that you had realized faster than everyone else.

But there had to be a reason that no one part of the team saw the similarities between their vehicles and the ones that the Gotham vigilantes used. There had to be a reason that only you would be crazy enough to figure it out just based on vehicle models. Maybe he could use the status card to talk to you all for a little. Too bad you were already checking the vehicle. He should have asked earlier— strange. It's not like him to be this disoriented.

You win the race.

It's obvious. B's bike was designed with the fastest engine possible, and in a race of pure speed, it would win. No matter how much Tim tinkered with his bike, he wasn't allowed to go faster than Bruce. The man had said it was too dangerous, and Tim could see why. The Batbike was a nightmare to steer at such high speeds. Though, he does wonder where everyone on the track gets their practice. There's never a peak of sound during the day on the track, and neither was there much noise at night when you weren't racing.

Tim does not dig the idea that he has to pull his money card out, but the more competitive part of him does wonder what it would look like to have you fold for him.

"A drink?" He leans over the railing, card held up, raising a brow at you.

You wave him off, handing your helmet to someone else, clicking your tongue.

"That's not the way to ask a pretty woman out on a date, boy." You raise a brow, lips pulled upwards in a grin. "Maybe ask better next time. Some of us have black cards too."

So Tim watches as you leave with the rest of the racers, his heart racing in his chest.

It takes ten more tries for Tim to trace from someone else to you.

He blinks at the woman on the screen, and he pauses to ponder. Perhaps.

However, all of his thoughts are thrown off when a command is called from behind him by Bruce with a new case. A file is handed to him, a file with a rather unoriginal name, and it makes Tim raise a brow. Surely it was a jest.

"I assure you, they are very much real." Bruce rolls his eyes, cowl peeled off, humming with a drink pressed to his lips.

"Is this related to the serial murder of rapists going around in Gotham?" He opens the file.

"Not just Gotham." Bruce hums. "Clark did a report on the serial murder of both registered and unregistered sex offenders in Metropolis as well. It has been a trend. Despite the vigilantism, it is still very much illegal to kill someone."

"I don't see too much of a problem with killing a rapist." Tim presses his coffee to his lips, scanning through the files Bruce hands him. The target seems rather clear. The killer does not regard anyone in the way, knocking everyone out and always only killing the rapist. A maneater. The name given to the murderer was maneater, as if it were some ploy. In some cases, the victims were found with their pants unzipped and an anti-rape condom stuck on them, writhing in pain as they were almost always found dead with poison in their system.

Those who suffered more gruesome deaths... either found castrated with their genitals lying not too far away, or a hole where their heart was supposed to be, the organ missing. It reminds him almost of Heartless, but... that is not the case. This is a vigilante no different from them... just less sparing and guaranteed murder. Now, does Tim solve the case or let the vigilante free...

He does not know what possesses him to ask you of all people, but your response does not help much.

"Moonknight." Tim hums, adjusting his glasses as he puts them on. "May I pick at your brain?"

"Is this about the serial murders?" You wipe the helmet in your hand, cheque tucked safely into your wallet.

Tim nods. "Thoughts?"

"I feel like the murderer's doing us ladies a favor." You shrug. "Think about it."

"I know, but murder is a little..."

"Little hypocritical of you, you know?" You raise a brow. "Must I name your war crimes?"

"No." Tim hums. "Perhaps I should do some digging anyway."

"Wouldn't hurt to have it on file in case you do need it one day." You eye one of the newer men on the track, grinning at Spitfire as she greets him. "Hm?"

Tim's eyes trail up to Spitfire.

Similar build. His glasses indicate the same.

"It's not any of my girls." You crack open the can of soder. "I promise they're clean. B runs background checks on all of us."

Tim mulls over your words.

Scary.

Yet, he visits you anyway, money piling in his back pocket as you win round after round, small talk rolling off your lips in a sort of practiced way, smile inviting as you turn down his request to grab a drink again, humming quietly as Tim's eyes trail down to the small of your back, brow raised as he notices your shorts peeking out past your pants.

"What does it take for a date with you?"

"Maybe not being part of law enforcement." You hum. "Legal or not."

"Why? Worried I'll turn you in?"

"No..." You trail off, chewing your top lip as you turn your head at Lightwing. "Well, if you save Lightwing from some trouble, I'll consider."

"What's wrong?"

"You see the man talking to her?"

Tim raises a brow and spots another group of men not too far off. "Bingo."

You wink in her direction, and Tim hums.

"Hey big fella. Having fun so far?"

You watch as Tim tears the man apart, Lightwing leaving at one point to stand next to you.

"Really, I don't know what you see in that man."

"Not much." You purse your lips, smiling. "Something tells me he's the one."

"I'm willing to bet that he is not." She mumbles.

Yet, as Tim barely lifts a finger to piss the man off, you grin.

"Oh, he's definitely the one."

Tim runs the information, stalking down the final member of your racing team, matching the majority of information to the final member, brow raised when he realizes that Cardinal was not part of B's files either, hunting the woman down as he searches for her current location, and it makes Tim's stomach churn uncomfortably when he realizes how eerily similar the racer is to the described criminal. The person who was dubbed Cardinal had been face-matched to someone who had entered Metropolis just a little bit before the serial murders. It made Tim nauseous.

"Got any leads?"

"Might be one of the previous racers." Tim grimaces. "Of the race tracks."

"Cardinal? I assure you it is not her."

"Really? There had been rumors—"

"It is not." Bruce mumbles. "You know who Cardinal is. It is not her. They may have similar builds, but it is not her."

"Who is Cardinal?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough."

Bruce's evasion of his question does not help the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

You end up with Tim on the date, hair ruffled as he picks you up in his bike, hand held out to you as you take it, humming. It's supposed to be simple. Though, you suppose simple for a Wayne is impossible to determine. You never know what to expect from him. Though, when he pulls you to the local diner, you find it impossible to not know he's the one. It's really too simple.

"Would you tell me about Cardinal?" Tim finally asks you proper questions once the two of you finish ordering.

"Do you think she's the one?" You raise a brow.

"You said your girls are innocent."

"The ones I currently race with." You hum, reaching for the bread on the table.

"And Cardinal?"

"I don't know much about her. She didn't talk much."

"But she was aggressive, no?"

"No." You hum. "She drove into Gotham because she saw something. She also raced her own bike. No one knows who she is."

Tim connects something in his mind, and it sends him back to step one.

"Would you be able to help if I gave you the file?"

"Isn't it just what's available online?"

"One final thing. The killer in Metropolis might be the same person." Tim mumbles. "Thank you."

The food is presented before the two of you, and you stab into your pasta. "I don't think so. Did you track anyone else that entered and exited Metropolis that was a Gothamite?"

Tim shakes his head. "I find it strange."

"Perhaps magic?"

"Not impossible." Tim mumbles. "What do you do in your free time?"

"Tinker." You hum.

"With your bike?"

"No. That's B's property. I tend to tinker with smaller things. It's always fun to build a PC from scratch."

"Ah, you're quite handy with tech." Tim hums, blowing on his pasta. "Anything else?"

"I like watching detective shows." You pause to think. "And racing. I think that's about it. How 'bout you, boy wonder?"

"That's my brother." He laughs dryly.

Tim finds that it's intriguing to talk to you. You know everything that he does, and it seems you know much more than what you let him in on. Dare he say it, perhaps he's met his match.

Tim sends you home and starts patrol. Gotham had become eerily quiet since the murderer had been on the loose.

Though, he has a knack for saying things too early.

A man dies the same day, and B finds his way there with Tim, the two of them sweeping down and kicking the man down, a woman shaking as Tim shields her, holding his cape out, making sure to not look at the way her clothes are ripped up and she's shaking with an intensity unknown to him. He can feel the vibrations of her skin through his cape. The fear is easily contagious had he not known.

"B?"

"Dead. The poison spread too fast."

The woman doesn't look like she was aware.

"Did you buy the product?" Tim raises a brow, eyes scanning her face for any changes in emotion, and she shakes her head.

"I... a-a friend got me o-one on because—" She gasps, shoulders trembling still. "I-it saved her life."

"Do you know where she bought it?"

The woman shakes her head. "Th-they were giving them out on the streets a while back. It's been m-months."

"May we take one back?"

B shakes his head. "Gordon is coming. We will decide then. Oracle?"

Oracle has no intel either, and Tim wonders just how far this murderer is willing to go. If he just let them kill all the rapists in Gotham, then it would result in a number of the population as gone. If he checked them, perhaps the offenders in Gotham would assume they are protected by B — which truly could not be further from the truth.

"Where are you living? I will take you back." Tim catches a figure in the corner of his eye.

"B."

The man shakes his head.

"I-I'll be fine." She mumbles. "May I borrow a... clothes?"

B nods, and Tim hands the woman to him as he takes a good look at the man on the ground.

Familiar. He looks familiar.

The scan from his mask indicates the same. The man who had been talking to Spitfire at the tracks. It was the man who had been talking to her. Some clicks in the back of Tim's mind, his fingers pressing to the silicone, pressing the dirt and grime to the back of his glove to check for DNA.

Just the shaking woman.

"B, I need one of them." He speaks firmer this time. "There has to be some unidentified DNA on one of them."

"There are in one of the files on our computer. It was sent this afternoon." B hums. "The police are arriving. Come on."

Tim doesn't need to be told twice, yet he lingers, eyes trailing on the woman as he waits.

One of the policemen is an unregistered sex offender.

He clicks on his mask as he zooms in, a dark figure flying out of the alleyway at the man, and Tim watches as a claw digs into the man's genitals, ripping off with a sound that shakes the walls, followed by a guttural scream. The policemen shoot at the figure, but they don't react, only retreating back into the walls, seemingly unhurt by the bullets.

"Oracle, did you catch that?"

"No face was detected."

"How about figure?"

"Non-human." Oracle mumbles. "I can't identify anything."

"Tsk." Tim clicks his tongue.

"Though, it has to be a shadow ability. Perhaps something adjacent to it. They're gone, right?"

Tim hums into the mic. "Affirmative."

Tim ignores the way the shadow shapes weirdly underneath his feet.

"You can come out." He taps the corner of his mask for reinforcements, taking a step back into the moon as the shadow forms, a smile of white forming into a human.

"Can you—"

"Neither. All indications of sex are missing."

"Oh..."

Their voice is nothing short of horrifying to him.

"I caught a bird." It grins, and as Tim takes a step back, he finds that his other foot has a shadow warping around his ankle.

"Who are you?"

"We are the night." It sings. "We are the darkness..."

Tim knows what's next.

"We are... vengeance."

"That's rather cringe, don't ya think?" Tim raises a brow.

A batarang flies from behind him, and the shadows only create a hole for the weapon to fly through. The shadow splits into two people, and Tim smiles.

"Gotcha."

"Ah ah," The one on the left shakes its hand. "We were promised... freedom."

"Only where you belong." Batman shines a flashlight at the creature, and Tim watches as it retreats back into the shadows, his ankle free. "And you. Next time, just shine the flashlight."

"Are they weak?" Tim raises a brow. "Just to light?"

"It stuns." Batman nods.

"Go track the leftovers on your ankle back in the cave."

"Will do." Tim pauses before he goes. "Is it an alien?"

"No. Something worse."

Tim does NOT know what could be worse than an alien. (He lies. He does.)

The DNA tracks too many women to count. One shows up and then the next, and eventually, Tim has at least twenty women pulled up on his screen, all pronounced dead after being found used and discarded. It is horrifying. Tim may not understand just how terrifying it is to be a woman, but as he finds children, he seems to understand just how disgusting this is. Girl after girl, woman after woman, every last one of them were used and discarded bare for the world to see, photographed and made a case study out of — all who met their unfortunate end and their rapists never see the end of their life the same way they did.

It is disgusting, but something else is discovered.

He does not remember if it is something new, but it seems strange. It is not a shadow, but rather a composition of human souls forced to merge into an unrecognizable shape. It is science, not an alien, and Tim understands why it is worse. It is an unfortunate victim and not an alien. It is someone who had been forced to change into something unloveable. He wonders if the souls of the unfortunate make up the shadows.

Ah. If they are shadows...

Tim turns around as the shadows form a human again, shorter than he is, apple of its cheeks soft and gentle. A girl. It is a girl this time; not a woman.

"Are you a victim?"

It does not answer him.

"Tim? Tim, do you hear me? Red!"

"It has not attacked yet." Tim answers. "How many of you are there?"

The child does not respond, holding up one finger, and then two, and three, and eventually there are too many fingers sticking out of the hand that Tim had lost count.

"Many."

"What's the deal?"

"I matched the DNA." Tim swallows. "I won't hurt you, but please—"

The shadow dissolves, and Tim lets out a breath, staring at the faces plastered across the screen of the Batcave.

"Tim?"

"Oracle." His voice goes quiet. "They are all victims of... The computer just keeps going."

Eventually, B returns, staring at the wall of faces Tim left, finding the man in his room, glasses on as he stares at his PC, case file after case file being read, news article after news article. There is more than one soul occupying the shadows, and Tim reads one after the other of how they were murdered. Stabbed, strangled, shot, mangled, burned. None of the souls were able to escape death at the hands of their rapist. It was sickening.

"It is not a human." Tim speaks, staring at Bruce at the door. "We can not arrest it."

"Is it humanoid?"

"No. It is a shadow of vengeance."

"There has to be a way to stop it from collecting more souls."

Tim closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he sighs.

"And if I do not want to?"

"Tim."

"I know." He mumbles, exhaustion written all over his face. "How will we destroy the remaining souls?"

"How many women were identified?"

"There are currently twenty seven." Tim mumbles. "There may be even less if more of the men die."

"The vengeance of a ghost." Bruce mumbles. "Just find a way to stop the addition of souls. Surely, someone is collecting souls and adding them."

Tim finally closes his eyes when the sun starts peeking over the horizon.

"Sorry." Tim shows up to your meetup place, eyebags extra bad, and you raise a brow at him.

"Something up?"

"What would you do if someone was collecting the souls of the victims of rape and kill and turning them into a shadow of some sort to let them have vengeance on their rapist?"

"Wow, what a loaded question." You mumble.

"Thoughts?" Tim closes his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Feel free to ignore it if not—"

"I mean... it makes sense." You hum. "Is it scientifically immoral? Yes. Is it in some way morally correct? Perhaps. Their lives were taken and their souls haunt the earth because they are still held down by things they could not resolve while they were alive. Perhaps to the living, they are a monster, but to the dead? to the dead, they are a savior."

Tim pauses to think. "Should the person be punished?"

"Under the law? Sure."

"How about according to yourself?"

"No." You mumble. "If I was raped like that, I would love to ruin the life of the man who ruined mine. I heard a police officer got his dick ripped off. Is he still alive?"

"Alive." Tim nods. "Vitals are stable, but he can no longer procreate... obviously."

"Deserved, maybe. I heard he got off with only two months of jail time after the initial trial."

Tim does not answer, pausing to mull over the case.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." You stand up, stretching your legs. "Shall we get something to eat?"

"You have food by here?"

"No, but since you brought your bike, I can take us somewhere."

"It better not be the diner from last time."

It is NOT the diner from last time

Instead, Tim finds himself seated outside of a Batburger place, thanking you as you hand him his order, clear view of the alleyway.

"This place is a little..."

"It's where a lot of drug trades happen." You hum, staring at the alleyway behind him. "Also where a lot of sex trafficking occurs."

"Ah, right." He mumbles. "Red Hood manages that, no?"

"Not as much." You bite into the burger, humming happily. "Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting."

"I think the burgers and shake could fix me."

You raise a brow.

"As much as it can try, of course."

"Nah, I have those days too." You hum. "Did you find much on the souls?"

"I just wonder if they are decreasing after extracting revenge on their former rapist." Tim mumbles.

"I heard somewhere they started off in the fifties." You hum, continuing with your burger.

"...fifties? Where did you even hear that?"

"Rumor gets around quickest at the racetrack." You mumble. "Cardinal kept closely with the news. Apparently the figure was as large as a human at one point."

"Is twenty souls not enough to form a full grown woman?"

"Perhaps it picks a child for other reasons." You reach for a fry. "Am I being of much help, mister detective?"

"Somewhat." Tim pauses when he hears rustling behind him. "...May I?"

"Careful, they carry stun guns."

Tim nods, leaving you alone, and you click on your phone as you watch Red Robin swing in, kicking and freeing the poor girl, handing her off to the police as you stare at the two men knocked out. Tim had overestimated just one thing.

From behind, a spike of darkness pieces through the men's hearts, killing them on the spot as Tim holds a hand over the eyes of the woman.

Dead. The two men are dead.

The shadow forms behind them, three young women who look no older than the one that Tim is covering the eyes of.

"How many of you are left?"

This time, the shadow forms a 24.

The number is going down.

So, Tim reports the findings to Bruce, changing out of his suit to get back to you, nodding as he sits down and sighs.

"Sorry, stomach died."

"Nah, don't worry about it." You sip on your shake, humming. "Duty calls."

"Are you racing sometime soon?"

"I think B's trying to have us race less lately." You hum. "I won't be racing for some time. The only reason we raced so often a while back was because there were so many upgrades being implemented."

"So you have more free time?"

"Yeah." You hum. "I was thinking of traveling."

"Where to?"

Tim knows something you don't. The gentle taps of your painted nails omit some eerie sense of death, and it seems that no matter how much Tim likes you and feels fine around you, it is impossible to ignore that eerie sense of death. It reminds him of the first time he met you, stare of a thousand souls. Yet, it seems that...

"Staring?"

"You're rather pretty." He hums, pressing his napkin to his cheeks. "Is it not normal to stare a little?"

"Oh, look at you and your smooth words." You hum.

"I mean them." Tim stares at you.

You only give him a weak look.

You don't seem to believe Tim when he says you're everything.

And maybe at some point in time, Tim had realized that your words swayed him harder than they need to. He does not know when he had ended up so deep with his fingers and hands stained with a passion for you, but as it drags him under, he finds that it's fine. Maybe you were just destined for him in some way. If he would be dragged under, then he would simply find a way to clear it out. He enjoys the sensation of drowning in you. Maybe he is just weak for you.

"Do you love me?" You tilt your head, milkshake straw on your lips as Tim sorts through his files.

Tim stares at you, pushing his glasses up. "Why?"

"Curious." You hum. "You've brought me to your place, after all. Isn't this the nice little boat you got with your boyfriend? I remember the media going insane."

"Perhaps." Tim mumbles. "I brought you here to help me with the case, though. I don't think love is the right word for what we feel towards each other right now."

"Mm." You nod slowly, picking up some papers. "The number went down?"

"Yes. The two men who were killed resulted in three less entities in the shadow." Tim mumbles. "I just wonder if the number is going to increase."

"You wouldn't want it to, huh?" You hum.

"Prefferably no." Tim pauses. "Though, I suppose if the entity is acting on its own, then I can not do much to stop it. Someone is letting the souls merge into the shadows."

"If it's just cells, shouldn't it be the act of a human? That must mean they have some sort of way of accessing the victims' bodies."

"That would be the case, but a further search indicated that they were not picking up the cells, but rather just souls. I don't know when we got an upgrade to be able to locate souls, but—"

"It was probably when you tried cloning your best friend." You don't bother letting him finish the sentence.

Your statement freaks Tim out.

"H-how the hell do you know?!"

"B." You puff out your cheeks, continuing with reading the file.

B does NOT have that information open to just anyone to access.

Yet, Tim shuts his mouth, continuing with the file, taking the chance to seal your fingerprint. He runs the match while you continue checking, and he ends up in a dead end again. You do not exist in the database. Your fingerprint is not a real person. Surely there was a chance that you were not quite human either.

"Just how cautious are you?"

"Very." You hum. "My fingerprint won't show up."

"What gives you the boldness to say that?"

"A gamble." You hum. "I race for B. Surely, he would not do something as cruel as that."

"He is consistently paranoid."

"That does not matter." You click your tongue. "He could not hold me down if he tried."

Tim senses that there is a certain level of untruth to your words, but he can not say just what it is.

Three days later, four more men are found dead by the docks. Tim checks them with the police, Oracle's voice in his ear as he observes them. All three have had their hearts pierced through, a gaping hole left behind. Tim looks to the side at the shadows brewing beneath the water, and he observes that the number shown is four less than before.

"These men have to be part of an organization."

"They are." Oracle notes. "Human trafficking. These are the men who are part of a human trafficking specifically for sex workers."

"So... rapists."

"Yes."

"Did we ever get a number on them?"

"No."

Tim nods at the police as they arrive, grappling away.

Maybe he's committing a sin by letting the shadow get away with the murders. It would be impossible to hold them down, but he wonders if he should ever shine a light on them when they kill.

Back at the cave, the young girl emerges again, smiling at Tim as he raises a brow.

"What?"

"Twenty." The voice speaks, much younger this time.

"Are you all children?"

The widening of the smile indicates a yes.

"How old were you?" He holds his hand out for the shadow.

His question goes ignored, the shadow disappearing as B returns to the cave.

"The number of shadows decreased again." Tim stares at B as he undresses.

