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popamolly · 2 months

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‘ DANCE WITH THE DEVIL ’ ALASTOR

summary. a bit heartbroken by last night’s events, you tried to move forward and entertain more suitors, a string still pulling on your heart since it was hard to forget alastor.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

warnings. human!alastor x fem!reader, eventual smut, mature themes, age gap! youre 20 while alastor is in his early 30s, alastor is a serial killer, alastor stalks you, dark romance, angst, gore, death, blood kink, not a happy ending

author’s note. thank you for all the love this story is getting!

The next morning arrived with the sunlight streaming through the window and painting the room in a soft warm glow. You stirred awake from a restless sleep, the events of the previous night hung heavy in the air but before you could get lost in your thoughts a gentle knock on the door interrupted your thoughts, and your mother entered with a tray of your favorite breakfast.

"Good morning," she greeted sharply, setting the tray on the bedside table.

The atmosphere in the room felt charged with tension and you felt as though if you made a sudden move you might die from the suffocation of it all. Your mother's stern expression hinted at the lingering disapproval from the night before. As she sat down, her eyes bore into yours, her words measured and direct.

"I hope you've had a chance to reflect on your behavior last night. Venturing into such places is unbecoming of a lady, especially a Duvalier, I will not have you tarnishing your father's name." she chided, her tone laced with disapproval.

Your attempts to explain were met with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Enough. We won't dwell on the mistakes of yesterday. However, I must insist that you put this Alastor nonsense out of your mind."

The mention of Alastor brought a rush of emotions that you had to swallow down. Now your mother’s instructions became more of a command rather than a suggestion. Though when have her words ever been a suggestion.

"Forget about him, my dear. You need to focus on the suitors who are genuinely interested in you. Now, get dressed. We have guests arriving and you must present yourself with grace and composure," she instructed sharply.

The weight of your mother's insistence felt like shackles but you complied, suppressing your emotions. As you prepared for the day, the memories of the jazz club and Alastor were pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the formalities and expectations you were to upheld.

The morning, which had begun with the soft glow of sunlight, now unfolded in a harsh contrast. As you descended the grand staircase to meet the suitors, a silent determination set in.

The night before had been replaced by the reality of the courting season, and in this world of scripted dances and polished conversations, the echoes of the jazz club was nothing but a forbidden memory.

"And your favorite hobby?" The man next to you asked as you both walked along the side of the riverbank with your mother in tow behind you as a chaperone.

"Cooking, sewing, cleaning..." You listed everything your mother practiced you to say since you were sixteen with a bored expression, "It's hard to choose really. Especially when my new hobby would be doing all those things and taking care of man who can't take care of himself."

The gentleman's expression shifted from mild curiosity to genuine offense as your response veered off the expected path for traditional domestic roles. He struggled to conceal his surprise, his facial features contorting into disbelief.

"Taking care of a man who can't take care of himself?" he repeated, his tone carrying a touch of annoyance. "Well, I must say, I wasn't expecting such... candidness. A woman's role is to support and enhance her husband's life, not to suggest he's incapable."

Your mother, who had been following as a discreet chaperone, discreetly cleared her throat, offering a subtle reminder of the expected decorum during such conversations. The gentleman, however, appeared unamused by your deviation from the conventional script.

"I believe in partnership and mutual support," you continued, maintaining your composure despite the tension in the air. "In my view, a successful marriage is built on shared responsibilities and understanding, don't you think so? Or is your brain too small minded?"

The gentleman's offense transformed into outright displeasure, and his face reddened with anger. He took a step back, as if distancing himself from the perceived audacity of your words.

"I never expected such impertinence," he huffed, his voice dripping with disdain before turning to your mother. "If this is the kind of woman your daughter has become, madam, perhaps a lesson in decorum is in order."

Your mother, taken aback by the abrupt turn of events, attempted to diffuse the tension. "I assure you, she is a capable and respectful young woman."

The gentleman scoffed, "Respectful? A woman's place is to support her husband, not challenge societal norms. If you want to see your daughter married perhaps you should tape her mouth first."