"How do you know the shadows aren't lying?"

"Here." Tim shows B the newest scan of the souls, and the number has shrunk.

"How did you scan it?"

"I do not know. We hadn't been able to scan based on soul previously."

Bruce clicks on the computer, eyes focusing on the application, taking over as Tim sits to the side. He looks further, digging into the code as he pauses and points at a line.

"Moonknight."

"The racer?"

Bruce reads the code, and Tim follows, pausing.

"She's a computer system?"

"No, but you probably scanned some system in when you ran her through the system the first time."

"Just what is she?"

"I don't ask questions, and neither does she. Just a worker."

"Alright." Tim mumbles. But the issue was you do ask questions. You ask plenty of questions and each one brings you closer than the last. He had already lost his identity to you because of your charm. Perhaps Bruce was not far off. Though, if Tim could not find you, then Bruce probably could not either.

The next time he meets up with you, you finally let him into your apartment.

"Oh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you love me." Tim hums. "What brings you to invite me here?"

"No, I didn't feel like going out today." You shut the door behind him. "Pizza's on the counter."

"Where are the others?"

"Racing." You hum.

"I thought you said there weren't any races?"

Tim finds that you're a liar.

Somewhere down in the place he's been pulled to, he finds that there is endless amounts of darkness, something brooding behind your soul as you talk to him, smile on your face. You called him the one, but if you were the one, he wouldn't feel so turbulent. Shaking waters. The water he's been pulled under is unmoving and serene, only in the middle of the sea, making the peace eerie rather than soothing. Rather than the liquid moving, he finds that he's spinning further and further down.

"I'm not racing for the time being." You hum. "The others are racing with their own bikes."

"Do you not own one?"

You shake your head. "I prefer other forms of transportation."

Tim raises a brow but doesn't question it.

Even when the two of you are tangled under your sheets and he listens to your heartbeat, the sense of uneasiness doesn't leave. You are too perfect. Even if you were to drag him down with you, he would only know how to hold onto you and not swim. Maybe this is his end. Unless you free him, he fears he will be stuck with you forever. Drawn to the beating of your heart, Tim is stuck being in love with you for the rest of his life. If you would drag him into the depths of your world and ruin his life, then so be it. As long as neither of you cross the line, neither of you would be hurt.

"Would you like to race?"

You raise a brow at Tim.

"Once in a lifetime." He offers.

"On the track?"

"We can race during the day." He hums.

"Not a day person."

"Then at sunrise."

You pause to think about it.

"If that's what you want."

"You make it sound like it's something I want to do." Tim whispers, chin resting on your chest as it rises and falls.

"Is it not?" You run your fingers through his hair, vibrations of your voice making him purr.

When Tim wakes in the morning, Oracle sends him a news article. Ten men found dead at the docks. Ten men were killed, and Tim can only wonder how many of the shadows found peace from their deaths. Though, as your fingers scratch at his scalp again, he could worry about it later. He'd rather not stir up deep waters.

"Ten died?"

"Mhm." Tim closes his eyes, mumbling. "Ten men."

"From the same organization?"

Tim is too tired to consider how you would know all the men are from the same organization when it has not been disclosed to the public.

"You seem to know much more than you let on."

"Of course I do." You hum. "But I won't race you until you find out."

"Then give me a month." He mumbles, eyes closing as he drifts back to sleep. You're warm, and for the first time in a while, he gets some rest.

The next race Tim goes to, he notices Spitfire and Lightwing are missing.

You tilt your head at Tim from the track, waving as he waves back, lips curled upwards in a gentle smile.

He refuses to meet the truth.

There is some sense of security that lies in playing stupid, eyes closed and fingers reaching out into a void of nothingness, knowing that as long as he did not know, he would be safe. Yet, there is always the nagging in the back of his mind, uncertain about his future, uncertain about what would happen if he continued to play dumb. He knows he'll get called out for it by Steph soon, but it really... he was only a fool in love. He can not do something so terrible to his heart.

Even as you bring back the trophy and greet Tim with a thrashing kiss against his lips, breath hot against his as he tries to ignore the truth of the world beneath his feet embedded into the shadows, he knows that he can only play stupid for so long. Soon, this racetrack will become empty, and one day, you too will leave him for the world that he refuses to uncover for his own safety. He loves you, but he can only do so much when he's young and stupid.

"Can I take you back to mine?" Tim whispers, eyes begging quietly as you lick your lips, helmet in your hand as you confirm with a kiss.

The gentle rocking of Tim's place is peaceful in the Gotham waters, port comfortable as he pushes back all of his knowledge. It is a curse to be wise, yet Tim finds that there is nothing he can do when he just refuses to. He would choose you even if it meant laying what he had known before down. It pains him to know that he should not, and you would not let him, but he is foolish and young, eyes gentle as he drinks up the way you lay beneath him, the moon coating you in a lovely white as he furrows his brows to forget about it all.

Your skin is soft against Tim's hands, plush of your waist filling the spaces between his fingers as you stretch your arms above your head, eyes half-lidded as he pleases you — himself. It makes no difference. Turbulent waters have long become the place where he finds his rest, eyes half-lidded as he listens to the way you breathe, both beneath him and in the dead of the night. Life becomes slightly more bearable with you around, exhaustion no longer as suffocating as he's used to. Perhaps he loves you or such. Perhaps he does not. Most certainly, he knows he cares.

In the afterglow of sweat and skin, Tim finds that you are no different from him.

"How many of them are left?"

Tim stares outside the window, recalling the last murder in Gotham.

"They're almost gone."

"That's good."

You close your eyes, lashes brushing Tim's neck as you rest your neck over his arm.

"When will we race?"

"I told you. When you find out."

"Find what, exactly?"

You do not answer, closing your eyes and succumbing to exhaustion instead.

Ultimately, Tim knows.

He knows what he's to look for, and he knows just what you might be. It scares him that you might have lied to him for so long, the shadows and souls lurking beneath the surface of the water finally snaking around his ankle and pulling. The big screen in the Batcave is of no help either, only a single person with an obscured soul, and Tim knows deep down that it is yours. You are a victim of the same organization, an amalgamation of vengeful souls all combined together for the sole purpose of seeking vengeance.

Tim stares at the shadow forming behind him, digits dropping by the day as he reports to Bruce about just what was happening in Gotham. The moral code to prevent murder is strong, but the understanding that a few lives of a few criminals for the cost of a safer Gotham was not a world-ending trade-off. Tim understands that much, at the very least. He knows Bruce does too. In a world where neither of them have to work against human trafficking as hard as previously, Tim finds that the waters are both comforting and vicious. He can not be touched in the warmth of your skin, but others will die from the toxin that he is immune to.

So, as Tim crosses off the final ones in the list of souls, he texts to let you know that the organization has been wiped, asking you which sunrise would work best for you.

You refuse to pick a time during the day because you are afraid of being burnt.

You do not exist in the database because you are not quite human.

You exist because you are someone's hatred and memories, manifesting in the form of the shadows and risking a life you do not have in order to see what is worth living for, vehicles meaning nothing to you as you speed through the racetrack at night, only Aquastar left next to you as she too disappears into the shadows after all the guests leave. There are barely any guests now that Tim looks. Perhaps more than half of them had been tired souls, begging for some sort of help, seeking refuge in the way you would risk your life for some sort of power above the law.

You are home to the souls, regardless of whether they are alive or dead. If someone seeks death, they reach for your arms, holding their hands around your shoulders as you stare past their skin, into the depths of the darkness beyond — something Tim is terrified of touching, Yet, with the feeling of your skin memorized between his fingers, he knows why people go to you to look for something.

You are so living yet so dead.

There is comfort only you can provide.

You meet Tim at the racetrack, sitting on your bike as Tim drives in past the gates. The darkness in your soul has grown lighter. Something has changed from when he first met you. You are still so lovely in his eyes, yet it seems that you can not be together in a case like this. It is a shame. At least he gets to race you, popping off his helmet as he notices how empty the stands are compared to when you used to race. The end of your need in Gotham has arrived, and the end of your services to WE has ended as well. There will be no more of you one day in the future, and Tim knows that one day, he too will be cursed to forget everything about you.

The people are gone.

The racers are gone.

And perhaps after this race, you will be too.

You enable the speaker, fingers clicking on the screen at the podium, giving the two of you a twenty-minute warmup.

Tim wonders just how fast he can go. He watches you from the side as you warm up your bike and drive, speeding around the track with practice that can only come from muscle memory. Yet, he drives around the track and gradually speeds up, trying to get a hand on how to race around. Tim finds that he's a little rusty, making several more rounds around the track as you sit on the side, clicking on your phone and scrolling through. Tim does not know how to bring it up.

"What does the winner get?" You look up from your phone, hopping on your bike as you wait for the countdown.

"Whatever the winner wishes."

"That's quite the bet." You hum, staring up at the light as Tim gets ready.

"Of course."

You start your bike, speeding past Tim as the light shows green, Tim tight behind you as he catches up to you. You wonder and think, leaning to the side as the bike follows, letting Tim pass you as you trail behind him. Tim finishes the first lap relatively quickly, and he realizes that you've fallen back a significant amount. He's unsure whether or not to speed up, but as he finishes his second lap, he finds that you're still far behind.

You cut him from the left, successfully stopping Tim from hitting a wall.

Tim speeds up to chase after you, wondering when you had the time to cut him off.

Yet, the end is evident, your bike parked at the end after your third lap, a grin on your face as he stares at you.

The souls are gone, and you look so, so lonely.

The lights shut as the two of you sit by the podium, tablet in your hand as you kick your legs, and you finally speak up.

"I know you found out."

Tim grimaces. "...why?"

You stare at Tim, peeling back your jacket, throwing it at him as he stares at you, watching as your eyes turn pitch black, shadows forming underneath your skin and turning the entire podium dark, some sort of ancient power creeping up your hands to your forearms, darkness evident in every blink at him, lips curled up into an apologetic smile, and Tim feels the water surrounding him drain all at once. If he would not leave you, then you would leave him. You would force him out of the comfort of your waters, knowing that it would drown him one day.

"The shadow moves with you." Tim stares at you, swallowing thickly. "There is only one victim left. We both know who it is."

You stare at Tim, lips curling upwards as he remembers why your smile started looking so familiar at one point.

"You are the last." Tim picks his words carefully. "Are you a shadow?"

"No. Just a medium. I am very much alive." You smile.

"Who are you waiting to kill?"

"No one." You hum. "I am alive because I must hold onto the shadows for the next ones seeking vengeance."

"You are the source."

You ignore him.

"Are you human?"

You blink at him again, ignoring him once more. "Luckily, it seems the victims have lessened lately."

"Why had there been so many at once?"

"There was an organization." You rock on your heels, lips curled upwards. "Everyone in the organization has been wiped. No fret. They alone resulted in over fifty deaths of women after they reached the age threshold."

"The youngest was ten."

"Yes."

"And the oldest?"

"Most of them were killed once they turned 21." You hum. "Occasionally, if someone looked young enough, they would be killed later, but the majority of them were killed at 21."

"How many souls were there initially?"

"Well over a thousand." You hum.

"And only you are left."

"Yes."

"Why play savior?"

"Why not?" You grin. "I have done nothing but host the poor souls. That does not warrant for my arrest."

Tim knows there is an argument against it, but he does not think too hard.

"Next time a soul finds you, notify me. Send me an invite to your race."

"You know, Tim." You hum. "B no longer needs me."

Ah.

"Will you be gone?"

"Very much so."

"To where?"

You do not tell him.

"Write to me." He speaks again.

You shake your head.

"I can not."

"Why not?"

"Send me some flowers when you see me on the news. That is my wish."

Tim tries to not think too much about your final words to him. You left the next morning, morphed shadows in the city leaving with you, and Tim finds that soon, almost everyone forgets you had ever existed. You had come and gone, shadow of death leaving with you, but he finds that occasionally on the news, he hears word about a new racer, gender unidentifiable, face consistently hidden, only known by their speed. You have become a criminal under the law, racing between the crevices of cities, fake trophy after fake trophy taken home, death following wherever you went, sex trafficking decreasing whenever you rested at night.

Tim tries not to follow you all that much, but when you show up on camera on accident, your home is raided and you are killed on sight by the same men who had killed so many others.

It hurts Tim in the head, eyes closed as he tries his best to not think too much about your death and how you had known all this time, but it would forever haunt him. He still remembers the way the waves would rock gently underneath the moonlight when he was engulfed by you, eyes always tired but comfort always found, knowing that you would be his rest when he needed it. So, for him to see you dead on the news, he finds that perhaps he was just cursed to not be able to hold onto you — that he was destined to be stuck in place and watch as you died because you had made a minor mistake. A mistake that would not have cost his life, but cost yours instead.

Yet, he honors your promise, white chrysanthemums placed at your grave as he holds onto the umbrella, humming quietly. The rain splatters gently against the plastic, quiet drumming calming him as he stares at the carving on the grave. The media had reported this was your place of burial, though Tim did not know if it really was you. He could have only assumed off of the information given, matching your age slightly, and he wonders if there is some sort of universe out there where he would be able to just stay with you.

"Here to see her too?" A masked woman steps next to Tim.

"Yes. I promised I would send flowers once she showed up on the news."

"How lovely of you." The woman hums, placing down a blue lotus.

"Did... you know her?"

"I knew her quite well."

Tim stares down at his flowers, finally looking up at the woman.

"It's such a shame, huh? That she would die to the very organization that she had been working to take care of."

"Well, perhaps she had just understood what it meant to live when she died." You turn to Tim, pulling down your mask as you wait for it to register in his head. "What do you think, Ca—"

You don't get to finish your words before Tim wraps his arms around you with closed eyes.

"I love you too, boy wonder."

[haveagarbageday]

Make sure nobody sees you leave \\ Oscar Piastri, Mark Webber

summary: You love Oscar, but there's something drawing you to Mark, and neither of you can ignore it any longer.

additional info: Mercedes!driver!reader. The story begins in the 2025 season.

warnings: cheating and some suggestive parts.

It was your second race weekend in F1 when Oscar came over to you and asked you out on a date. You liked him, you said yes, and the rest is history. But now, after almost six months, you began to feel the pressure being his rival on the track put on your shoulders. Thanks to some miracle, Mercedes managed to put together a decent car this year, so both you and George were fighting for podium finishes on race weekends, and this often ended with you getting into tough situations with your boyfriend.

Off the track, your relationship was good. Maybe not perfect, but who needs perfect anyway?

Yet…

It was at a stupid party at the end of the year, where you were celebrating Lando and McLaren for winning the championship, when trouble began. Your boyfriend spent a lot of time in his teammate’s company, because the Brit didn’t seem willing to let him out of his sight. So, you looked for a couch where you could sip your drink in peace while you mindlessly scrolled your phone, switching from one app to another in hopes of finding some interesting content.

Someone then sat down next to you, and even though you didn’t bother to look up from the screen, you could feel their eyes on you. This became annoying after a while, so you turned your gaze to them and found Mark sitting there. Of course he was here, Oscar probably insisted on inviting him. Now, that was a problem. It wasn’t intentional, neither of you had consciously done anything wrong, but there was always a spark, some invisible power that made sure you got trapped in each other’s gravitational field.

After a while, you tried to avoid each other, one of you always coming up with some excuse to leave if you met. Oscar hadn’t noticed–thank God for that–and you weren’t about to tell him. It would go away. It was just something temporary, a glitch that could be fixed if you stayed away from each other for long enough. You kept repeating this like a mantra, hoping you could finally move on.

But you couldn’t, and apparently neither could he. His hands were resting on the couch by his sides, and he moved one of them closer to you, letting his little finger touch your bare thigh without saying a single word. Stolen touches, stolen looks, all of it coming straight from a Victorian woman’s novel. This whole thing was electrifying, making you feel ecstatic, a feeling you had almost forgotten beside your boyfriend after getting a little too comfortable in your relationship.

You locked your phone and put it on your thigh, holding onto it with one hand while you let the other slowly move down to his to link your little fingers. He turned his head to look around, checking if anyone had noticed what was happening, but everyone was way too busy to care about what you two did. Before you knew it, he laced his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly to prove this was truly happening, and it wasn’t just some joint fever dream.

You should have pulled away your hand, you should have stood up and left, but you couldn’t do it. Your heart was louder than your brain, and it told you to stay with him and finally discuss what was happening exactly. But no matter how many times you glanced over at him, he didn’t seem too keen to talk, so the two of you continued to sit there, hand in hand, watching the people around you.

It took you by surprise when he suddenly pulled his hand away, but when you spotted Oscar approaching you, the reason for this lack of contact became obvious. You flashed a smile at your boyfriend who leaned down and gave you a quick kiss, even flashing a loving smile at you as he watched you for a few seconds. After giving him a questioning look, he let out a sigh and shrugged.

“Lando drank a little too much, I’ll take him back to the hotel,” he told you with an apologetic smile. “I don’t think I’ll come back, so meet you in our room?” Being the good girlfriend that you were supposed to be, you asked him if he needed help, but he just shook his head. “We’ll be fine as usual. Stay as long as you want, but send me a message when you’re leaving, okay?” After you nodded obediently, he kissed your forehead, waved goodbye to his manager, then left to pick up the drunk world champion.

Long minutes passed before Mark put a hand on your shoulder and leaned closer to make sure you could hear him over the noise of the crowd. “I guess we should talk,” he told you, this sentence sounding like an order instead of a suggestion. 

Your body moved automatically, nodding your head in agreement, then standing up to follow him out of this place. People were saying goodbye to the two of you on the way out, while some tried to convince you to stay a little longer, but the only thing your brain could process at this point was the danger of them remembering the two of you leaving together. What if they start thinking about the why? What if they start rumors about this? What if these rumors reach Oscar? What then? 

As if he could sense your rising panic, Mark put his hand on the small of your back to get your attention, then shook his head a little with a smile. He was right, there was no reason to worry. They were drinking a lot, they probably wouldn’t remember anything the next day. And even if they remembered, what would they say? That you left with your boyfriend’s manager? He just probably promised him to make sure you got back to the hotel in one piece. Yes, you were safe in every sense of the word. 

Once you were sitting in his rented car, you managed to relax a bit, because he was calm, and this feeling affected you in a positive way. He was older, probably a lot wiser than you, he surely knew what he was doing. Not like you were accusing him of having a bad habit of stealing other men’s girlfriends, of course, but he was confident enough to make you feel like everything would be okay. He kept everything under control for the both of you, you had nothing to worry about. 

When you reached his hotel room and the door closed behind you, mixed feelings began to fill your heart. While you were excited to where this was heading, what he wanted to tell you, there was a part of you that felt sick for even considering cheating on Oscar. He was the sweetest man you’d ever met, he didn’t deserve being treated like this. As you watched him throw his jacket on the back of a chair, you began to consider leaving. This was your last chance to do the sensible thing and turn your back on him. You didn’t have to do this, you could just go back to the hotel and get rid of the built-up tension with your boyfriend. 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. I just want to talk, nothing has to happen if you don’t want it,” he assured you as he took a cautious step closer to you. How did he always know what you were thinking about? When he was sure you would stay, he nodded and took a deep breath. “I have never done this before, I’m as clueless as you. But it’s getting harder and harder to be around you, and I can tell you feel it too, that there is something we maybe shouldn’t ignore.”

You stepped closer, your hands folded behind your back so he wouldn’t see you fidgeting, and you looked up at him as you gulped. “You’re right, there is something, but I don’t want to hurt Oscar. It would hurt him so much, even if you were just some random guy, but he trusts you, he looks up to you, and it would surely break him,” you said, but your voice wasn’t as confident as you wanted it to be. 

Mark nodded. “I know. Trust me, I hate myself for even thinking about this. And we haven’t even talked about the fact that you could be my daughter,” he pointed out as he ran a hand through his hair. “But I don’t want to lie to myself, I don’t want to say I don’t want you when I do. All I need to know is what you want. If you say no, we’ll forget this conversation even happened, and I’ll move on eventually.”

Instead of answering, you closed the gap between you and cupped his face to get a better look at his hazel eyes. “Just one time. We do this once, and never again,” you said quietly, standing on your toes to press your lips to his. It was supposed to be a quick peck on his lips, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair on the back of your head and kept you close as he deepened the kiss. It felt so good, and you wished you could go on, but your remaining rationality stopped you. “Mark, say it. Just one time,” you said after you licked your lips. 

“Just one time,” he confirmed with a nod.

But you didn’t stop after one time. 

You could have blamed it on him. You could have said it was all his fault for chasing you. Because he sent you messages, telling you how much he missed you, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you and your pretty moans, how often he fucked his fist at the thought of you falling apart for him, and how badly he wanted to do it again. And you, being the biggest idiot in this world, agreed to see him again. 

Making it work took careful planning, but you managed to leave Oscar behind in Monaco while you traveled to meet your family back home–“It’s a weird relative we celebrate, it’s better not to bring significant others”–and every night you returned to your shared hotel room where Mark was patiently waiting for you. But the moment you stepped in, his patience flew out the window, because he cupped your face and pressed your back against the door as he showered you with sloppy kisses. 

You returned home feeling satisfied, but also guilty as hell. Because Oscar was excited to see you, he even ordered your favorite food since he knew you probably wouldn’t want to go out after the trip. He wanted to take care of you, he wanted to cheer you up after what had been a nerve-racking family event according to you. But when he kissed you, it just didn’t feel the same anymore. He was gentle, confident that this relationship was stable, that there was no need to rush, and you found yourself missing the urgency of Mark’s kisses. 

A few weeks later Oscar announced that he and Lando had to shoot a video for McLaren, then they would move on to take part in some sponsor event. He didn’t want you to be bored while waiting for him, so he decided to go without you. “I will miss you, baby,” he said before kissing you at the airport, making Lando whistle with a laugh in the background. “Just ignore him. That’s what I do most of the time,” he added with a smile, but apparently you weren’t the only one who heard it, because loud booing followed his words.

Without even looking in his direction, Oscar flipped off his teammate, but that turned out to be a bad decision. The Brit walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he grinned at him. “Awww, Osc is mad at me, it makes me sad. But trust me, less than ten minutes after takeoff he will already miss you so much he’ll be crying like a baby,” he said in a sing-song voice. 

“I won’t cry!” your boyfriend snapped.

Lando let out a laugh. “Whatever. Let’s go, Zak will kill us if we’re late again.”

Mark was there in your apartment less than an hour after you got home, sneaking in wearing a beanie with a surgical mask to make sure the neighbors couldn’t recognize him. You were sure you would spend the three days before Oscar’s return in bed, so you stocked the fridge to make sure you had no reason to leave the place. Well, you were wrong, because something changed between the two of you. Sex was still phenomenal, and it was an important part of your affair, but lately you talked a lot more, and he even convinced you to have lunch with him somewhere nice. 

“I was in Monaco and jumped in to surprise Oscar, but he was not here, so I thought I could keep you company,” he told you the excuse he would use.

And the conversations you had sometimes entered an uncharted territory, the discussion of what ifs. What if you left Oscar? What if you decided to make your relationship official a few months after the breakup? What if he said he loved you?

This last one was scaring you to death. When you started this affair with him, you thought it would be nothing more but a physical thing. Bringing in emotions? Mark was crossing a line with that, even if the question was only hypothetical. But was it really nothing more than that? There was a much softer look in his eyes lately, missing the burning need you were used to, and he seemed like someone who saw you as more than just a girl he fucked sometimes. 

When Oscar returned, you had a hard time acting like a happy girlfriend. You did your best, you forced a smile on your face, but maybe the enthusiasm wasn’t there in your voice. Your boyfriend didn’t seem to notice that, though, he just looked happy to be back to you, and you were relieved to see that. Everything went well, you fell back into your well-known everyday rhythm, and you realized that maybe it was time to put an end to the affair. You were loved, and cherished, and you were so good together. Why would you risk this? 

So, you pulled out your phone to send Mark a message, telling him that you’d been thinking, that you had your fun, but you weren’t ready to risk your relationship for him. He asked you not to make rushed decisions, he wanted to discuss this in person, but you told him it wasn’t an option. Not anymore. You had to keep your distance, that was the best you could do. If you stayed together, it would have been only a matter of time before someone found out the truth, and you didn’t need such a scandal before the new season. If people found out and you broke up with Oscar, it would surely cause an uproar in the fandom. 

“Babe, what do you know about this?” 

You looked up at Oscar who walked into the living room from the bedroom, holding up a piece of plastic that seemed like some kind of a card. Seeing your questioning look, he walked closer and showed you its front side: it was Mark’s credit card. Fuck. “Didn’t he call you?” you asked him innocently. 

“Call me? Why?” he asked with a confused look on his face. 

“He jumped in to visit you while you were gone,” you said, following the story Mark had come up with. “I didn’t want to send him away, and he didn’t want me to be all alone, so he came in for a coffee, then we had lunch together,” you finished with a shrug.

Your boyfriend reached out to grab your chin and forced you to look at him. “This was under our bed. Try again.”

“What do you want me to say? That’s what happened, don’t be paranoid. I like him, but only because of you. And he could be my father, come on.”

Oscar threw the card on the floor and began to pace in front of you. “What else am I supposed to think? If I found it in the living room or the kitchen, I would believe you, but that’s not the case. It was under our bed, there’s no other explanation. Just tell me why. What can he give you that I can’t?” he asked you, his voice raised and showing a whole range of emotions at once.

Gulping, you let out a shaky breath and thought about what to do. You could lie, you could deny everything, or you could be honest. But you loved him, he deserved the truth. “I don’t have an answer to that,” you replied quietly. “It just… I don’t know, we just kinda ended up in this mess.”

To your shock, he turned away from you and kicked the coffee table so hard it turned on its side. “What the fuck? When did this even begin?” he demanded. 

“Last year, when we celebrated the titles,” you said, having a hard time keeping back your tears. Not like you had the right to cry.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, then nodded. “All right. I’ll go over to Lando’s now, and by the time I return tomorrow evening, you’d better not be here.”

“Oscar, please, let’s not make rushed decisions, it’s–”

“You cheated on me!” he yelled, his eyes full of the sadness and desperation he felt. 

With shaking hands, you picked up your phone and opened your conversation with Mark. “I ended things with him today. Look at the messages, I’m telling the truth.”

“I don’t care. Keep your cheap excuses, and you can both go to hell. Tomorrow evening. Don’t be here when I get back,” he growled, then left the apartment. 

You spent at least an hour crying, then began to pack your suitcases. Despite living together for months, you never really got to make this place your own. You had your clothes with you, some makeup and other things in the bathroom, but that was it. At least you still had your own apartment back home, so you didn’t have to worry about where to go. You were about to buy your flight ticket when your phone’s screen lit up next to you. 

Mark knew. Oscar had called him to tell him everything you had on his mind regarding this, and now he was worried about you. “I’m still here, you can come to my hotel room if you don’t want to be alone there,” he wrote. You ignored him. Now that you lost your boyfriend, you just didn’t feel like running to him for support. In fact, you didn’t feel like talking to anyone who wasn’t a Mercedes employee. You sent a text to your press officer to tell him about the breakup, knowing she would probably appreciate the heads up. Now all you could hope for was Oscar continuing his habit of keeping things private. You broke up, end of the story. No one had to know why it happened. 

The pre-season test was just around the corner, and you wondered how things would be in the paddock. It was like a divorce, the other drivers would surely pick a side once they found out what happened, and you could only hope you wouldn’t become public enemy number one for hurting everyone’s favorite driver. 

[lionlena]

Hate run, love speed (Pedro Pascal x racing driver f!reader) part 3/?

Pedro Pascal x racing driver f!reader

Summary: You accidentally pick up a hitchhiker who turns out to be Pedro. You hear from him that he’s not a fan of racing and thinks drivers don’t do much… Then he finds out you’re a rally driver.

Warnings: swearing, small angst, mention of risk of accident and death,abuse from men (but not Pedro!) …

A/N: I’m not an expert on car racing and rally drivers, but I’ve always dreamed of becoming one. So please don’t take anything I write about racing and cars seriously. English is not my native language so I apologize for any mistakes. This is my first xreader so… I’m dying here.

*

Pedro wanted to see you after the race but his agent offered him a lift. He was sure he'd see you anyway, so he decided to be patient.

But he didn't expect to meet you any sooner than he expected. When he saw a familiar looking car, he slowed down. And then he stopped as he recognized a figure standing by the open engine hatch.

It had to be fate.

*

Sleeping on the couch all night wasn't the best idea.You woke up sore this morning, but at least you didn't oversleep. You calmly ate your breakfast, drank coffee and put on your favorite T-shirt. It was going to be a pretty good day.

(yes, this shirt)

 You were listening to your favorite song on the way to the track when suddenly the oil level light came on.

"Huh?"

You were really surprised. You regularly checked the levels of all fluids in the car. Besides, it was Mando. Your reliable car.

You pulled over to the side of the road, hoping it was just a mistake. When you opened the engine hood you knew it was bad. You immediately noticed traces of an oil leak. You could only guess that the oil line was damaged. The engine was hot, so you couldn't check it further. You groaned and held the bridge of your nose. You were sure you were going to be late.

You were about to call one of the mechanics when a black off-road Mercedes-Benz pulled up right next to you. That was weird. People rarely cared about other drivers. But when you saw who got out of the car, you were out of breath.

Pedro smiled broadly.

"Hi. Need a ride?"

You wanted to pinch yourself. How could you be so lucky to meet him again.

You were so stunned that you replied:

"My car is broken."

Yeah, as if it wasn't obvious.

He laughed and replied:

"Yeah, cars break down."

"Yes, but not Mando."

He frowned slightly and you realized you'd said it out loud.

"I'm assuming because it's silver."

"And reliable," you mumbled.

Pedro stepped closer to you, glancing at the engine.

"Hmm... I assume this place is just cursed."

"What?"

He was so close to you that you could smell his cologne. And oh... He was even more handsome than when you first met. Probably because his hair wasn't wet from the rain this time. And he wore a well-fitting blue shirt.

"It's almost the same place my car stopped yesterday," he replied.

You looked around and actually... It was almost the same place.

"Wow... It's actually cursed."

You both started laughing.

"Okay, lock the car and get your stuff."

You blinked in surprise.

"Umm, no. I can't. You're in a hurry for sure. I'll be fine.”

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door.

"Yes, I'm in a hurry. I'm supposed to meet my new co-star... at the racetrack."

"Ooo... Uh. Ok."

You quickly closed the engine hood, grabbed your bag and locked the car. Pedro was still standing there with a big smile and holding the door for you. You blushed a bit at the thought of what a gentleman he was. As you two moved on, you really wanted to ask him more about this mysterious co-star, but Pedro started the conversation.

"Look, I'm really sorry I said yesterday that racing isn't a sport and drivers don't do anything. I don't know why I said that. I guess it's because I used to swim and... God it was so much work and I finally gave up because I was too lazy."

You couldn't hide your slight giggle. Why did he have to be so cute? You couldn't be mad at him even if you wanted to.

"Really, you don't need to apologize anymore. I understand. Every profession has its pros and cons. Honestly, I don't think acting is for lazy people either. You know, all those late-night shoots, interviews, movie promotions. It's also a lot of work."

He looked at you for a moment.

"So you're not pretending you don't know who I am anymore?"

"Literally, a few minutes ago you heard that my car's name is Mando. Does it make sense to hide that I've seen your series and movies?"

"I don't think so. So, is any of your cars named Pedro?"

He winked at you, and you couldn't believe how much he was enjoying it.

"No," you replied quickly. "I only name my cars after fictional characters, and basically... I only have two. Mando and my racing car. And then there's the replacement car but someone named it Iron for Iron Man, and it stayed that way."

Pedro smiled mischievously.

"So what's the name of the racing one?"

"Trade secret," you replied quickly.

This amused him even more. He wasn't going to let go.

"Oberyn."

"What, no? How did you come to that?"

"Because it's yellow."

You were speechless for a moment. You realized that he must have watched the race the day before since he knew what color your car was.

"Javier," you replied with a slight sigh. "Because he's mean and he smokes a lot."

Pedro laughed out loud and... It was such a wonderful sound. Much better than in the videos you've seen.

Suddenly you realized you were already there. You thought Pedro was about to say goodbye to you, but he went straight to the track with you. When you saw your sponsors, you started to suspect that it was all connected somehow.

You were not wrong.

"Oh, there are our stars!" Tom shouted. "I see you two have already met."

"Yes," answered Pedro.

You looked at them completely surprised.

"I don't quite understand what's going on?"

Tom grabbed your hand and said:

"Pedro didn't tell you? You will play with him in...”

"NO!" you growled.

Seeing the surprised and sad face of Pedro, you decided to control your anger.

“I already told you that I am not an actress and advertising is not for me. Pedro is a great actor, but playing with someone like me, we will all come off badly."

You saw that Pedro was about to say something, but Henry beat him to it.

"Leave it to me. Y/N, let's go aside."

Henry grabbed your elbow gently and dragged you a few feet away. Then he asked:

"What do you want? New car, better parts for the old one, more money?"

You ignored his questions.

"Why don't you hire some actress?"

The man moaned.

"Y/N you must understand that this is a business and we don't have unlimited budget. We can't afford two professional, in-demand actors. No offense but you're not going to cost us that much. But it's not just about the money. We need authenticity. We want our customers to truly believe that our cars are for women who break stereotypes."

You groaned and shook your head, but Henry didn't let go.

"Look, if our profits go up, then... Next season, we're going to hire a different coach. The one you choose."

You looked at him shocked.

"For real?"

"Yes. Think about the advantages. You'll make extra money, you'll get more fans, you'll get rid of Ben... And don't tell me you don't want to play with a hottie like Pedro Pascal."

"Uh... All right."

"Ok. Let's go work out the details. Don't worry about training. I already told Ben you're off today."

Henry clapped his hands and gave the others a thumbs up. You got the strange feeling that Pedro beamed, as if he was really glad that you agreed.

What were you supposed to do? The offer was really tempting. You could only profit.

What could have gone wrong?

*

When you were talking to your friend in the evening, her excitement was vibrating on the phone.

"This is fucking awesome news!"

"I don't know," you replied skeptically.

"What is wrong? It's like a dream come true and you sound like someone just killed your puppy."

You rubbed your temples. How were you supposed to explain it?

"It's just too much. Sure, I dreamed of meeting Pedro... Like millions of other women, but that's it. I'm having a good season and all I wanted to do was just ride and win. I have a race in Spain in two weeks, then France... And I'm not an actress."

"Hey, listen," your friend's voice was calm and reassuring, "it's just an advertisement… Several two-minute spots.  Professionals don't always play in commercials. Besides, you said Pedro offered to help you."

"Yeah, when he gets the script, he'll call me and we'll meet."

"Oh, and thats great. Everything will be fine. You manage to keep your nerves at a speed of 200 km / h and you can't cope playing alongside... the hottest actor of this year!"

"Uhhh... You're not helping!"

Your friend laughed and you joined her.

Eventually her excitement started working on you. You started to think that this might actually be a fun adventure. In a few years you'll be able to say that you played with Pedro Pascal himself.

*

Part 2: https://lionlena.tumblr.com/post/717038721131855872/hate-run-love-speed-pedro-pascal-x-racing-driver

A/N: Please reader remember never to get into a car with strangers.... Unless it's Pedro Pascal :D

[elisysd]

13. But I'll believe in you, still your number one fan

Masterlist - Previously - Next

Chapter soundtrack: The Last One - Maisie Peters

He didn't have the energy to follow her outside. He screwed up twice in two days. First, with his best friend and now with the girl he was hopelessly in love with. Regrets filled him. He didn't even get the chance to tell her he loved her, and now she was gone. His cheek was hurting, but he didn't care. No amount of physical pain would compare to the one he felt in his heart.

He heard people cheering and celebrating. He should be there, he should support his team and his friend, but all he wanted to do was leave this goddamn place. On his way out, he crossed paths with Ethan, who was looking frustrated; the race hadn't gone well for him either. But when he saw his best friend looking distraught, he didn't hesitate to come to him. Kyle explained everything from his fight with Romy to his illness and saw the confusion before the fear in Ethan's eyes and a hint of sadness in him. He was hurting everyone around him and was hating himself for it. He saw Ethan reluctantly leaving him. He had his own girlfriend, not really a girlfriend, to search for. Kyle couldn't blame him. They would have time to talk about this later. For now, he had to find Romy and try to make amends. He wandered the paddock alleyways, starting with Audi's hospitality and garage, but she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was faced with an equally worried Seb.

"Dawson? Have you seen my number one driver? She hasn't gone to the weighing nor to the media pen. She was fined, and I don't mind paying it, but I'm just worried."

"It's my fault…" Kyle admitted, eyes glued to the ground.

"How bad have you messed up?"

"A hell of a lot. Wait… you know about…" he dared not say anything further. And say what anyway? There had never been a them when it came to him and Romy and with his confession it was even less likely to happen.

"She told me a few things; let me tell you, Kyle, she cares. More than you think. She has been through a lot; don't give up on her. She won't give up on you."

"I think today, she might. I… I lied to her. I didn't want to, and I feel bad enough."

"You have your heart in the right place, kiddo; there is nothing that a good conversation can't fix. It will work out."

He didn't know what went through his mind, but Seb always had a kind aura surrounding him, and Kyle felt at ease to talk about his illness.

"I'm sorry, Kyle. I can't even begin to comprehend what you must feel. I'm here for you if needed. If you want a second opinion about a treatment, I know a good doctor. Whatever you need. F1 can't lose you just yet."

"Thank you, Seb. For everything."

"Now go, find your girl," the team principal smiled gently at him.

He nodded before going back to his quest. It didn't take long before his phone vibrated in his pocket, and Ethan's name appeared on his screen.

Romy is with Julia behind the Skoda's hospitality.

Kyle had never run this fast in his life. And indeed, she was there, crying in Julia's arms. He screamed her name like a madman, making her look up. When he earned no reaction from her side, he rushed to her and crouched down as Julia disappeared to give them some space and privacy. He took her in his arms, forcing her against his chest.

"I'm so mad at you! You should have told me everything as soon as you started to feel your eyesight declining! Now I understand better why you complained about the headaches and why you were always hitting yourself with the furniture,"she sobbed in his shirt while punching his chest at the same time. 

"I'm sorry… I didn't want you to think about me when you were on track. I don't want to be a burden for you, sunshine. You don't need that. Not when you are fighting for a podium. I don't want you to think about me," he mumbled in her hair.

She sighed, annoyed, and glared at him.

"Oh my God, Kyle Evan Dawson, when will you finally understand that whenever I'm in this car, I'm fighting for my granddad, dad, and you! You are one of the reasons why I want to be up there on this podium! I always have you in mind when I'm racing! Always! I want you to be proud of me! Because I love you! So much!" she punctuated her speech with a few punches on his chest, right where his heart was beating faster than ever.

He had imagined and dreamed of hearing those words from her, but nothing could ever top up the reality. He took her head between his hands and glued his forehead to hers, his breath falling on her lips.

"Romy Lisa Schumacher, I'm in love with you too; you have no idea how much. Be mine. Officially. Please, be mine today and forever. I don't want to let you go, not today, not ever." 

"I'm yours, idiot. I've always been. Even when I was too stupid to admit it," she smiled as he finally let his lips meet hers. From afar, he heard Ludwig cheering, but he didn't care. He and Ethan could talk and whistle all they wanted. He had his happiness between his arms, and he had the firm intention to keep it that way.

They finally left the track, hand in hand, not caring if anyone was seeing them. They briefly separated to go to each other's cars and met again at the hotel a few minutes later. Without a word, Kyle followed her to her room. She asked him for a minute, just for her to change into more comfortable clothes. She sprayed her face with water and looked in the mirror. Her cheeks were rosy and were hurting from smiling, her eyes glossy from happiness. She looked younger, too. Was it what people were talking about when they were saying that you had a special glow when you were in love? She shook her head, laughing silently at herself. 

"I'm in love," she whispered in front of her reflection. I'm in love with Kyle Dawson. And he loves me too." She bit her lip, refraining from jumping around. She felt silly, but most of all, she didn't care.

"Romy?" his voice came from behind the door, startling her a little. "Are you okay in there? It's been more than fifteen minutes…"

"I'm good! Perfect, even," she replied, opening the door. "Hi," she smiled.

"Hey, you."

She felt a little awkward. It was all too new for her; she didn't know how she was supposed to act. Did they have to talk about their relationship from now on? 

"I see the wheels turning inside your mind," he told her, resting his hands on her hips. His breath was hot against her ear, making her blush.

"It's new to me."

"I know, don't worry." 

"There are many things I want to say… I just don't know how," she sighed, frustrated.

"Let it out."

"I… I feel stupid, first and foremost. Because I know I have had these feelings for you for so long, and I wanted to deny them because I was scared, even though you've never given me a reason to be. At least recently. And it hurt me to do so. I was self-sabotaging because I was stubborn. I hurt you, and I hurt myself. I'm sorry. I feel guilty. And a part of me regrets acting like that because I can't help but think I missed many beautiful things with you. And it's time we won't get back." 

He took her head between his hands, making her look at him.

"What is done is done, Romy. What matters is now. I just want to know one thing. Are you, right now, all in?"

"I am. I promise you, I am."

"Then we forget about the past; from now on, it is you and me," he said, pressing his forehead against hers.

She nodded and smiled, throwing her arms around his neck and her lips on his, kissing him until she was out of breath. One thing led to another, and soon, her clothes were off, and soft pantings filled the room. She had never felt safer and more loved in his arms at night.

When she woke up the next day, she didn't want to leave; she wanted to stay. Kyle was still sleeping soundly next to her. She didn't dare move, not wanting to wake him up.

"It's rude to stare," he mumbled.

"Good morning. Boyfriend."

He stirred and opened his eyes before pulling her against him to snuggle.

"Boyfriend?" he mumbled against her hair.