With those final words, he turned on his heel, storming off along the riverbank, leaving an air of tension in his wake. Your mother, left momentarily speechless, could only watch as he disappeared from view.

Your mother, though caught off guard by the gentleman's departure, turned her attention towards you with a stern expression, the air thick with disapproval.

"I cannot believe you would speak so boldly, especially to such a promising young man. Do you even know who his father is?" she scolded, her voice low. "You'd be lucky if he doesn't spread a rumor about you and your outspoken views, who will marry you then?"

You bit your lip, a mix of frustration and defiance bubbling within you. The stifling expectations of the season seemed to constrict, and the encounter had exposed the deep-seated clash between tradition and your desire for an equal partnership.

"But Mother, I only spoke the truth. I want a marriage built on partnership," you argued, your voice carrying a hint of rebellion, "I want love."

Your mother's gaze remained unwavering, and she sighed in exasperation. "Love? My dearest child, it was one night of sweet nothings you must forget that man. You must understand that your words have consequences, and you must learn to navigate these social situations with more finesse."

The scolding continued, a lecture on the importance of being a mere trophy without thoughts. As the words from your mother lingered, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment. The courting season proved to be more of a challenge than you had anticipated.

The journey back home was quiet, the echoes of the encounters with potential suitors lingering in the air. Your grand estate, once a symbol of opulence and refinement, now felt like a gilded cage . A cage that you unfortunately had to be stuck in for the rest of your life.

As you and your mother entered the stately home, servants helped you take your coats off at the door. Tonight had only proved that the majority of suitors were mostly ignorant and entitled. Men who expected the traditional gender roles only stifled your desire for a more equal partnership.

You follow your mother into drawing-room where tea awaited, sitting down on one of the elegant couches after pouring yourself a cup. You mentally prepared yourself as your mother sat across from you, dropping two sugar cubes into her own teacup with a discerning gaze, ready address the events of the afternoon.

"Do you understand that I want only the best for you? It is hard but you must find content with your situation, as I did. The suitors today were from respected families, and their opinions carry weight in our social circles," she advised, her tone a mix of caution and motherly concern, "Don't be foolish to throw this all way because you want a fairytale marriage."

You sighed, feeling her slowly start to crush your spirit. "Mother, I cannot fake enthusiasm for these men. I want a marriage based on love and mutual respect, is that so bad?"

Your mother's expression hardened, a sign of her struggle between the desire for your happiness and keeping your father's legacy alive. "The world we live in demands certain sacrifices for the sake of reputation."

The conversation continued, a delicate dance between generations, aspirations, and tradition. The walls of the grand estate seemed to close in, threatening suffocate every ounce of a dream you had left.

"We will talk more about this later, now go and freshen up for dinner." Your mother turns from you to get the daily mail that sat onto a silver plater one of our servants held. Her thoughts now occupied with whatever was in those letters addressed to her.

The mention of dinner provided you temporary relief, a chance to gather your thoughts in the privacy of your room.

As you reached the upper landing and walked down the corridor towards your room, a familiar sense of fatigue settled in. The idea of facing another evening filled with polite conversation and forced smiles only wished to drain you more than you already were. With a sigh, you opened the door to your room, hoping to somehow muster enough strength to make through dinner with your mother.

Upon entering, the room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening sun. The space offered little comfort compared to the storm brewing within your mind. You moved towards the patio doors, intending to draw the heavy curtains and shut out the world for a brief moment.

However, as you approached the doors, a gasp caught in your throat. There, at the patio, stood Alastor, his tan skin bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. He held a bouquet of flowers in hand, with that grin that would be bone-chilling if you were in another world.

Had he climbed up to your patio? Your heart skipped a beat, startled by his unexpected presence. Alastor turned, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the electrifying encounter at the jazz club.

"Forgive the intrusion," Alastor spoke, a charming smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't resist the opportunity to see you again, (Y/N).”

You found yourself at a loss for words, the sight of him standing there, outside your room, both thrilling and a little scary. The flowers he held seemed to highlight the spontaneity of the night that had captured your heart.