"You don't like it?"

"I only like it if I can call you girlfriend."

"I think it is doable."

She reached for a phone on the bedside table and found many messages from her PR officer.

"Shit hit the fan," she sighed, showing them to Kyle.

"Can you read them for me? It's always a bit hard for me to be fully aware of my surroundings in the morning."

"Sorry… Sonia, my PR officer, is saying that photographers took pictures of us yesterday while we were heading out. We weren't careful, for sure. And now, people are talking. She is asking about our relationship to better prepare for her damage-control session. I don't understand why she calls that damage control… I mean, I imagine perfectly well what is being said."

"What are you going to say?"

"The truth. That we are dating and that I don't give a flying fuck about what they all say. You're one of the very few sources of happiness in my life, I'm not giving that up."

"I'm glad to hear it. It wasn't what you were saying a few weeks ago."

"It's just… I want to be brave. You make me want to be brave for you. You are inspiring, Kyle. Not only because of how much of a champion you are but also, what you're going through…" 

"I don't want your pity," he cut her.

"It's not pity… far from it. I'm in awe of you. You're so strong and brave. I just wish I could be more like you for you. That's all I'm saying," she touched his cheek. "You said that you had a list of reasons why we would be perfect together…"

"I do, indeed."

"Can you tell them now?" she shyly asked.

"What do you think they are?"

"Well, from an aesthetic point of view, we look good together," he laughed as if it rarely happened. 

"It was not the first thing on my list, but you're right. Honestly, that list is not that long. I think I can shorten it to one sentence. We are so different that it is what makes us alike."

"Okay, Shakespeare."

"I mean… you complete me, Romy. Every piece that I found was missing in my life; you brought it to me. All that makes you who you are and that I'm not makes me want to be better for you. We are one and the same despite what makes us so different. And I like to think I do the same thing to you."

"You do. That's what scared me and attracted me at the same time. You're grounding me. I just have to look at you to know everything will be okay. You make me feel at peace with myself. And you're hot. That helps," he pinched her side, making her yelp. "No, but for real. Somehow, you're my first love. I've had boyfriends before, but none compare to what you made me feel when I was a preteen and what you make me feel now. I still feel like ten years ago when you're near."

"And I hope to make you still feel that way in ten years," he kissed the side of her head before moving to her lips.

Author's note: Yay, they confessed. Have I ever said I loved them? 🥹

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience. I also have a taglist for this story, so if you want to be added so you never miss a chapter, let me know.

Taglist: @smoooothoperator-admin

[stolenatbirth]

This is my second book, after my author surprisingly got robbed in her own house. I  guarantee the Voto family hired someone to break in and steal my book, (ALTHOUGH I can’t prove it.) Who would take everything, especially 3 books and leave needles hanging around!  A junkie would be in and out as fast as they

Can!  I found an identical twin during covid as this evil family never wanted me near a computer!  The odds of finding what I found is 1 and 3 trillion!  I went to

a DNA Lab who said, “Sir, we have no time today we are really busy!  I said van you do me one favor?  The wonderful lady saif sure what is it?  She asked? I should have the pictures of me and my “twin”.  I said, “Can you look at these?

She said, “who is that boy?”  I said, “can you repeat yourself, I’m deaf in my left ear from Hilti guns doing construction.  My whole life!”  She said again, “who is

that boy?  I said, Exactly!  The boy on the left in the Buffalo Bills coat is supposedly a cousin I never meet in my life!  The boy on the right is me!!  She

said “OMG how did you find this?  I said God is good isn’t He?  She said absolutely.  She then said son his birthday!  I replied with evidence, August 20, 1969!!  She then said your birthday?  I said Nov 6, 1969!  She then said, OMG

then she said your birth weight?  I said, 9 lbs 5 oz. 

Then she said, “Son I have owned this lab for 30 years and have never seen anything Like this!!  Come in! ”  She said.  “First thing are these people military?

I said yes, 2 potatoe peelers, and 1 high Air Force Major!  She said,  “Son, if you went to any other lab in the US, they would have covered this up. I have seen it for years, and specialize in Immigration DNA!  This is not your family!  That is your

Identical twin brother!  They would have taken your swabs that you contaminated in plastic baggies anyway and covered up!  She brought me in and guided me on how to properly do the DNA in a newspaper that can hold the DNA 2 weeks if you

don’t put in freezer!  “If” you  put in freezer within that time it will last for 100 years!  She then said, the government already have you tracked since birth.  You

need to hire a private genealogist!!  Then she said go to a DNA lab of the government for evidence and do the tst for fun, just to verify this evil!!  Child trafficking and harvesting is a 500 billion $ industry.  She also said you found your

twin!  Now you have to find your parents and brothers and sisters if any!  Nick Dolan had one sister listed. She said “don’t worry you found him now find the rest!

                                                                1.

So, lets start my life story of abuse and the pathological and narcissistic family of lies!! First Lie!!  I was told my whole life, I jumped off my 2 story porch on 115 Morrison Ave, Somerville, MA.  My phone number was 627-666-9334! I jumped for my sneaker and landed on my head, 2 stories!?!  Mary Voto “said” she ran up and down the street holding my head together til her mother arrived!  We only had one car at that time! Johnny Voto was a truck driver for Olympia Trucking at the time!  They supposedly brought me to the hospital!! This was a lie  of a lifetime I would have been dead at 2 years old, if that happened my skull was too

Soft to live through a fall like that!  When I confronted John Voto he was Deputy Chief of Police of Tewksbury, MA.  My fake brother in 2022 on a phone call brought up the story!  He “denied” that happened at that house.  He said, which was the first pathological lie from him.  This is a loser  fake brother that has known

For years I was taken at birth.  Such pure evil! 

Somerville at the  time of my childhood was called slumberville.  It was a poor city!  Where we used to play sports on the streets and swim in the city pool when I was open and “if”we didn’ make it there!  The fire hydrant would do!  We used to steal carts from Johnny’s Food Master for go cart wheels so we could have fun!  At 6 years of age my cousin (we used to call each other that). Mickey Ma221 and I used to throw rocks at cars!   We got caugjt one day as the man from one of the cars chased us o 125 Morrison Ave, my abducted house!  We were hiding under the porch when he found us!  He asked where we lived.  I said, upstairs!  Mikey said he lived there too because he didn’t  want to get into trouble!  But as I have always told the truth to adults I said he lives around the corner!  Well that didn’t go well.  That’s when the beatings started coming!  The abuse from Johnny was horrible!  At 7 years old I loved playing with matches.  My friend Damien McCaferty who lived 2 houses away actually was flicking matches in his front yard!  It was a dry summer so the grass went up and caught fire.  By the time it was put out we burnt a 10 by 20 ft section of his yard!  Well his dad  came over and told Johnny Voto that night what we did!  Well,  Johnny took my hands and put them over an open flame on the stove to burn.  So I would learn my lesson as his wife was screaming out of the top of  her lungs!  I was concentrating on not to cry

and ignored the pain!  This guy wasn’t going to break me. I learned how to block the pain  out.  That didn’t stop me from playing with matches a couple of weeks later while I stayed home from school.  I was in  the back porch flickering matches in the trash and it went up in fire.  I watched it for a minute and woke  Mary and said the porch is on fire!  We  put it out as the rails  to the porch were charred from

                                                               2. 

the fire!  We hid it for a long time!  Can’t remember the punishment for that one!   Thank God!  Around 8ish I was placed in the Montessori School for the gifted kids!  I excelled there, and was  at Powder House Park!  We were not allowed to talk or know each others  names!  It was crazy!  The other kids were chartered in

from other towns across  the state!  We went in every day and grabbed our totes

with our daily work in them!  1 hour before we left we went over the daily work.

We swapped over answers to the person next  to us so we didn’t cheat!  If we got 100 on any of the sections and sniffs of different smells of fruit!   As I remember Montessori School a lot oit6 was mathematics, strategies, tactics,  logics!  It was

nothing  like regular school and nothing  like the say now a days of God.  I just

got sick of the quiet and no recess!  I remember looking at Somerville High School

kids playing in playground as I was waiting for my bus to go home!  Wishing I there!  Mary Voto would go for parent teacher every month  to that school.  Not like regular parent teacher every report card.   So I was so sick  and depressed of being there I dropped my grades and slept from Feb to June on my desk to get out of there!  To get back to my real friends at Lowell School and be normal again.  Man the torture in that  house  continued when John and Mary  went out!  Stephen

and John used to make me kiss the babysitter!  I think that’s where my bad boy an hormones  started kicking in.  But as we grew older the would be baby sitter  would torture me! To the point I would fight back!  One time got me so bad!  I went after them with a broom as I was 8 years old.  I took the broom and railed back to swing at them that I smashed  through Johnny’s light show. Basically strobe lights that moved with the music.  When he had his friends over  he used to do his drugs and  used with the lights off! And music and lights going! Well that

night wasn’t a night to remember we all got beatings for talking too much when

we were up in our room at bedtime.  I never had my own bed in Somerville.  I guess we know why now!  I was taken at birth!  So I would sleep on the floor!

Of fight with Stephen to move over and let me sleep with him!  Most of the time

I just took to the floor.  Stephen  was the type of child if you won a fight he would

Come at you with a weapon. How do you think out of Somerville to 80 Green Meadow Dr Tewksbury I started  excelling in sports as I had long blond hair an

dressed differently than country people.  I was in second grade when I moved!  I

was outcast and no one wanted to be friends with me because I was different.  I hated going to school especially on the bus where a neighbor  down the street used to torture me.  Her name was Holly Athertin!  It took about 6 months to adjust as I

was all alone!  My brothers were a couple of years older.  I don’t know what they were going through!  As I look back  I was always separated from those two.  When I went  to see relatives I was always by myself.  Stephen and John went together.  I remember the day I fit in  like yesterday!       3.    

They were playing kick ball and let me join in! I kicked that ball farther than anyone has ever seen!  From that moment I was popular! It was like back in Somerville when I played sports with the other boys!  I was the MVP of my street hockey team that lost in the finals!  As I was 2 to 3 years younger than all of them!

I loved every sport I played; BMX, football, basketball, English horseback riding,

wrestling!  The only good thing that evil Mary Voto did for me was sneak me out

in her an, for sports, when her husband hardly let her drive us anywhere!  He was an evil controlling man! Never cared about us.  But his damn cars and drugs!  It wasn’t easy for Steven and John either!  But, I wasn’t they’re real brother and I didn’t deserve any of this nightmare!  I used to try to stay over my friends house overnight at 11 and 12 and teen years; just so I could get away from that evil house! We used to watch Mary make or buy dinner for us!  But we had to wait for that evil man to eat first and we would get and scavenge for whatever scraps were left; and it was awful! I was always hungry and starving at elementary school!!

My stomach was always growling in class before lunch!   I was so embarrassed!

All of us growing up in the 70’s and 80’s were not to talk about whats going on in the home we lived in!  My great friend Sheila Foster just passed away last year! She was one of my best friends in Tewksbury growing up with my other best friend Brad Homola! Sheila used to come to all my childhood sports games rain or shine. Boy its tough to talk about!  I used to always look for her to make sure she was there to watch me!  She was like a sister that I never had, and missed everyday!  Brad  and I used to go to her house a lot!  We actually got caught sleeping in her tiny closet.  It was so funny when I first met her mother and around 4am.  In that closet  Brad literally had our legs up on the wall it was that small! She opened the door and said, “I knew there were boys here!  Lol!  First before Brad and I could say a word was Sheila yelling out “Ma, that’s Jason you would like him. You talked to him on the phone all the time!  Lol!  This story  has been told to

so many laughs over the years!  I will always be remembered  as so will she! Such a great friend and woman!  Looking back on my detailed memory  my Godmother call me Jakey Vovo where would you get that name as my name was Jason!!! But

we soon will know the truth!   My Tewksbury neighborhood was all great friends.  We did everything together till we hit junior high!  We all went our separate ways.

I will never say I was a perfect child!  I came into my looks early an took full advantage  of it with the girls!  Lost my virginity to the neighbor at 12 years old! That year is when I fell in love with baseball!  I excelled at it!  My neighbor Lee

Cowir  was like the bad news bears coach.  He was always drinking beers on the way to games and way home!  He was a good guy!  I was talented as you will see,  

                                                              4.

as my son, now plays in the majors.  Later on in the story I will give his name!  The abuse started with my gay cousin Mike, Susans’ brother whose father raped half of the family!  Jimmy Stewart!  Mike did just stupid things like spin the bottle and touching my penis! Jimmy took me to work one day, as I will never forget!

We were delivering peanut butter to Teddy Peanut Butter in Charleston MA! As

we were pulling out he asked to see my penis!  I was only 10 years old!  He just touched it thank God!  But, later in life, I found out he raped my aunt Eileen when she was a teen!  That is Jimmy’s wife’s little sister!  This man was a pig!  Then at

covid Emme Stewart called me and was depressed! I said Emma listen I just found my identical twin brother as that Voto family tried to lock me up with lied!  I said, is everything ok?  She said sadly yes!  She then said Jason remember when my mother died of breast cancer?  I was 15 years old!  I said yes!  She said we were at a family function as you came over to me and said Emma any boys mess with you, you call or come see me!  Well, after you walked away I said to my grandmother Pat, a Stewart who was my favorite aunt! Emma.  I said, grandma he doesn’t look like them, and he doesn’t act like them!!  Pat’s shunned her in silence and said Emma please don’t ever say that again, As we know now years later why she said

that!  Back to childhood, I was always separated from those 2 fake brothers of mine when I went to see my Nana or  I went to see my grandfather Arthur Dolan on the other side of the family!  I went up to Grand Lake Stream Maine for a week

with Arthur.  By the way this all came out.  My fake mother told her sisters, when Arthur died not to tell anyone of his death!  Evil!  Mary’s younger sister Barbara

Dolan Storella said!  Mary that is impossible!! There is a little thing called the internet and Facebook, not to mention Twitter! This evil woman knew if we drove

way up to Maine for his wake, I would see my own brother and sisters eyes and know they were my family!  Pure evil!  I remember I loved my grandfather now knowing he was really my uncle!  I was 8 years old when he took me to Grand Lake Stream to his acres of land!  We called it the Poor Farm.  I don’t know why

they just did!  He took me  for a week as Stephen John and his son David were up

there that summer before me!  The cleaned and worked doing landscaping and ripping weeds out of the pond!  When I was there I was getting into mischief.  I would let the air out of his farming tractor!  Try to clime down a 300 ft well.  Boy was I a hyper kid!  Well we were going home from my grandfather put me on a raft in his little pond!  He said just float around while I mow the farm!  I was like  good luck with that!  The tires were very low!  He said we are gonna leave at 10am

to go to the dog track in Seabrook!  Post time is 12:30pm. We don’t want to be late! Gramps was a big gambler!  Back in the day he had his own dogs and kennel!  He got them from Ireland and had many champions!     5.

I found out later in life!  Well when he finished mowing we were all packed up and ready to go!  We got in the car! He said, Jason let me see your penis!! I was in shock!  Because this was the first uncomfortable moment in my life!  But thinking back now, he just wanted to make sure I was a stallion! He didn’t touch me or anything!  We just went on our way!  We got to Seabrook on time for the first race. For this is when I learned I had mathematics in me!  He showed me in 2 minutes how to read the program book of the dogs!  How the break out of the gate and how they go in every quarter of mile of the track! I figured it out quickly!  He was letting me pick trifectors for $2.00, which means they have to come in exact order!

I really wanted to win! The first on I picked 2 out of 3 came in!   I was so close!

The second one I picked threw a long shot in! I could read the odds on the board outside on the track!  I picked 8, 4, 1.  It came in! I knew I won a good sum of money!  I said gramps, I won!  He smiled and said, yes!  So I followed him up to the ticket counter.  I knew it was $1,$4.00. In these days of mid 70’s it was like

$1800.00 in 20 20’s.  The teller handed him the money, and he put in his left pocket as I was not taking my eyes off of him!  He said he had to go to the bathroom. I followed him and pretended to pee next to him. When he was done

I was done! He wenet to wash his hands and I said, Gramps am I gonna get that $?

He said ya fella and he reah4d in his left pocket and handed it to me.  Looking back now, I knew he was debating to just give me $20.  But he gave me it all! I

Was so excited!  I bought a BMX as all my friends had one!  I started racing BMX for awhile and I excelled at it!  All my friends had custom Red1nes GTS Hutch bikes I only had a Murray that was store bought!  I was still beating them!  It wasn’t about the bike!  It was about the strength in your legs! As I started getting into my teens.  And in puberty I started dating a lot of girls..a lot! My grandmother had a beach house at Salisbury Beach and I did not like her very much. No, she was a mean evil woman!  As during covid my step aunt Ann told me that my grandfather used to say David and Lisa his youngest of 7 were not his kids!  We used to go up to her beach house in the summer and Stephen always stayed as I would wiggle my way in!   It was my only way to get out of that evil housee!  I was meeting girls left and right but, every Saturday I would be depressed as their family vacation would be over!  They would  leave and I had no way really of seeing them again!  I was only 12  - 15 years old during this time!  So I had no

license!  But that Saturday night I got so used to another one I would find it would wipe that sorrow away! One time there was this girl Gail Mannings I slept with out of many 1,116 women I counted! Yes, 1,116 is correct! We had sex on the side of 495 Park and Ride after the movies!  After we were done having sex, she said

                                                           6.

you were way better than your brother Stephen!  I was horrified! Back to a childhood “trauma”! I was 12 years old coming home from school!  I just found

3 baby bunnies!  I was trying to save!  I came home and to my horrific surprise

The hair was ripped out of them!  I asked that evil Mary Voto what happened to my bunnies, I was so upset and angry!  She said Mac our dog got to them! So I

went out and hit poor Mac as I was watching these poor innocent bunnies die in

pain!  Come to find out Shirley Dolan, Mary’s sister’s daughter plucked those poor bunnies hair out!  Yes, another Devil’s sister!  Shirley was a mentally ill woman!

She had sex with her own brother Danny Dolan.  I found this out through Danny’s wife!  Picked up the phone one day as Danny and Shirley were talking on the phone!  His wife Karen overheard Danny Saying, “Shirley you were the best sex of my life!  Danny just opened a can of worms!  His wife went downstairs where Danny hung out on down time! She rubbished through his things! Only to find more evidence as to her surprise, she found pictures of men preforming head to Danny in his military boxes! That he used as storage!  This was a sick Dolan family!  That evil Mary Voto tried, lying in Lowell courts during covid! Said I was saying her sister was my mother!  What a sick woman lying under oath!  Shirley Kinsell, a Dolan is my mother, her aunt!  The evil this family is!  Boy were they

Desperate to medicate me!  Back to my childhood detailed memories!  As I said

I was a good athlete! I came home one night with Brian Alyward who was a great

Athlete and David French!  We walked through the garage!  I was happy hanging out with these kids!  We opened the finish basement door!  Where Johnny and his friend Bobby Bertrand were! Man did he pot smoke blow out!  As they were sitting there stoned and coked out of their minds!   Dave and Brian called their parents for

a ride home!  They knew to leave situations like that in those days!  I was never so

embarrassed and ashamed of this piece of shit household I grew up in!  These people were not made to have children!  Brian and Dave never looked at me the same!  I don’t blame them! All my neighbors…we were so close and used to always hang out in our neighborhood!  Playing spin the bottle, drinking, stealing weed from Johnny’s stash and whatever was available we found and experimented with!  In our teens!  But more embarrassment came when they found naked pictures of John and Mary in their night stand!  Disgusting! And it was bad for

Stephen and John too!  It was always something.  Just when we had dinner, Mary

Would feed that evil husband of hers, and we got to scavenge for whatever was left over! There were so many hidden secrets in that house! One of her brothers Eddy Dolan used to smoke weed like cigarettes, and had a pilot’s license as a boy that he got caught smuggling marijuana from Mexico to the States in the 1970’s.  He spent

time in Mexican prisons.   He used to come up to his mother’s beach house and walk around the beach with a joint in his ear like it was normal! I never got why the State  troopers never arrested him as we walked by them!  Now back to Danny Dolan the degenerate of the family when I used to stay at their original house in

Salisbury on long school vacations!

[unsaidcurses]

can you please write smth with reader comforting marcus and being his support system after todays shit show.

i rly need it, i just want to forget todays race happened 😭😭😭

you don't have to go through this alone// m.a.

summary: marcus needs some comforting after monza and you're there to be his support system

pairing: marcus armstrong × reader

wordcount: 2.7k

warning: angst, graphic description of a breakdown, monza weekend (it's a tw itself basically), tiny bit of cursing 

a/n: i swear he's cursed or it doesn't make sense + probably he can pass the curse because tumblr deleted half of this and I had to rewrite :D anyways, is this more dramatic and cheesy than it should have? yes do i care? not particularly

the “delete” button doesn’t exist in real life, right? because if it did, you would certainly have pressed it by now, for marcus’ sake.

it was monza weekend and you accompanied marcus. thank god you did because it had been a real shit couple of races for him, and just the thought of leave him alone dealing with them destroyed you.

he qualified pretty well, to be honest, ending p3, which meant he would start in decent positions both in the sprint and feature race.

it looked so good on friday, you were confident about it.

saturday came and the sprint race with it. you were watching in from the motorhome, nervousness eating you alive as you looked at him overtaking some cars. nothing too bad happened. but then the last three laps arrived and when jack and liam started pushing him for sixth place, marcus had little choice but to skip across the run-off area, keeping his position. you didn’t think much of it, since your main concern was to see him on the track and not in the wall, and you just continued watching the cars speeding around.

when he crossed the line, you were content and satisfied. he finished p6 gaining one position from where he started, which meant a couple of point to bring home. at some point you heard the commentators saying that someone got a 5 second penalty, therefore out of curiosity you asked a mechanics who got it, and your face dropped hearing his answer.

“it’s marcus. he went off track and gained advantage. 5 seconds will bring him back to tenth.”

you tried to rub off your sad expression when you saw him coming closer to the garage. you didn't know if he was aware of the penalty and you didn't want to worry or scary him off in case nobody told him yet.

you kept your eyes on him all the time, from when he spoke to his race engineer, who you assumed announced him what happened, to when he went patting every mechanics’ shoulders murmuring small apologies for his mistake. after he was done, he made his way towards the back of the motorhome, close to his driver room, where he knew you always awaited him.

he stood there in front of you with a disappointed expression on his face. the only thing you thought of doing in that moment was to circle his body with your arms, trying to comfort him a bit, to which he responded just with sliding one hand on the small of your back. it made you frown: he never hugged you like that, if you can even call that a hug.

“hey, hug me properly. you love my hugs.” you tried to cheer him up, looking up at him when you noticed how his eyes were fixed on the floor.

“i don’t love when i finish out of the points though.” the remark came out with a serious tone you hardly ever heard him use. you were almost scared that the usual “make jokes to lighten up the mood” wouldn’t work as it commonly did, so you gave one last try.

“and your hatred for bad races is bigger than your love for my hugs? is it so debilitating?”

“mh, i don’t know let me check.” he placed both arms around your shoulders, gently stroking them. although you couldn't see each other's faces, his action put a smile on both of them.

“i guess i love you a bit more.” he chuckled. you were glad he still had some optimism, after all the next day he would have a huge opportunity starting from second row.

“why don’t you go shower and then we can celebrate with felipe and have some fun?” you hinted at the championship winner, bringing marcus in his room by pulling his hand.

“of course, i’ll be back in a flash.”

-

sunday morning was a repeat of the previous day. in hitch's garage, watching your boyfriend's car race with headphones on, but starting from third today.

you were hopeful. marcus was determined to fight for the podium today, if not even for a win. he wanted to prove himself after the two awful years he had in f2 that he was meant to be there, that he was fast and talented, just extremely unlucky. you perfectly knew it was not an easy game, considering the two drivers who pressured him from the back yesterday were in front of him today, but a huge smile appeared on your face as you see jack in pole struggling when the lights went off, allowing the new zealander to overtake him on the inside.

not even five seconds since the race started and marcus was already in second place, not bad right? wrong. 

six laps later, felipe passed marcus right before a huge incident that caused the deployment of a safety car. he slipped into third again, but regained the position as soon as the track was clear.

after a couple of laps, another incident took place and similarly as before, it resulted in a safety car.

hitech wasn’t particularly famous for making the most efficient pit stops on the grid, especially when it came to marcus’ car, so you hoped they didn’t mess up everything when you saw a silver car pulling in the pit lane. little did you know you didn’t have to worry about the pit itself, but about the way he got in. everything happened too fast, you didn’t understand if the engineer called him late or if he didn’t brake in time, the point is that the boy entered beyond the entry bollard, which caused him a ten second stop and go penalty.

you pulled your hands to your mouth in disbelief. each time he qualified high enough to compete for big points, something had to happen. It’s not like you wish anything bad to any driver, but sometimes the question “why always him?” passed through your mind. did he do something horrible in his past life to deserve this? was he a serial killer? judas? it’s not possible he was so unfortunate all the time with no explanation.

seeing his car getting on track, you didn't have time to rationalize your last thought as a red graphic with his car's number appeared on the screen.

another stop and go penalty for speeding in the pit lane.

“you can’t be real!” you couldn’t contain your shout, removing the headphone from your head and walking away from your spot. it’s absurd to throw away a race in less than 500 meters, yet it happened and clearly marcus was the victim, who else otherwise?

you were disappointed, as the whole garage was, after all, but you knew that none of that compared to what marcus was feeling, and you felt the world breaking in your hands realizing how devastating that could be. he was so positive that morning, only to get it snatched from his hands.

continuing watching the race was so painful, looking at him trying to gain as much ground as he could, but with his gap, you could consider that a wild-goose chase. the only thing that prevented him from being last was liam, who lost a lot of time after being hit by juri.

the race felt interminable, but eventually the checked flag brought an end to this disaster. marcus rushed out of the car, did the bare minimum he had to do publicly without even removing his helmet, like weighting himself and giving an apology to the team, and then left for his room basically running

“marcus, it’s me, can i come in?” you walked to the door and knocked on it, waiting for an answer that never came. you stood there some seconds and tried to lower the handle and then you realized: he locked himself in. you acknowledged the fact that he didn’t want to see, nor be seen from anybody, not even you, which explains why he purposely avoided the side of the garage where you usually were.

so you just waited there, with your forehead resting on the cold material of the door, counting minutes passing and watching all the mechanics moving around and leaving.

you heard a faint click, but at first it didn’t sink it was the key on the other side twisting in the lock. it did only when the solid object that was sustaining you wasn’t anymore, and you almost fell on the ground. you looked up to your boyfriend who had a blank expression on his face.

“can we go get lunch? i’m exhausted, i just want to eat and go to our room.” you wanted to check up on him and ask him if he was okay but he beat you to it by talking first. his face shifted to a pleading look, so you did not insist and just nodded as you walked toward the restaurant he found the other day in front of the hospitality.

not a word left marcus’ mouth during the meal. he didn’t even order, he just mumbled “the same” after you asked the waiter some dishes. some of his friends were with you and he didn’t laugh at their jokes, sometimes he smiled slightly but nothing more.

you slid your hand on his thigh, his eyes left his plate to meet yours and softened immediately, then he moved and placed his head on your shoulder. seeing him like this made you feel so powerless, you at least hoped that the contact could give him some comfort.

the lunch carried on and shortly after he finished his dishes, marcus tugged at your hand still on his leg as an indication to leave, therefore you said goodbye to everybody and headed to your hotel room.

as soon as he entered the room, the driver laid down on the bed. you observed him from the main door with his back turned to you, curling up with his legs close to his chest as to shield his body from all the thing that happened to him in the previous hours and shut them out of his existence.

your heart clenched at the sight. you didn’t know what to do, how to act. looking at the person you love knowing that they’re hurt, that their world is crumbling under their feet and not being able to stop it and protect them, it’s a nightmare.

you stepped closer to the bed and sat on the edge, brushing his hair with your hand in a soothing way.

“are you sure you don’t want to talk about the race?” the question came out as a whisper, not wanting to break the bubble you were in even more than you already did by just talking.

“what do I have to say about it? It was a shit show!” he answered turning briefly towards you, showing his defeated look, returning to his original position after finishing the sentence with an harsh tone. “and we can’t change how things went, it’s useless wasting time on it. just drop it, okay?”

“marcus-“ you called him passing on the other side of the bed to look at his face. “you don’t have to go through this alone.”

this was the last straw of keeping it together. he didn’t want to complain or bother you but when he realized you just wanted him to decompress and share his thoughts with you, he finally opened up.

"i'm tired of putting so much effort in this sport and always being walked all over. when i have the pace, i don’t have a good pit stop. when i have a good pit stop, i don’t have the qualification. and when i have the qualification, i mess up everything anyway!” he ranted sitting up. his hands were moving in the air and his eyes were darting in every direction.

“the fda dropped me, and i will lose my seat in formula 2 the end of the year.” listening him reviewing every single bad event he went through was a stab in the heart, and you really wanted to stop him and disagree with him, but he was unravelling everything he bottled up not only for months but probably years at this point, so you waited in silence listening to him.

“i left home when i was a fucking kid, i didn’t see my siblings grow up, i gave up time with my family, i give up time with you!" his voice progressively increased, breaking at the end of it.

“all of these sacrifices to just get a slap in the face."

he almost started rambling again, but it was clear he couldn't continue. his head fell in his hands, and hot tears escaped his eyes. he didn’t even have the strength to try to stop it, he just let everything go.

you immediately pulled him as close as humanly possible, his head naturally went in the crook of your neck, muffling some of the sobs of despair that left his parted lips. you hold him tight, as a way to tell him that you were there and he was not alone.

imagine how long and how much he held off to explode like this, to end in such an agonizing cry. with a lump in your throat, you whispered sweet nothings to his ear, hoping it would calm him down, and with some swinging back and forth, it did. after a good amount of time, his breath steadied, except for some hiccups sometimes. 

there weren’t big words of comfort you could offer him, after unfolding years of frustration and disappointment. you just wanted to make him realize that the majority of the things he said were none of his fault and that he deserved his place. 

“i’m so sorry you have to deal with all of this. I wish I had a magic wand to make all of this go away,” you let your hand wander through his hair, moving his head to look him in eyes. you meant every word, and you wanted to be sure he understood that. “but I do have time to listen. always. please don’t ever keep all of this to yourself, okay? you’re my boyfriend and best friend, helping you in any way I can is my top priority. we go through things together, and will work them out.”

the grey eyes turned teary once more, but from happiness this time. your words made him feel so supported and loved, he couldn’t find a better way to show you his gratitude than hugging you back, holding on to dear life, with your legs tangled together.

minutes passed and you slowly moved backwards, till you completely laid down on the mattress, marcus using your chest as a pillow while being wrapped safely around your arms as if you were the only thing who could protect him from all the atrocities the world may hold.

“i’m booking a flight for christchurch, okay? we can’t do much about the past, but you have ten free weeks ahead before the next race. spending some time with your family surely won’t hurt.” after meditating about how you could actively help him, you broke the silence.

“are you coming too, right?” he asked in a tiny voice, doubting you would let him down like the whole feeder series world did.

“of course, if you want me to.” you pulled the blanket over your bodies. “why don’t you rest a bit now, mh? you really need and deserve that.”

you felt him nodding subtly, a small yawn following. it wasn’t just for the play when he said he was exhausted, at the end of the day he still had an eventful feature race in the morning.

as you glanced at his face while caressing it continuously, you were met with a peaceful expression, finally. you let your cheek fall on the top of his head, letting your body relax at the thought of him sleeping.

except for the fact that he was still awake.

“thank you. for being my support system and choosing to be by my side every day. I couldn’t ask for anything better honestly. I love you.” 

it was unusual for him to make this kind of confessions, wearing his heart on his sleeves, spilling what he felt deeply, but if he didn’t say it today, when was he supposed to?

“i love you too marcus. dearly.”

and with that you both doze off, with the awareness that you were there for each other no matter what, through thick and thin, whatever your lives offered you.

[idy-ll-ique]

They Always Do.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: insecurity

Requested: Nope

Summary: "you're not worried? he seems to be spending a lot of time with her..." "no" "why not?" "because i braced myself for this months ago. they leave, they always do. it's nothing new"

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! The first part of this fic is fluff, angst in the middle, fluff again at the end. Nothing too extreme, just a little one-shot. Enjoy!

---

"Sebastian, Y/N, so glad you made it!" Susan Downey smiled warmly at the couple. "Of course, we couldn't miss the 56th birthday of the one and only Iron Man," Sebastian chuckled, walking into the house with his girlfriend. He put his arm around Y/N, observing the place. "Guys! Hello!" they heard.

"Mr Downey," Y/N greeted politely, turning to smile at the birthday boy. "You must be the girlfriend," he grinned, pulling her into a bear hug. "Yep, that's me." Then he turned to Sebastian, frowning. "Why didn't you introduce her to everyone sooner?" Y/N laughed as Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging.

"Don't ask me, she was the one too chicken to meet you!" Sebastian defended himself, narrowing his eyes at his girlfriend. She snorted as Robert let go of her, returning to Sebastian's side. "I guess that's on me," she sighed dramatically, making both men laugh. "Well, enjoy yourselves! Have a drink, have fun!"

With that, he walked away. Sebastian noticed a server holding up a tray of drinks and called him over. He handed a glass to Y/N and took one for himself, taking a sip. "Thanks for bringing me over, honey," Y/N smiled and he turned to her, scoffing. "You're my girlfriend! God knows they were dying to meet you," he laughed, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

With that they went around the place, talking to new people, old friends and making new acquaintances. Y/N had a lot of fun meeting Sebastian's co-stars, and especially loved Elizabeth Olsen. Y/N was a huge Marvel fan and one of her favorite works of the MCU was WandaVision. Y/N had fangirled a bit, not gonna lie.

Like that passed an hour. After her feet started hurting, Sebastian decided it was time for the woman to sit down, have a drink and chill out. "Okay doll, here's a glass of champagne, if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me, okay? I'm going there, with Chris and Anthony. I love you." She smiled when he gave her a quick kiss.

"I love you too, and don't worry, I'll find you easy. This place isn't that big."

"I heard that!"

Laughing at her antics, Sebastian gave his girlfriend one more loving kiss before prancing out of the room in search of his best friends, Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie. Y/N relaxed on the comfortable couch with a sigh, sipping on her drink. It all began a year ago, very cheesily, might I add.

Y/N was at her favourite coffee shop when he had walked in. Immediately, fans had him surrounded, but she didn't go over to him. She stayed seated, looking at him, wishing she could go over but she knew how stressful fan interactions were for celebrities. Sebastian had, unfortunately, caught her eye and she had turned beet red, burying her face in her laptop.

He had found her absolutely winsome and after the crowd around him had dissipated, he had wandered over to her table and introduced himself. She was flustered around him, which made him tingly inside. And he had blurted out, "Wanna meet here next Saturday at 7?" They kept their promise and that's how they started dating.

A year ago.

That was a healthy amount of time.

Right?

Y/N couldn't help but have her doubts. All her previous relationships were pathetic failures, where the guy usually got bored of her within 3 months. But now, she had braced herself for rejection (which she knew deep down wasn't coming but it pays to be careful). "Hey."

Startled, she turned to see a kinda young, kinda drunk woman sitting next to her, looking up at her with doe eyes. "Hi," Y/N smiled back politely. "You're— you're the woman!" She had started slurring her words, which made Y/N frown a bit. "I'm… what?" she blinked. "The girl! Who came over with Sebastian Stan, you're his girlfriend!" The woman laughed loudly.

A few heads turned towards them but quickly looked away when they realized that the girl was drunk. "Yep, that's me. Why?" Y/N was now amused. As they talked, she didn't notice Sebastian walking into the room. He had come back to ask Y/N something but had paused in his tracks when he saw her frowning at the young, drunk woman.

Then he inched closer, unabashedly eavesdropping on her conversation. "Yep, saw him spending a lot of time with Ms Lizzie Olsen. If he was mine, girl, I would take that man home and show him who truly belongs to him, if you know what I mean," the girl winked and a sad smile bloomed on Y/N's face. "They're good friends, of course they're gonna spend time together."

Sebastian smiled at her answer. He knew she was different, she didn't get easily jealous and he liked that, since it reduced the number of arguments they had by a lot. His jealousy? Well, that's a story for another time… "You don't mind? He seems to be spending a lot of time with her…" the drunk woman frowned at Y/N.

Well, she was drunk, she wouldn't remember this night anyway, so maybe… it would be good to get some things off her chest.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I braced myself for this months ago. They leave, they always do. It's nothing new," Y/N admitted, swirling the champagne that was swimming in her half-full glass. Sebastian's heart shattered into a million pieces at her words. Before the words were even completely out of her mouth, tears had started stinging in his eyes.

"Y/N?" Startled yet again, Y/N turned to see Sebastian smiling at her. "Seb! Hi, thought you were with your friends!" she grinned at him. "I— uh— something came up, we need to go," he spoke quietly, fidgeting with his hands. Y/N's brows furrowed but she got up, collecting her coat and her purse.

"Can we at least say Happy Birthday to Robert?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." Sebastian managed a weak smile when she gave him a kiss on the cheek, going off to find Robert and Susan. She told them something urgent came up and they allowed the couple to leave. "Seb, let's go!" He followed her out of the house, meekly trailing behind her, the words she said ringing in his ears.

They leave, they always do. It's nothing new.

How had this woman, practically a Goddess, had such bad experiences that she was forced to think that way? He was never going to leave her, having found the perfect woman at last. He got into the driver's seat of his car, and the car ride home was quiet. Y/N was getting anxious. What happened to him? Did something happen at the party?

Once they were home, Sebastian couldn't help himself. "S—" Y/N yelped when he crushed her to his body, hugging her tightly. He took both of them to their shared bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled her on his lap and buried his face in her chest, breaking down. "Seb, honey, what's wrong?" Y/N cooed, getting insanely paranoid.

The crying didn't stop for 15 minutes. Y/N, in a futile attempt to get him to stop, was running a hand through his hair, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, holding him close. When he took in a shuddering breath, he pulled away and finally looked Y/N in her eyes. "Now are you going to tell me what happened?" she smiled gently.

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist. "I'm sorry," he croaked out and Y/N frowned. "Sorry for what?" He shook his head, burying his face back in his safe haven. Except, Y/N wasn't having any of that. She pulled him away and dropped a soft kiss to his forehead. "Tell me what happened."

He took in another shaky breath.

"I… I heard you."

"Heard me?" Y/N blinked. "Yes. You were… you were talking to that girl on the couch and she was— she was talking about how I seem to be spending a lot of time with Lizzie and you— you said you didn't mind but she kept on insisting and you said they leave. they always do. I'm not going to leave you, Y/N, I promise. You're one of the best things that has ever happened to me and I'm not letting you go."

Oh.

"Seb," Y/N whispered, her own eyes now filled to the brim with tears. "Don't cry," he chuckled with a watery voice, wiping her tears off. "It's just— all my relationships before you… the guys were assholes. They always left 2-3 months in. I— I wasn't taking any chances with you, you know… plus, you're kind of a famous guy and you can get so many better women—"

He didn't want to hear it. Better than Y/N? Impossible. He pressed his lips to her, immediately deepening the kiss when she reciprocated. "I promise you, I cannot do any better than you." Y/N smiled shyly at his words and his heart filled with happiness. "Let's go to sleep."

Both of them tired from the crying, they got undressed without trying any funny business. Y/N put on her usual pair of shorts and one of Sebastian's huge t-shirts, getting into the bed where a boxer-clad Sebastian already lay. He pulled her into his arms and she rested her head on his chest, draping an arm around his taut abdomen.

"Comfy?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah. Goodnight, doll, I love you."

"I love you too, Seb. Goodnight."

"...Never gonna leave you."

"Not a chance."

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Leave a like if you liked it!

[flusteredloser]

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter. 

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets. 

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.” 

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?” 

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal. 

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.”  “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?”  she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair. 

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry. 

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling. 

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed. 

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.” 

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence. 

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.” 

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...” 

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends. 

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan). 

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...” 

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.” 

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening. 

“i- no. that was it.”  

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right? 

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous. 

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his. 

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red. 

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud. 

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face. 

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say. 

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face.  fuck.  “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent. 

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze. 

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?” 

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

[russilton]

the max getting shitfaced and seeing george in lewis' flat au got me all 👀👀👀 what was the general idea behind it??? and assuming max gets absolutely dunked on, what did george say to shoo him away? - @ruszhou

Alrighty so the general idea actually starts one step backward, with an exhibitionism fic.

Sue me, when I say George would let Lewis fuck him in front of people, I mean it. And what’s a better way to address your friends newly growing gay realisation than to have him watch you get lovingly railed by your hung boyfriend.

This is also partially @thatsmemate’s idea because I, like all simp boyfriends, will expand on ideas she finds exciting for her attention. Anyway the exhibitionism fic never got finished, or started really, I have a sorta detailed middle smut sector, then I hit a bump where I couldn’t figure out how to continue, and ended up getting side tracked writing a prequel/set up about max getting plastered and showing up at lewis’ door to say sorry.

That… idk maybe some day? I’ll finish? It sorta follows max in the 21 season slowly realising that redbull sucks. And that he also sucks, and that he can’t keep deflecting blame onto Lewis and Merc and others, if he is the root of all his issues. Sort of taking in all the friends he “had” at redbull that got thrown under the car for him to get ahead. Pierre, Alex, daniil, perez. He can kind of rationalise it as the team tell him they just weren’t good enough, they’re just bitter. But he keeps feeling sicker with each race result. The stuff he says doesn’t feel right anymore. He can’t stand the voices around him that try to pad his ego. Then AD happens and he’s feeling weird and wrong when he runs into George who he’s hoping will punch him. Physical pain he can fight and all. But Lewis calls him not worth it and that’s what fucks him up bc it’s so much worse to get told he isn’t worth it. Plus George’s hatred he can’t justify as well (though if max knew he and Lewis were fucking he probably would have been able to).

Then in the weeks following AD he drinks a lot and isolates himself before getting really fucked up and going to see Lewis himself bc that’s the benefit of Monaco, where he is greeted with George, and then promptly passes out on their couch.

The next morning comes with talks and accepting blame and an agreement to do better

———

And there’s not much more to it than that! It started out as a sort of cathartic way to approach making a bigot deal with their actions.

I am white, I’ve never been in Lewis’ specific position and I don’t pretend to, but as a trans person there are some similar things I’ve experienced and god do I want some of those fuckers to realise their lives suck and that making mine worse won’t help them.

At the time I could sort of write it bc I could still split fic max from IRL max. But then the season continued AND all the piquet shit happened… it just ended up feeling wrong to write. And that’s happened with more drivers tbh, max is for sure the WORST, but, perez , alonso and sainz I also avoid mentioning. Norris and albon are on that edge. I just ended up wanting to focus on other drivers who don’t make me feel conflicted.

Exhibitionism isn’t off the table tho, that’s what I have a George/Lewis + Valtteri fic for hahaha.

Fuck it here’s another bit of that fic bc I think George is funny even if I might not return to it

———

Alone. Even when he’s dragged back inside he feels alone. The back slaps from partying engineers start to hurt. He can’t hide anymore, Lewis ripped him open with just 3 words. Not worth it. They echo in his mind, never leaving, he can’t bare to look at his trophy. Not worth it. He spends time online, tucked away in his apartment in clothes long since needed washing, reading what Lewis’ fans say about him. ‘Not worth it. He watches his own fans try to attack Lewis for being vocal, then for staying silent. He sees all the dehumanising things they said at his defence. Not worth it. He watches his own interviews, feels sick listening to himself talk. He is sick when his dad visits and berates him for not properly enjoying a win he deserved. It’s no wonder that between resting his head on a freezing toilet rim berating himself, a very expensive bottle of Whisky and a few unanswered calls, he finds himself on Lewis’ doorstep. They didn’t live far apart after all, most drivers in Monaco didn’t. He doesn’t even remember how he got there, but he knows he must look like shit when Lewis opens the door to his flat and his eyes widen

“Max, what are you-, holy shit man are you okay?” Even after everything Lewis is concerned, and that’s all it takes for the walls to finally crumble. If he wasn’t so drunk he’d have been embarrassed by how quickly the tears poured, heaving sobs as the shame crashes over him. Lewis is so much more than he’ll ever be and Max has built an empire on rotting foundations. He doesn’t know what to do, how he’s supposed to fix all this, and now here he is on his rivals doorstep sobbing like a bitch.

Lewis has every right to slam the door in his face. Max would. But Lewis isn’t Max, instead he steps forward immediately, hands hovering as he tries to figure out what the hell is happening, making max weep harder, finally choking out strangled sorries between sobs. As soon as Lewis hears that, he’s tugging max into his flat, shutting the door and wrapping a strong arm around his back and guiding him over to soft and cosy couches, making him sit. Max is lost in his own tears for a while, only sort of registering Lewis setting a glass of water in front of him, and slipping Max’s phone out of his hand to rest on the table. Max is far too drunk at this point, the exhaustion of lacking sleep and food combining with the alcohol into a mix that makes him black out. It’s getting fuzzy, but max is pretty sure that there are more than one set of hands guiding him to lie down, pulling off his shoes and tugging a big blanket over him. There are fingers in his hair, trying to calm him down, and they work too well, max slips into a restless sleep as soon as his breathing stops coming in hitching shudders.

When he wakes, it’s bright out, and his head is pounding worse than after he hit the barriers at jeddah. His mouth is dry, and his limbs ache. His face is sticky and neck stiff from the awkward angle and polo collar he’s apparently slept in. When he can blink one eye open past the blinding light that makes his head scream, he realises he has no fucking idea where he is. He shuts his eyes again and wills the couch below him to swallow him whole, so he doesn’t have to get up and face whatever mess he’d created. He may not remember anything, but he knows a crying hangover when he feels it.

“Ah, the visitor awakens”

A sudden voice speaks next to him, and Max practically bolts up, completely unaware anyone was with him. This turns out to be a mistake as his gut rolls violently, and he hides his face in his knees to try and avoid vomiting.

“Oh Jesus, careful idiot, you’ll throw up,” the unknown voice says, getting closer and then there’s a hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulders

“Lew, hon grab a trash can, I think the couch is in danger” Lewis. He’d shown up to Lewis’ flat last night, that he now remembers. But the voice next to him isn’t Lewis, that’s clear, some part of max knows he’s heard it before. It only takes a couple seconds and then there’s shuffling next to him, and the couch dips on his other side. The movement sends a new ripple of nausea through him, and when he squints an eye open, he’s glad there’s now a small office trash can between his legs.

“Hey Max, good to see you awake” Lewis voice is calm and welcoming, which is a shock considering anyone who was awoken by a sobbing drunk in the early hours of the morning had a fair reason to be annoyed. It takes max a second to reply, waiting till he’s mostly sure he isn’t going to hurl as soon as he opens his mouth.

“I… I feel like I have been hit by a truck”

“You certainly look like it” that’s the unknown voice again, and Max finally manages to open his eyes enough past the dull throbbing at his temples to see who it is. To his complete surprise, none other than George Russell perched on his other side. George looks rumpled, usually well sculpted hair flopping softly over his forehead. His face looks softer, at least softer than max had seen it in a long time, and he’s wearing a big yellow sweater with a 100 across the chest that max is near certain is Lewis’. George must notice the dawning confusion in Max’s eyes, because he sighs and hauls himself up, before turning back to max and Lewis

“I’m making coffee, this is not a conversation I can have uncaffinated”

[a-really-mediocre-writer]

Heya thank you for writing my request is was brilliant 💕 I do have another one it’s a little weird so honestly if u don’t want to write it then that’s totally fine it’s that Troy found y/n while he was out patrolling or something and takes her back to the ranch after kind of convincing her though she’s still a bit wary and Troy becomes quite obsessed with her and obviously she’s all standoffish at first as he always wants her by his side and I think that he sees her as ‘his’ and again is very possessive which worries jake a bit though he grows used to his behaviour he still keeps a eye on her and her safety and over time y/n grows used to him and depends on him a lot though sometimes she feels a little smothered but doesn’t say anything and Troy totally loves it all the attention he gets from her as he’s totally besotted with her and when Maddison and all that get there they see Troy and y/n and see how he is with her (possessive and obsessed) and again grow a little concerned and worried for her safety and it’s kind of just that again it’s weird and a little long ❤️

this might not be my best because im stressed but i will try and make it as good as i can!! :) <3 i tried to stay as close to the request as possible but a few small details may be different, i hope its good enough tho :p

thank you to @grxce101-blog for the request :)

gonna be quite a long one lol

hope you enjoy!! <3

Troy Otto x Reader No.4

* GIF NOT MINE CREDIT TO @b-n-a-o *

When you’re left alone with your own thoughts, which admittedly is rare nowadays, you always wonder why you decided to follow that strangely attractive, cocky camo-covered army man back home.

Anyone would think that the end of the world would mean peace and quiet (if you ignore the dead ones groans), but apparently here at Broke Jaw Ranch, the infamous Troy Otto controls your moments to yourself. Ever since he had happened upon your half-dead self stumbling down the deserted roads all alone and seeking the company of everyone but a walker, he could not and would not leave you alone.

———

For days all you could hear was your own heavy breathing paired with the sound of gravel and dried dirt crunching underneath your worn out boots.

You were alone and had been alone for weeks now after witnessing your family and friends being eaten alive. It was right at the beginning; none of you knew what was going on and were just waiting for answers from anywhere.

The controlled sounds of your mechanical movements down the beaten path were interrupted by the faint sound of heavy metal music blaring from a truck that had finally come into view ahead of you half a mile down the road. Confused and in shock, you stared ahead at the vehicle, stopping in your tracks. You did it; you had finally found other people…But it was in the middle of no where… Surely this was too dangerous to pursue?

The car was sat still. Alone. God knows how many people were in it, but you were sure it couldn’t have been any more than 5.

Quickly, you began your now quick jog off of the road and onto the dead fields surrounding you, still going towards the truck but hoping that they wouldn’t spot you; you had come too far to just turn around and even if you did they would probably drive past you anyway. As you got closer to it you slowed down and took quieter steps, half crouching as you walked.

“Hey!” A loud booming voice came from the truck. They had spotted you. You made the split second decision to play the part of the fragile girl who needed their help, though it wasn’t too much of a character since you did need their help. You hadn’t had any water for the past day and a half and in the heat of the south you might as well be sentencing yourself to death. You jumped and stopped in your tracks, putting your hands up either side of your head.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” The driver asked you with his large gun held close, his bright blue eyes staring you down in a burning gaze as he and his friend approached you.

“I was just-“ You start and look between the two men with their guns out. “I’ve been alone for weeks… You’re the first people I’ve came across in a long time…” You trail off and look down at your feet. “Please I was just- I was wondering if I could borrow some supplies or something? I ran out of water night before last…” You look back up with puppy dog eyes. At least in the apocalypse you could use your…“womanly charms”… on the men that you came across to get what you wanted. Turns out that is one of the only things that didn’t change with the times.

The men both looked you up and down as if to assess if you were a threat towards them. After a while of this and them passing glances at each other, the driver cleared his throat and you both made eye contact. He noticeably relaxed his puffed up and stiff posture once your eyes met.

“What did you say your name was?” He asks you as he seemingly studies your soul through your eyes.

“I didn’t… It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, huh? Pretty name.” You let out a small laugh as he continues to assess you, “How about something a bit more…permanent? We’ve got a place we could take you and you’d be safe- A lot of people there, we could use the extra hands, we rely a lot on farming and such. If you wanted we could take you there?”

At the mention of this place you brought up your own guard, studying the men in front of you. It sounded too good to be true. I mean, agriculture in the apocalypse?? They had been growing crops while you had been dining on dog food most nights. “I know how it must sound…but you would be safe there. I get it, stranger danger and all, but I can promise to you that you would be kept safe by me. The Ranch could use your help. So hurry up and make your mind up.”

You both eye each other up, and as much as you hate to admit it you found him very attractive; you had went from studying if he was a threat to allowing your eyes to linger on places they shouldn’t. Little did you know but he was doing the exact same thing to you.

“Okay.” You sigh and meet his wandering eyes after a while of thought. “Okay, I will go.”

Hearing the sudden sound movement from behind you both, you and the man you had been staring at both turn to look at his friend who had begun opening the passenger side door and was climbing in.

“Hey!” The driver shouts over to his friend, “Get in the back, there’s a lady with us now.” He finishes and glances down at you with a smirk. With an audible sigh the other man opens the door to the back seats and climbs in, shutting the door loudly behind him. “Go ahead and put your shit wherever, you’re up front with me.” He says and turns to look down at you.

“I���m Troy.”

“Nice to meet you, Troy… And thank you for taking me in… You didn’t have to…” You trail off and he speaks over the silence before you can. “Don’t worry about it, you can make it up to me when we get to The Ranch.” With a puzzled look on your face he ignores your confusion and winks at you before walking off towards the truck, you following him.

———

Ever since he brought you into his community, Troy had barely left your side.

During your first week at the Ranch you were honestly shocked that Troy hadn’t torn anyone’s heads off yet. He was very possessive, even though technically you weren’t together you might as well have been; if you had even flirted with anyone else, your personal G.I. Joe would ensure that they would never talk to you again or in come cases even dare to look in your direction.

For example, one time you had been moving into your new small tent and a few of the militia had offered to help you move in and set it up… Of course, Troy couldn’t allow that. He had pulled them away and had a stern talking to them as you continued to set up your tent and after a while the men who offered their help had walked off and you were left alone with a smiling Troy.

This would happen all of the time between the two of you- He would interrupt your social time until eventually the other person would get the hint and leave you both alone. You usually didn’t bring it up to him or anyone else, not that if you wanted to you could bring it up to anyone else anyway, but occasionally you would need to tell him to back off a bit so that you could have some space to think.

Whenever you weren’t there, unbeknownst to you, Troy would bring you up to anyone he could. He would talk about his favourite things about you whenever he would get the chance to, and if he couldn’t fit your name into conversation at least once he would find a way to indicate to everyone around him that you were his.

Because of his possessive tendencies, everyone always had their guard up. A few of the threatened or concerned members of the ranch had placed complaints to the army man’s father about his behaviours, and this had led to the other Otto boy, Jake, observing from afar his brothers attitude around you.

Sometimes Jake would come over and ask how you were, hinting at his brother to back off so that you didn’t have to, but if you were being honest with yourself you really didn’t mind the attention from the attractive man and his unhealthy obsession with you. As much as you hated how clingy he could get, you had to admit that you were also becoming very reliant on him and you craved the comfort you would get from being around him. Although he was a bit much at times, you grew to love the company and sense of security that came with it.

That being said, it was extremely hard for the both of you, mainly Troy, when he found out that he was being sent to the border with his brother and the militia. He had come into your tent to cry into your shoulder and say his goodbyes the night before he was due to leave.

———

“Troy, I’m not going to die if you go away for a few weeks-“ You reasoned with the man who sat shoulder to shoulder with you in your small tent.

“But what if you do? I wont be able to forgive myself- I- I brought you here- I would have just left you here- It would all be my fault!” He frantically stutters out and dramatically gestures with his hands.

“I’m supposed to be keeping you safe, I promised you that I would!” He turns to look at you with tears brimming in his eyes out of frustration. “If something were to happen to you-“

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I am going to be fine. Even if something were to happen to me, it wouldn’t be your fault at all.” You cut off his rambling as you grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes with a reassuring smile. At this he nods quickly and looks away again.

“I don’t know what I will do without you for the next month…” He mutters to himself and continues to stare into the space ahead of him. At this you raise your hand up to his cheek and gently pull his head to face you. You give him another weak smile before placing a gentle kiss on his other cheek, allowing your lips to linger there for a while before pulling back.

“I will always be there with you…” You trail off before bringing your other hand up and tapping where you kissed with your index finger, “…Right here.” The man pulls you into a strong hug, holding you both as close to each other as possible, and you both just sit there for a while holding each other. After a while of sitting you both instinctively lay down and hold each other closely as you fall asleep in each others arms.

The next morning you said your goodbyes, kissing him on the cheek in the same place as you had the night before and pulling him into a tight hug and you all said your goodbyes.

———

The day that he had arrived back at the ranch you nearly had a concussion from the force that he charged at you to give you the biggest hug you had ever felt. When you heard the news of his truck arriving at the front gates you stopped what you were doing and jogged over to the now opening gate. That was when you saw him- Troy.

He was outside of the truck discussing something with the man at the gate and ordering two strangers out of the vehicle. He still hadn’t spotted you.

You slowly advanced upon the scene and after a few seconds his gaze had shifted to behind the man he was talking to. He froze before charging towards you, picking you up off of your feet from under your armpits and holding you up in a tight hug, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on the small of your back and between your shoulders respectfully. He spun you both around excitedly and buried his face into the crook of your neck, laughing and breathing heavily into the warm skin.

“I’ve missed you, darlin’”

“I’ve missed you too, Troy.” You say breathlessly, still winded by the way he picked you up. You both just held each other for what felt like forever but in reality was only a few seconds before slowly letting your feet touch the ground. Once you are standing he still has his hands on you, however now they’re cupping your cheeks. You smile up at him and place a small kiss to his cheek like you had weeks before. It only took about 30 more seconds of you both staring at each other and breathing heavily before you slowly pulled your face out of his grasp.

“I’ll see you around?” You mutter to him and his smile drops, upset that he couldn’t stay with you all day.

“I uhm- Why not now?” He asks quickly with a slow forming frown appearing on his face.

“I’ve got some work to do…and I’m sure you do too.” You say as your gesture over to the two new people who were awkwardly standing there behind the fence. “Oh…right- Hey I’ve gotta go talk to my dad…sort some stuff out. When they come in could you show them to their cabin?” Troy asks you quietly as he leans over you to talk into your ear. You nod and smile at him with a blush, “Of course.”

———

Opening the door to the small cabin, you led in the mother and son duo that you now knew as Madison and Nick Clark.

“Here you are,” you started as you turned around on your heels to face them both with a smile, “Welcome to the Ranch.” The two smiled back at you before glancing around the room, slowly exploring their small new home.

“Thank you so much, Y/N was it?” Madison asks to which you nod and lean against the wall. “We both appreciate your help.” The woman says as she nudges her son in the side, urging him to smile at you after looking pissed off the whole way up to the cabin. “So how’s Troy then? You seem to think you know him well…” Nick narrows his eyes and crosses his arms leaning his back on the pope of the bed behind him. You look at him curiously, also crossing your arms over your chest to mirror him. “Nick!” His mother whisper shouts at her son as she tuts. “I’m sorry about that, he doesn’t get along very well with…uhm… new people…” You could tell that there was something the pair weren’t telling you, however you decided to keep that to yourself to keep peace among you all.

“Right…well, I’m gonna go. If you need anything, either of you, you can come to me.” You smile again before leaving a pissed off Nick and a seemingly unreadable Madison. Not even 5 steps away from the cabin, you feel a strong hand grab your upper arm and pull you off behind the large Otto house.

“Hey!” You start loudly only to gasp at the sudden tight squeezing of your arm. “Troy! Troy, stop- you’re hurting me!” Trying to yank your arm away from the frustrated man, you’re backed into the wall and cornered by him.

“What did he say about me? I heard him mention my name- what did he say?!” Troy asks frantically but quietly so that no one else could hear him, craning his neck so that your faces were dangerously close. You held your breath and gulped, staring into his worried eyes. What could he be so worried about? Whatever it was, you were sure you would find out sooner or later considering that he was always around you.

“Nothing, Troy…” You whisper to him, your noses merely centimetres apart. His heavy breathing continued, warming up your faces. “He was just asking…how you were…” You sighed, breathless from the close proximity. The both of you looked over each others faces before you leaned up, kissing him on the cheek in the same place you had all those weeks ago. This seemed to calm him down, causing his breath to hitch in his throat momentarily.

You both stay close, he had removed his hand from your arm and now you were standing in a tight hug.

“Troy?”

“Mhm?”

Pulling away from him and looking up, you begin to question, “What happened…at the border? Why does Nick have a problem with you? Did you do something?” This causes him to tense and take a step back. “What? I thought he didn’t say anything about me?”

“Oh! He didn’t…say…anything. I could just sorta tell.” You decided to keep the part where Nick said “you think you know him” because God knows what Troy would have done or if it would have set him off. The man sighs and brings you into another quick hug before you both leave, walking towards everyone else in the outdoor dining area.

———

“Hey, Y/N!” You hear Nick’s voice call out from behind you, causing you to turn around and greet him. “Hey, Nick!” You call back with a small wave and a smile. The man jogs over towards you and stops in front of you with a slight smile himself. “What’s up?” You ask him, examining his face to check for anything that could clue you in on what this could be about. “Oh, uh, nothing really…I saw you and Troy earlier after you left our cabin- are you alright? He looked pissed.” The man lets out a small breathy laugh and so do you, looking down at your feet. “Oh yeah I’m fine, thanks. He just hasn’t seen me in a long time… worries about me.” The air grows thick in awkward tension and silence between the two of you before he replies a simple “Riiight…” Trailing off he seems to get lost in his own thoughts before asking you a lightbulb question. “What about earlier? When he followed you around the camp. Looked like you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone but him…”

“Wow, Nick. You have great eyes.”

The sudden voice of the younger Otto interrupts your awkward conversation and you smile up at him briefly. “Go on, Nick. Move along.” At this, you mouth the word “sorry” towards him with an exaggerated frown, making the man chuckle as he rolls his eyes, walking off away from you both.

“What was that for, Troy?” You begin your questioning of him and gaze up at him. “You can’t just come into my conversations with others and-!” Your ranting is interrupted by a meaningful yet possessive kiss on your lips, his arms snaking around you and pulling you as close as he can while he kissed you. In response after a few seconds of shock, you wrap your arms around his neck and stay like that in the middle of the lunch area of the Ranch for a few more seconds before pulling away.

Breathing heavily, you both hold each other close, Troy with a smug smile on his face. In silence, you both stand there with your eyes closed for a few more seconds before you break the silence.

“Uhm…As lovely as that was…” You start breathlessly, “Why do you keep…doing this? Well, not this, I mean why do you keep interrupting my conversations?” Troy gulps before responding quietly, “We can talk about it later.” And with that, he places a quick kiss on your lips and walks away past you, charging towards the men of his militia and eventually joining them all.

[sukunasun]

ive only been on your page for five minutes and im already in LOVE! your f1 au is so smart and so chefs kiss literally so good. love it when two of my hyperfixations meet each other. gojo in a merceydess racing suit? yes slay. geto as his only rival? even slayer. nanami as a toto wolff kind of team principal? slayyyyyy. genuinely so good. also what team do you think geto would be in? feyrari??? anyway love your work and all that mwah kiss kiss

im so glad you like it because its rly just a bunch of overpaid men going vroom vroom in their ugly cars and in an act of giving into indulgence and bein a glutton, i placed the 2d men into it, creating this universe is not only specifically for me (and like 3 anons) but im forcing everyone to look at it too.

bask in a gojo that's ten times more of a nuisance, a competitive menace with no filter and absolutely no fear. who would not bow to stress or loss, well, because he never loses. and even when the pressure and temperatures rises, that racing suit would not be able to shield him from the heat of bahrain, or the hot tar of a race track below his feet, steaming, smoking with dark, inky lines the tyres leave behind, and especially not in your gaze staring at his form, tall and proud and that of a god, so inhuman, he floats above the rest, he who doesn't need history books because he's writes a new one all on his own.

from the moment his balaclava is pulled over his head to when he pulls it off, he thinks of everything but his own life. its why you worry when your cold hands aren't enough to snap him out of it, theres always the next race, the next win, the next time his car crashes into a barricade and you spend those few weeks nursing his injuries, a broken finger, stitches over his ribs, the soul crushing realization that he wouldn't see your face again. and you don't think about a vivid image like that, a past gojo who promised you that he'd be more careful, "i'll always come back to you," strong forearms wrapped tight around, so suffocating is his love, he lets you in slowly, warily, it's a lot to ask for, to see him as a person, so much so that he drives himself to the brink of death in lieu of it, bringing you along for the ride.

this gojo is more important, the gojo in front of you now, white strands of hair clumping together, he pushes them back, a beautiful face greeting you, one that turns red from the exertion, the warmth, the adrenaline. but you don't mind it, not when you kiss him just to be sure he's still here, that it's his heart pumping as fast as the rest of the drivers who zoom past, they have to keep up knowing they could never, but they try. it doesn't matter, gojo's thirsty, for more than just sponsored energy drinks and evian water. on your tip toes, you lean in, chasing after the fastest man alive.

and i can't begin to dissect geto suguru. how do you define driver like him? by skill? by wins? or is it just that he embodies all the best parts of what it means to drive; hunger, desire, chasing after something he can’t put a name to but he hopes to find it beyond the chequered flag, to rise above everyone, unlike gojo, geto drives for himself first. in scuderia red, one that’s burned into the minds of people. a red that calls for attention, that angers a raging bull. the colour of champions. a little darker when he bleeds from his nose, seeping into the grooves of your fingerprints when you press a towel to it, he looks up at you in contempt, who are you to touch him. and a little more vibrant when he strips off, bare and naked, he leaves it puddled on the floor and forgotten, would rather wear the marks you scratch into his back, down his chest, feel it sting, feel it hurt so good. 

and it fits doesn’t it? that gojo breaks rules and drives for a team that moves forward, and that geto keeps to tradition, to its roots, what is racing without ferrari, all that prestige, the legacy he makes for himself when he comes into this sport with nothing, having to prove himself over and over again, breaking a sweat, and leaving his best friend behind for the songs they sing in the stands, for the taste of champagne. he steps onto the podium in monaco, in monza, in mexico, and a bright smile breaks over his face. completely different to the one he gives to you in the secluded corner of a pit garage. your chin in his grip, he tilts your head up, "you’re going to have to do better than that," he whispers, when has he ever needed a good luck charm, but he thinks otherwise now when it looks as good as you, when the taste of you alone sends sparks up his spine, setting his heart afire. 

[melancholymetropolis]

No Idea

Pairings: Athlete!Kirishima x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: College AU The reader is Kirishima's History tutor and they kinda have a crush on each other. It takes an afterparty filled with horny guys and a skin-tight dress for Kiri to realize he wants them all to himself.

Warning: Do I even need to say it at this point? It's smut, obvi. Kinda unedited. The reader and her best friend are black. Kirishima is a football player; he's VERY possessive over the reader. Her best friend is a little gay for her as well.

Author's Note: This was a commission!!!!! The client gave me this insane prompt and I had no choice but to go over the word limit. If you want to commission me, click here! Your support really means the world to me. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5,300

“You’re back early!” My roommate, Liza, yelled from the other side of the apartment-style dorm room. The sound of her chair scraping the floor followed shortly after, along with the light footsteps of her sock-clad feet. “I left you a plate in the microwave, in case you were hungry. I could heat it up, if you’re too tired— why the long face? What happened?”

“He didn’t show up,” I sighed as I dropped my books on the table and sank into a chair.

“How can he not show up?” Liza fumed crossing her arms. “His GPA is already in the gutter from all the other quizzes he seemed to fail before the semester even started.”

“I know,” I replied in a bored tone.

“He’s on academic probation—”

“I know.”

“One more hiccup and he’ll be off the football team—”

“I know.”

“Not to mention how you practically have to bend backward to make time for him—”

“Mhm.”

“Just for him to flake on you for the third time! I just—”

“Liza, please,” I rose from my seat and stood in front of her. “You don’t have to be angry with me. It’s truly okay.”

“No! It’s not okay!” She stormed to the microwave and pulled the cover plate from the inside. She removed the foil and pushed it back into the device, before pressing the start button four times. She turns to face me and forces an angered sigh from her lips. “He likes you, you know that right?”

I lifted my books from the table and walked to our shared room. I took in the words that she threw at me with each step and digested them. Kirishima liked me. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have an inkling that he may be, sorta found me attractive. Although I wore glasses, I wasn’t blind. At least with them on. I saw the way he looked at me when we were less than a foot apart. Shoulders practically touching as we slouched over the Advanced American History textbook. Our hands brushing against each other’s ever so often. The sparkle in his eye when he looked at me longer than a few seconds; the blush on his cheeks when I smiled at his corny jokes. His persistent tendency to walk me home, although most times, we finished our study sessions just before dusk. The way he stayed glued to my side during the journey to my dorm. How he’d carry my books on the way. I noticed it all and practically welcomed it, since I too found him attractive. The spiky redhead just had a way of making everyone swoon over him. Kirishima was genuinely a nice person, not because there was something in it for him, but just because.

The beeping from the microwave brought me back to reality. I placed the textbooks on the designated space on the shelf and fixed my scattered stationery from that morning. Liza shuffled in with a bowl of baked fetta pasta, and a piece of toasted garlic bread a few minutes later. She placed the bowl on the desk, with a fork, a can of sparkling soda, and my favorite metal straw.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I said with a tired smile.

“Helped me pass ‘Text and Ideas’ with an A-,” Liza smiled back and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh right,” I took a seat at the desk and forked the starchy dish in my mouth. “This is heaven-sent.”

“I knew you’d like it!” She deemed walking to her own desk. “I got the recipe from tiktok.”

I hum in response and continued to stuff my face. After a few minutes of silence, I grab the phone from my back pocket and unlocked it. A new message from Kirishima was the newest notification from many and it said:

Hey, I am sorry for not showing up. My teammate got shitfaced and decided to take a dive into the fountain. It took three of us to pull him out. It sucks because I was really looking forward to seeing you.

Since my mouth had already filled to its brink with pasta, I opted for a tight-lipped smirk instead of a toothy one. Kirishima all but admitted that he missed me. My hunch was right: the feelings are mutual. I swallowed the pasta and swiveled around in my chair to look at Liza. Her eyes were glued to her phone, but she snapped her head up to laugh at the content on her screen. Once she was down laughing, I picked my phone up and pointed it in her general direction. Reaching forward, she grasped the device and quickly read the message.

“Don’t respond to him,” she said, handing the phone back to me.

“Why? I thought you were shipping us together?” I asked whilst forking more pasta in my mouth.

“That’s why I’m telling you what I am telling you!” Liza rose to her feet and in a split second, she stood in front of me with a sickening smile.

“I am afraid to ask,” I said with a sigh.

“You don’t have to; I’m gonna tell you anyway,” she squats between my legs and widens her smile. “That boy is already wrapped around your finger, all you need to do is pull away. Just a tiny bit and he’ll come running.”

“Liza. . .”

“Hear me out!” She rose to her feet again and walked to the closet. “Remember when I went thrift shopping last week and I picked up that cute bodycon dress?”

“Yeah. . . ?”

“Well, I washed it and realized that it didn’t have the BODY to fill it out properly.” She pulls the dress from the closet and turns back to me. “And since the Homecoming Afterparty is at the Quarterback's house tomorrow night, I thought it would be the perfect time for you to wear it.”

I eye the dress, taking in its extremely short length and strappy detailing on the front. One wrong move and my breasts would spill right out of it. But, one right move would have them fall onto Kiri’s lap. I tried my best to list the pros and cons of the situation. Pondering what I could get out of the ordeal going to the lion’s den dressed as a gazelle. Yet, all I could imagine was me twerking on someone’s son and taking him home afterward.

💘🖤💘🖤

The dress fit like a glove: perfectly tight, almost like a second skin, but very breathable. I paired it with some hoop earrings, a few bangles on each wrist, and 3-inch kitten heels. My goal was to dress to impress, not nurse my aching arches by the end of the night. The entire ride over to the nicer part of town was nerve-wracking, for one, the Uber driver wouldn’t stop staring at my cleavage from the driver’s mirror. And, secondly, Liza practically had phone sex with her boyfriend, who was going to meet us at the party. I stared down at my phone the whole time, rereading Kiri’s message and the ones he sent afterward. It was true, he was wrapped around my finger. He didn’t double text; Kirishima sent five messages in a row.

Hey, are you free tomorrow? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

I’ll buy you that weird thing you like from Starbucks.

The drink you said that tastes like the moon.`

And I’ll get you those cake pop things.

My heart couldn’t help but flutter; I didn’t know he was paying that much attention to me. I only mentioned that Starbucks drink once in his presence, quite a while ago. It had to be a little over a month ago, yet he still remembered.

The car stopped and Liza popped right out. Her 34 inch Brazilian, straight swaying behind her as she closes the door. Still chatting with her boyfriend, she motions me out of the car with an eager smile. Reluctantly, I detach myself from the cool leather and tug on my dress as I closed the door behind me. I looked up toward the mansion before me, white paint and overwhelming size almost frightened me. But, when I saw a familiar, spiky-haired, redhead, all my potential fear left my body and warmth replaced it.

Kirishima’s back was to me; he was having an intense conversation with his best friend, Bakugo, one of the team’s Linebackers. The blond was so close to popping a fuse but Kiri was struggling to keep from laughing directly in his face. I approach the porch, slow and sensual, my eyes glued to him the entire walk over. Kirishima briefly turns around to address a comer of the group, Sero, an offensive player, when his eyes come up the steps. The humorous expression on his face drops and is replaced with awe. The other two boys look in the direction of his eyesight and replicate his reaction.

“Hi—” I lifted my hand to wave, but it never made it past my abdomen. Liza appeared right in front of me and captured my wrist.

“Girl, it’s our song! Hurry up!” She said as she proceeded to drag me into the house.

“Bye—! Wait, damn!”

Liza pulled me to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room of the home. She starts to bop side to side, swaying her hips in place. It takes me a few seconds to register that “34+35” was blasting the speakers. Liza twirls around me in a fit of giggles and continues to bop along to the music.

“I thought you liked “positions” better than this track?” I questioned as I matched her rhythm.

“I do! I just had to get you out of there,” Liza answered as she swayed her head back and forth. Which made her hair move in an angelic wave behind her bandeau top and pencil skirt. “Those three guys looked like they wanted to run a train on you.”

“ELIZABETH!!!!” I screamed with a shocked smile.

“What?! I’m not lying!” She gives me a bashful smirk. “You look so good, mamas! Shit, you're making me rethink my relationship with Shinso.”

“Oh my god!” I laughed. “I can’t take your ass anywhere, for real!”

The song began to fade out and bleed into “Pussy Talk” with the infamous City Girls. Liza’s soft bops began to move into full booty bouncing. Soon her hands are on her knees and she’s throwing her ass back on my lap. I press my hand flat on her back and lift my other hand in the air. She whines her waist and looks back at me as her inner hot girl is threatening to make an appearance. Shortly after the first verse, Liza straightens her back and dances around me as I bop to the side, bouncing my ass to the music. A smile comes to my lips as my favorite part plays on full blast.

“Pussy talented, it do cartwheels,” Liza and I screamed in unison. “And he pay ‘cause he like how that part feel.”

“Pussy give speeches, heartfelt,” I continued, popping my back against my friend.

“Yuh,” Liza ad-libbed.

“Said the pussy really talk like it Garfield,” I rapped as I felt Liza’s hands glide up my sides.

“It do!”

We danced around each other for the rest of the song and pulled away from the floor, desperately needing to hydrate. We practically stumbled toward the makeshift bar across the living room. We reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of water. We chugged the water and tossed the empty bottles in the trash.

“Only water, ladies?” Mineta asked as we turned back towards the dance floor. “You don’t want something a little. . . stronger?”

“Get lost, grape juice,” a familiar voice suddenly came out of nowhere.

Just a few feet behind the purple blob stood Kirishima and Shinso. If looks could kill, Mineta’s body parts would be staining the marble floors and messing up my fresh pedicure. The poor excuse for a human scurried away as both football players approached us. Shinso instantly wrapped his arms around Liza and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Having fun, baby girl?” His low voice sounded sensual against the harsh music.

A seductive smile falls on Liza’s face. “I would’ve had even more fun if you actually danced with me for once.”

“You know I don’t like—”

“Too bad!” She pulled Shinso to the dance floor.

Leaving me alone with Kirishima. I turned to look at him and offered him an awkward smile. “How was your diving lesson?”

The redhead returned my smile and scratched the back of his neck. “So you did read me my texts? I was starting to think you were mad at me or something.”

“Not at you, per se,” I replied thinking of my words carefully.

“Then who were you mad at?” Kirishima closes the distance between us and puts a finger under my chin. He redirects my attention to his face and gives me a smirk.

He looked good and he knew it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. But, he paired it with a burgundy leather jacket and a Cuban link silver chain. He had a gold wristwatch on his left wrist and a simple chain on his right. And his cologne. . . it danced in my nostrils. It wasn’t too heavy or suffocating; you simply had to be close to him to smell it.

Kirishima was playing a dangerous game and he knew it.

“At the people that take you away from me,” I looked at him with doughy eyes and slightly parted lips. A look of innocence was written all over my face.

Kirishima clenched his jaw and briefly looked away. A blush starting to form on his cheeks. “Well, I—. Shit.” He remained silent for a few seconds, gathering his words, before saying “You don’t know what you do to me, Y/N.”

“And what’s that?” I asked while removing his hand from my chin and bringing it to my lips. I gently kiss his bruised knuckles, never breaking eye contact while doing so.

The redhead opens his mouth to speak but is rudely interrupted by a yelling Liza.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, BITCH!!!! THEY’RE PLAYING OUR SONG!!!!”

While I was talking to Kirishima, the music seemed to slip away. I had no idea what was playing until I refocused my attention on the blaring speakers. “Come on, Kiri. Duty calls.” I drag him to the dance floor.

Liza unlatches herself from Shinso and twirls around me. “I’m not shy, I’ll say it. I’ve been picturing you naked.”

“I’m a little faded, you look like a fucking painting,” I continue the verse as I glide my hands along my body. “Big doe eyes, amazin’. She’s everything I’ve been prayin’.”

Liza walked up to Kirishima and glided her hand along his chest. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress-up house.” She pressed two fingers against her lips and poked her tongue out. “I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch.”

Kirishima blushes a bright red, nearly matching his hair. It takes everything in me not to laugh.

I look back at Shinso and he’s just shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“Go get your girlfriend, before she devours your teammate,” I said giggly quietly.

“Go get your best friend before she kills your loverboy,” Shinso counters looking down at me with a smirk.

“He looks like he's gonna pass out,” I replied, struggling to contain my laughter.

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen him when you were twerking on Liza,” Shinso jested while leaning closer to me. “Eijiro looked like he came in his pants.”

I smacked his arm and leaned against his chest. “You’re lying!” Laughter overcame my body; tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“I swear to god,” Shinso struggled to say while laughing. “Then, when Bakugo called you hot. . . Eiji almost went feral.”

“Stop. . . I can’t breathe. . .”

“You better fuck him like the world is ending. . . I can’t keep stopping him from. . . fighting the entire team over you.”

“You and Liza. . . perfect for each other. . . I cannot. . .”

The song swiftly faded out into another. Yet another one of Liza’s favorites: Buss it by Erika Banks.

The young woman peeled herself from Kirishima and began walking to her boyfriend. I distanced myself from Shinso and walked over to Kirishima. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. “Are you okay, Kiri?” A smile painted my lips.

His eyes darkened and he gripped my waist firmly. “I want you. . . so bad right now.”

“How about we get outta here?” I suggested with a raised eyebrow.

“Go say goodbye to your friends, I’ll bring the car around,” Kirishima asserted with a smirk. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before detaching himself from me and walking out of the living room.

I turned back to Shinso and Liza, who were seconds away from eating each other’s face off. I tapped the loving couple and cleared my throat. They both pulled away and stared at me.

"We're leaving," I said simply.

"About fucking time," Liza replied with a smirk. "You better come back to the dorm in a goddamn wheelchair, if not, I'm sending you back to his place."

"You have like zero chill," I shook my head and waved goodbye.

"Don't forget to use protection!" Liza yelled after me.

A chuckle fell from my lips as I walked out of the front door. I found Kirishima exactly where he said he'd be: parked in front of the massive house, within a bright red mustang. He exited the car and walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened my door and helped me get in. Kirishima made sure I was buckled in and comfortable before entering the car on the driver's side.

He starts the vehicle, and places his right hand on my thigh. He gives the plush fresh a securing squeeze before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was short and sweet, averaging around ten minutes. We parked across the street from the boys’ dorm hall and exited the car. Kirishima opened my door and helped me out of the vehicle.

"If you don't want this, I could always take you home," he said as he shut my door. "I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"I want this more than you know," I responded while gripping his hand. "But, if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll let you know."

Kirishima nods and smiles. "Good girl. Now let's go."

The moment his dorm's door closed, his body was pressed against mine and his hand glued to my waist. His lips massaged against my own, slow and sensually. I moaned against the kiss, and pressed my body closer to his. He felt so good attached to me, almost like he was meant to be against me. His searing hot kisses inched down my jawline and to my neck. Kirishima's hands slid up my abdomen and to my shoulders, he slipped the straps from the curved surface and pulled away just enough just to allow me to remove them from my arms.

He kissed the other side of my neck, leaving little bites here and there. The redhead ran his tongue against my collarbones and I swear a flood rushed to my nether regions. Kirishima kissed down and left my breast, gathering the anticipation that swirled through my body before latching his lips on my nipple. A throat my moan fell from my mouth and my legs jolted slightly. My mind continued to fog as he nestled against the sensitive bud, while happily moaning against the soft flesh. I pressed one hand against the front door and another in his hair.

Pants left my lips as I began to squirm underneath his body. "Take me to the bed, please," I begged while looking down at him. " I want you so bad, Kiri."

The redhead detached himself from my breast and gripped my chin. "Say my name, baby." His red eyes stared deeply into my brown ones, taking in every little detail of my expression.

"Eijiro," I said breathlessly.

"Say it again," he broke eye contact and gripped my waist.

"Eijiro."

His hands slipped down the curve of my rear and to my legs. He lifted limbs from off the ground and wrapped them around his waist. I wrapped my arms around his leg immediately afterward and giggled.

He walked further into the dorm room and passed through another dorm. He sits me on the extra-long twin bed and falls to his knees between my legs. Kiri unlatches my strappy heel and tosses it to the other side of the room. While he does the other foot, a smirk presses against his lips.

"What?" I asked while looking down at him.

"I'm just thinking about how this started," he said while smiling. "How my shifty grades gave me the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Stop it," I counter with a blush on my face. "You're exaggerating."

"Baby, I mean it with every fiber of my being when I say this," he leaned forward. "I've wanted to be with you for a while now, I just didn't know if you'd like me back. And I was kinda ashamed of taking so long to say something because you're so sweet and you really helped me a lot with Advanced American History. I didn’t want you to think I was using you for information or anything."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips on his forehead. "I liked you even before I officially knew you. When you beat the shit out of that guy that tried to home a drunk girl."

"I don't even remember that."

"It was during a Halloween party last year, that was when I first saw you. And I thought, "wow I wish more men like him existed in this world"."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"How could I not? You basically saved that girl's life and dignity. You were the only human being in a room full of predators. That's when I knew I wanted you for myself."

Kirishima laughs. "Greedy, little Y/N."

I shrugged.

"Come here."

I gathered the football player into my arms and pressed my lips onto his. Taking in every ounce of his kiss. Sucking on his bottom lip. Slipping my tongue within his mouth. Tugging against his collar to close the distance between us. After a few seconds, Kirishima kissed down my body again until he was face to face with my heated center. He scrunched the dress around my waist and pulled my panties off my legs before spreading my legs wide open.

"Oh… look how wet you are, baby," he kissed the soft skin in between my thighs. "All for me."

Kirishima dipped his head between my legs and took a long swipe at the sticky mess between them. A shiver ran along my spine, Arching my back, I released a soft whimper and spread my legs further apart. He dipped his tongue into the smooth canal repeatedly, bobbing his head as he completed the action. His calloused hands slid up my legs once more and hooked around my thighs. Kiri moved his hot mouth from the very bottom of my womanhood to the top, leaving a long string of spit along the way. The redhead sucked on the protruding bud tenderly; with hollowed cheeks, he looked up from my heat and stared into my eyes. I bit my lip and moaned loudly.

“Fuck, you feel good,” I arched my back against his mouth and bucked my hips slowly.

Kirishima released my bud with a silent “pop” and began lapping the rosy, pink button in great haste. My legs jolted at the new source of stimulation and a throaty whine fell from my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut, I squirmed underneath his mouth, desperately wanting to add more friction. Kiri noticed my slutty movements and began to move his tongue even faster.

“Ah. . . just like that, don’t stop,” my fingers gathered my bosoms and gave them a firm squeeze. The walls of my slick cave began to clench and release themselves at a faster pace. Tingles rose up my body, swirling against my lower abdomen, almost numbing my lower half entirely. Then, a searing sensation ripped through me, causing my hips to raise from the bed and my knees to shake. A low scream left my mouth as I felt the throbbing of my bud increase tremendously.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” My hips fell on the bed again and my legs shook violently. Kirishima steadied them as much as he could before a whole another wave hit my body and my entire being went still.

“Ah! Eijiro!” I screamed as the pleasure shot through my body for the last time. Pants left my throat and short spurts, just as sweat dripped from my forehead. I looked down at Kirishima, who had just pulled away from my spasming cunny. He had a look of astonishment on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked down at my wrecked body, taking in the shaking limbs, the thin layer of sweat upon it, and the scrunched-up dress at the waist.

“You sounded so hot screaming my name,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “No one has ever made it sound so good as you.”

“Well, grab a condom and I’ll scream your name for the rest of the night,” I replied with a smirk. “If you can last that long.”

“Oh, baby,” Kiri’s smile widened. “You have no idea.”

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a box of condoms from the top drawer. He ripped one off the sleeve and walked back over to me. I pulled the scrunched-up dress over my head and tossed it to the side. I looked over at Kiri and he’d already stripped himself of his T-shirt. He was currently unbuckling his belt with the condom packet in his mouth. His massive bulge immediately caught my eye and I moaned in anticipation. Kirishima rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls latex down his throbbing shaft. My walls clench at the delicious sight and I could feel my nipple begin to stiffen

“If you’re still tired, we can wait a little—” Kirishima begins to say before I cut him off.

“Eijiro, stop being nice and fuck me like a slut.”

His lips were on mine within the next heartbeat. His hands roamed every crevice of my body, taking in the soft tissue and stretchmarks lovingly. His throbbing member slowly slid into me with little to no friction. He made sure to thumb my clitoris while inserting himself, just so he wouldn’t hurt me. And I swear, I was seconds away from asking him to marry me. He gently moved his hips backward, and then pushed forward again. Highlighting his first stroke. He looked at the crimson hue on my face and leaned down to kiss me.

“You are so pretty, princess,” Kiri groaned softly, as he moved his hips at a gentle pace. “So, so pretty.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again. Our tongues danced together as his member tenderly kissed my sensitive walls with each thrust. Kirishima moaned against my lips, as he took in every part of that union. He hiked up one of my legs and hooked it around his waist while he cradled the back of my neck with the other. He looked into my eyes as he increased the pressure of his strokes and their depth. My mouth hung open, and drool poured from the side of it as he kept up the sickening pace. My eyes began to roll back as throat moans rose from the depth of my body.

“Oh God. . .” I slurred as the pleasure increased within my body.

“Aww look at my pretty baby,” Kiri grunted as he rested his hand on my neck. He pressed his thumb between my lips.

I sucked on the digit and looked into his eyes. He moved his hips faster and my lips separated from around the finger. Pants fell from my lips as I felt his member sensually assault my cervix. After a few minutes, Kirishima suddenly pauses and hikes one of my legs up to his shoulders. He readjusts his body, leaving his hand on my neck and placing his hand on my clit. Kiri began to rock his hips in a powerful, but steady motion. He rubs the throbbing bud in a gentle motion, slowly gathering every ounce of pleasure within my body. The pace of my breathing increased rapidly, as the pool in my stomach began to inflate. Whimpers fell from my lips as I gripped the sheets underneath me.

“I’m so close. . .” I whispered through tight lips. “Please don’t stop. . .”

“You’re squeezing me so deliciously tight, baby,” Kirishima grunts as a droplet of sweat drops from his brow. “Milking my cock for everything it’s worth. What a greedy little cunny you have.”

“Eijiro. . . I wanna cum so bad,” I whimpered through pants. “Please let me cum, baby.”

Kirishima curses under his breath and releases his hand from my throbbing bud. He places both hands onto my neck, thumbs pressing against my jaw. He eases his body forward and keeps his sickening pace. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

I sucked in a breath and wrapped my hands around his forearms. I furrow my brows and pant with my mouth open. “You make me feel so good, Eiji. So fucking good!”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” He drops his hands from my neck and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t get to fuck anyone else. . . . .You don’t get to be with anyone else. . . .My name will be the only name you moan for the rest of your life, do you understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

“You’re mine and no one else's.”

He pulls me into a searing hot kiss. Drinking in all the love and energy throughout my body. I hook my arms around his neck and moan against his lips. Suddenly, I felt an intense rush of adrenaline pass through my body and everything seemed to go silent. A low ringing noise sounded in my ear as my mouth fell open. I dug my arms into his back and clung to his body. Every fiber of my being tensed and my mind went completely blank for several seconds. Then, slowly, my body released itself and collapsed onto the bed. I opened my eyes lazily to see Kirishima’s eyes tightly closed and his hips slightly shaking. Once he finished his ride, his body relaxed and he lowered my leg from his shoulder. He pulled me into an embrace and pressed another kiss onto my lips.

I pulled away from the kiss and looked into his crimson eyes. “Were you serious about calling me yours?”

“Ugh. . . yes?” He replied hesitantly. Then, he added “If that’s okay with you! I don’t wanna force you—”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I cut him off with a smirk.

“Oh, I was worried for a second.”

“The only thing you should be worried about is your Advanced American History grade.”

“Oh, right. . .”

“You miss another one of my sessions, I’ll ignore you again.”

“Please don’t! I will be present at every session.”

“Good. And you have to be Starbucks.”

“The drink that tastes like the moon?”

“Matcha latte with 2 pumps of chai. Yup.”

“And two chocolate cake pops.”

“Mhm. You know me so well.”

[in-ky]

An Old Scent [1] - Negan x Reader (A/B/O AU)

Summary: During summer break, you decide to come back home to visit your dad, Rick. Over the course of your stay, you realize that your dad's friend is pretty hot.

Warnings: Eventual smut, A/B/O dynamics, cheating, age gap, Negan

A/N: yay first fic! this will have four parts! i hope everyone enjoys. this is an au where the apocalypse never happened. 3.2k words

I squinted as I stepped out into the bright Virginian sun. People swarmed all around me, creating the steady hum of airport ambience that I had grown accustomed to over the years. I had just gotten off a four-hour flight home from college and all I wanted to do was shower and curl up in bed. But I couldn't. Oh, no. First I had to endure a fun thirty-minute car ride with my best friend since second grade. I scanned the curb in front of me for her small black car and caught sight of a tall woman waving at me. I grinned and walked forward, tugging along my baggage behind me.

"Ugh, it's so good to see you, Bee." I sighed as I enveloped my friend into a large hug. She let out a laugh and swayed us gently.

"It's good to see you, too," She hummed, rustling my hair "I forgot how short you were." Bee was an alpha; tall, muscular, and very quick to remind me of our differences. Of course, it was in a 'joking with love' kind of way. I was an omega; small, rounded, and very quick to punch her gently in the abdomen.

"I forgot how much of a jerk you are." I quipped, huffing and wheeling my bag to her trunk.

"Oh, come on, babes, don't be like that," Bee laughed, opening the driver side door and waiting for me to walk back to my side. "Now get in, we've got a lot of catching up to do."

---

"How are your heats going?"

"Jesus, that's what you want to start with?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. Bee shrugged.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," She clarified, turning out onto the street "I'm just saying, I know they've gotten pretty bad as we've gotten older. Did you try out those tips I sent you?"

"Yea, I did," I said quietly, looking at the trees rushing by on the side of the highway "They worked for a while but..."

"But you need an alpha," Bee sighed, finishing the sentence for me.

"That's the plan for this summer," I agreed "Might finally settle down."

"You know, I'm always here if you need me." She said with a wink. I scoffed at her.

"I'm not that desperate," I laughed, shoving her lightly "Not yet, at least."

"Anyone take your interest back in Colorado?"

"Not really," I hummed, tilting my head in consideration. "There was this one guy. We dated for a few months but towards the end he became a total knot-head. He couldn't keep his hands off me. I thought it was cute at first, but after I started to miss a few classes...well, that shit got old pretty quickly." Bee made a disgusted noise.

"Ugh, men," She grunted, wrinkling her nose "I'm glad I never went through that phase. I'm perfectly happy with chicks, thank you very much. Much less of a pain in my ass."

"Oh, they're not so bad," I smirked "I think it's just alphas in general." She glared at me momentarily and I stuck my tongue out at her. We drove in a comfortable silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other's company. That was always something I loved about Bee. We never had to fill every second with chatter, we could just exist together in the same space and be just as content. She started to hum along to the song that buzzed softly from the radio and my eyes tracked a hawk. Soon enough, we reached our exit and Bee turned the car onto a smaller road, starting the countdown to my arrival home.

"Are you excited to see your dad?" Bee asked, killing the silence.

"Yea, I am," I smiled. We hadn't always had the best of relationships, but the distance that college gave had done wonders for us. A few texts and calls had worked perfectly for us. When he invited me to stay a few weeks during summer I gladly accepted. I wanted to see just how well our relationship had strengthened. Plus I knew he really needed someone.

"How's he doing?" There was genuine concern in Bee's voice. A few months ago, my mom had revealed that she had been having an affair with one of dad's work buddies. She left with him and took my brother down to Georgia.

"I think he's okay. But you know dad, he's not really an emotions guy. He was starting to get some closure but then the divorce papers came in the mail. That really hurt him," I told her, twisting a strand of my hair around my finger. "I just don't know how Lori could do that to him, you know? She won't even let Carl up to visit. The new baby's cute, though. Looks just like Shane." Bee hummed in acknowledgement.

"Well, tell him I said hi, alright?"

"Will do." A few more seconds of silence passed. Until we stopped at a light. Bee looked up and spotted a billboard that sported a very familiar, very handsome face.

"Holy shit!" Bee shrieked, slapping my arm.

"Ow, what the hell?" I hissed, grabbing my shoulder. She pointed frantically at the sign.

"That guy! Isn't that, shit- the hell's his name?" Pulling my eyes from my lap, I let them settle on the object of her excitement. All of the color drained from my face. It was an add for a law firm. There was an old geezer posing proudly on the left, and to his right, was the man who haunted my wet dreams for the majority of high school.

"Negan." I gulped.

"Yea, your dad's hot friend you never shut up about." Bee groaned, pressing on the gas and moving us away from the sign. Negan was a lawyer/make-shift-law-professor and baseball coach at the local community college. He had a sort-of contract with my dad's department. Many times I had come home after school to the two of them puzzling out a case on the kitchen table. Negan was an alpha of alphas, something that got my little omega heart (and other things) pumping until I couldn't breath. His humor and dominating persona made me blush a deep crimson color any time I saw him. Sometimes I would spend hours sitting on the stairs just listening to him talk to my dad. His voice was something else. I had gushed to Bee about him countless times during our times at high school. But I hadn't seen him since my graduation party.

"I wonder if you'll see him again," Bee teased, nudging me again to pull me out of my trance of memories. Then, she did a dramatic gasp. "What if he's your mate?" It was my turn to slap her in the shoulder.

"He's older than my dad!" I squealed, burying my now-blushing cheeks in my hands.

"You're an adult I don't think it matters."

"I think he's engaged."

"Just 'cause there's a goalie doesn't mean you can't scoooore." Bee pulled a face at me and I returned her grimace.

"Whatever, you're lucky we're almost at my house." I huffed, falling back into my seat with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Oh, yea, omega? What are you gonna do?" I rolled my eyes as she laughed off my grumpiness. We rolled to a stop in front of my driveway and a leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks so much, Bee, I really appreciate you," I grinned, popping open the door.

"No problem, babes," She winked, unlocking the trunk "But I swear to the gods, you better fucking call me and give me updates on everything, especially if you run into Mr. Hotcakes." I rolled my eyes once more and promised her I would before closing the door. I retrieved my bag and gave her a wave as she drove down the street. When she was out of view, I took a deep breath and turned around, walking up the driveway to the front door.

I knocked heavily on the dark oak door. While I waited for someone to answer, I decided to look around at the home I had left behind about a year ago. My childhood home had changed now and then over the years, but there were still some iconic pieces of memories in the front yard that could never be forgotten. My personal favorite was Eddie the garden gnome. He was a standard gnome: small and stout with a large white beard that led into a pointy red hat. His eyes were shut and his mouth was curved into a smile. However, he was missing a nose. I grinned as I recalled the unfortunate mishap that caused Eddie to become deformed. I was about twelve, and carl was five. He had gotten a kid's baseball from Negan for his birthday and had begged me to teach him how to play, since I was on the local softball team at the time. I relented and set it up in the front yard. Eddie was our outfielder. Eddie didn't have a mitt. Well, he did, but it was his face. Carl absolutely smashed the first pitch I tossed at him and hit poor Eddie right in the face, shattering his round, pink nose into pieces. Carl bursted into tears and I had to promise him that he did not in fact kill our precious protector of our house. Lori ran out frantically and comforted her son before giving me a thorough chewing out for damaging Eddie. We never used the set again. That she knew of, anyways. Negan always let us play in his yard, though. I smiled at the memory, but the clicking of the lock to the door pulled me from my train of thought. The door swung open and I was met with the smiling face of my father.

"Sweetie, I'm so glad you made it!" He laughed, pulling me in swiftly and squeezing me tight.

"It's good to see you too, dad." I croaked, letting out a small chuckle. I tapped on his shoulder as a signal for him to let go.

"How was the flight?" He asked as he stepped out to grab my bag. I told him it was good but that the screaming kids had given me a bit of a headache. He gave a small laugh and gestured for me to enter. I thanked him and he rolled my bag in behind me. We exchanged a few words but as soon as I walked through the kitchen into the doorway of the living room I was hit by a wall. Not literally, no, but rather a wall of overwhelming scent. It was a delicious swirl of campfire and whiskey, with a hint of cigarettes and leather. I paused for a moment, my eyes forced closed and my lungs taking a deep breath of the intoxicating air. Colors danced across my eyelids. My whole body was flooded with warmth and my toes tingled. I felt safe and calm, and there was something else; something deep within my stomach that I couldn't quite identify, something I never felt before. My eyes snapped open when I felt my father's hand rest firmly on my shoulder.

"I hope you don't mind, sweetie, but I invited company over while I was waiting for you to arrive," He smiled at me. I got a good look at him then. He looked the same, his hair was a bit longer, a bit greyer. But his eyes were different. They were darker, rounder, rawer. I gave a soft smile and told him it was fine. He guided me into the living room. It was then I realized where that deadly smell was coming from. Or, rather, who it was coming from. "Negan, you remember my girl." In that moment, I held my breath as I scanned Negan. He looked fucking amazing, just as he always had. Perfect dimples guarding a charming smile, all surrounded by a gorgeous salt and pepper beard. His hair was longer than it was when I had left, not slicked back, but it still framed his face perfectly. Negan's body was draped casually over the sectional couch, legs crossed at the ankle on the ottoman. His arms were on the top of the couch and his wrists were dangling. He knew he was hot. That bastard. I suddenly became aware of his eyes raking over my form and I shifted from one foot to the other.

"'course I do, Rick," Negan said, voice silky and deep. I couldn't help but let a small shudder run down my spine. All I wanted to do was kneel down in front of him and curl up at his feet. I forced my inner omega down, shaking the thought from my head. "How could I forget the little slugger?" I cringed inside at the nickname. Especially the use of the word 'little'. I begged that he didn't still see me as the kid down the street. Instead as a grown woman. A grown omega.

"Hi, Negan." I greeted with a small smile, swallowing to relieve my dry throat. Now that I was next to him, his scent was clogging all my senses. I gripped onto the couch and lowered myself onto the cushion, hoping to ground myself. It helped, just barely. My heart was pounding, my instincts telling me to submit to this man in front of me. Why, though? Why now? He had never smelled this good before. No alpha had. Was I getting close to my heat? I did have a stomach ache, but that could be from Negan alone.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's college goin'?" Negan asked, sipping on his drink. He kept eye contact with me the whole time. Rick handed me a glass of soda and I thanked him.

"It's good!" I said after taking a sip, thankful for the hydration in my coarse throat "Towards the end it got a little hectic, but I was able to stay on top of everything, thankfully."

"You're studying film, right?" He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"That's right," I grinned, crossing my legs to relieve some of the pressure the movement caused to build up in my lower abdomen "You still teaching law?" This caused him to chuckle. Literally music to my ear.

"If that's what you want to fuckin' call it." Negan sighed, falling back to his original position, hands resting in his lap "I talk, the kids kinda listen. I just do it for the coaching job, really. You remember how much I love that damn sport, right?"

"Baseball?" I asked, raising a brow "You mean the only thing you talked about at all of the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners you were invited to?"

"Touché." Negan grinned. Goddamn that smile. Butterflies erupted in my chest, beating hard against my ribcage, begging to throw myself at his chest and bury myself in him. Rick cleared his throat and smiled at me to get my attention.

"I want to know more about your college experience!" He beamed, rubbing a hand through his beard "Any special alphas you've got your eyes on?" I heard Negan choke slightly on his whiskey. A small bubble of pride rose in my chest. I laughed at his words.

"Dad, I don't think Negan wants to hear about my love life."

"Shit, doll, I don't mind," He grumbled "I don't get to hear any drama now-a-days"

"What do you mean?" I giggled, tilting my head "You argue for a living. Your job is to literally deal with drama."

"Yea, but that's complex drama," He growled, waving his hand dismissively "I wanna hear simple, schoolgirl 'he loves me, he loves me not' kind of bullshit."

"Well sorry to disappoint," I snorted, running a hand through my hair "but no, there's no one I have an eye on." Dad's smile turned into a frown.

"Shame." I heard Negan whisper. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it. It was quiet, barely above his breath, and he said it while twirling his whiskey, following the words with a large gulp.

"You really should start looking, dear." Dad said with a sigh "You know it only gets harder as you get older."

"Dad please, I don't..." I cut him off "Listen, I appreciate you trying to understand this stuff, I really do, but I don't really want to talk about it with my father." He looked at me with an understanding smile.

"Sure," He nodded "But if you ever need anything, anything at all, you just let me know, alright." I nodded.

"Well, this sure has been fun, Ricky-boy," Negan grinned, getting to his feet and stretching his arms far above his head. "We do have that big court case in the mornin', though, and I need my shut-eye."

"Big case, eh?" I asked, rising from my seat as well. Dad nodded and excitement sparked in his eyes.

"You should come! It's an open court and I would love for you to see what I do. I know you always wanted to as a kid, but your mom made you wait until you were older. Well, now's the perfect time!" He rambled, grasping my shoulders.

"W-Well, I dunno, I don't want to be a distraction," I stumbled, taken aback by my father's display of enthusiasm. I turned to Negan, as if asking for permission. He just laughed.

"Oh-o, doll, I don't get distracted. Not in there, not anywhere. Don't you worry about a goddamn thing. You should come, Rick seems like he really wants you to."

"Okay, then," I grinned, nodding in commitment "I'll see you there in the morning then." I looked up to Negan and we locked eyes for a brief moment. But in that moment, something within me quivered. He brushed up against me and smirked down at me.

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart. It was nice to see you. You're lookin' great." It took all my willpower not to let out a whimper as he walked past me, taking his glorious scent with him.

My dad said that he should also get some rest, but that I could stay up as long as I wanted to. I was pretty wiped from my flight so I opted to follow him up the narrow staircase, tugging my bag behind me. I hugged him goodnight and stepped into my room. It hadn't been touched since I left last summer. The forest green bedspread was still perfectly tucked into the mattress and two plump pillows were perched at the head of the bed. My muscles ached for the soft release of sleep. I put my suitcase down by my dresser, taking a moment to smile at some old photos of me and Bee as kids. I showered and brushed my teeth before getting into the comfortable bed. I looked up at the ceiling and giggled softly at the glow-in-the-dark stars shining overhead. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I wasn't thinking of anything in particular, but for some reason, all of my dreams were plagued by the sweet smell, sound, sight, feeling, and taste of Negan.