As you stood there, Alastor's gaze held a question, an unspoken invitation to step into the realm of the unexpected once more. You couldn’t, you thought, you shouldn’t. The decision lay before you – to embrace the conventional path or to follow the allure of something more unpredictable and genuine.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over you at the sight of Alastor. The initial surprise and excitement gradually gave way to a simmering anger that had lingered since the day before. Memories of his sudden departure, leaving you alone in the crowd, resurfaced to only fuel the flames of anger.

You composed yourself, maintaining a veneer of poise, as you faced Alastor at the patio doors. "Alastor," you greeted, your tone betraying a subtle undercurrent of tension.

He smiled, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface. "I hoped to catch you before dinner. These are for you, my dear," he said, extending the bouquet of flowers towards you.

You accepted the flowers with a forced smile, your gaze sharpening as you met his eyes. "How kind of you. But if this is your way of an apology for leaving me the night before then you are not forgiven," you remarked, your words laced with a hint of reproach.

Alastor's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. "I apologize if my departure caused you any distress. It wasn't my intention."

You couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration at his nonchalant response. "Intentions or not, it was thoughtless. All this is challenging enough without being abandoned in the middle of a crowded club."

Alastor's gaze dropped ever so slightly, "You're right, and I regret not explaining myself that night." The man before you was unable to meet your eyes, "Something came up and I had to tend to it right away, I had hoped to invite you to dinner to properly apologize."

"Dinner?" You looked back at the clock hanging from your wall, knowing that your mother was expecting you in less than an hour to join her, "I can't tonight."

"Tomorrow then?" Alastor persisted, his eyes searching for a glimpse of agreement.

"Tomorrow." you agreed, the magnetic charm that surrounded him softening your resolve. A sense of anticipation lingered, a silent acknowledgment of the romance weaving through the conversation.

As Alastor pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles, a shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His gesture, reminiscent of the forbidden knight in shining armor that came to save your dress that fateful day.

"I will see you tomorrow," you responded, your words breathless, caught in the enchantment of the moment. The courtyard, bathed in the soft hues of the setting sun, transformed into a canvas for the unfolding romance between you two. Was this foolish yes? But when you are smitten and swooped off your feet by the person who you think could be the one, it didn’t seem so foolish. Everything surrounding Alastor made perfect sense even when nothing about him made sense at all.

"I can't wait to reveal to you my world, my dear," Alastor's voice carried a mysterious undertone, his words dancing on the edge of menacing. Unbeknownst to you, the promise held a duality, a blend of charm and an underlying darkness that eluded your naive perception.

As Alastor departed, leaving you in the fading light of the terrance, the echoes of his words lingered. The anticipation of the mysterious dinner date took root in your heart, overshadowed by the allure of a world yet to be unveiled. Little did you know, that this romantic endeavor concealed layers of foreshadowing pain and death.

TAGLIST: @queenmizuki @sirens-and-moonflowers @poppingaround @happytacojudgepalace @mo-0-o @harmfulb1tch @tiredkiwiii @moody-mod @themoonitselff @darifes @whocaresimnothere @boogiemansbitch

@stygianoir @miyu-kii @jam0001 @theredviolets @olive-frog @t0xic1vi @chirimeimei @luzzbuzz @simp-erman @arsonist0621 @velvethakiragi @abi99gail @mistpurpl3 @burninupa-star @manicjk @foxykatniss123 @night-shadowblood-writes2 @dissociativeidentitydumbass

Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo

#hazbin hotel characters #hazbin hotel fiction #smut #𖤐popamolly #𖤐popamollyposts #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor

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rise-my-angel · 1 year

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hi mimi~ how are you? how is everything?? i hope life has been treating you kind and only good things have been blooming for you 🥹💜

I appreciate the kindness, its a little difficult it's my first holiday without my kitty in almost a decade. The only time I've spent a holiday without her since I was 8 was the one year I didn't come home from college on winter break since obviously pets weren't allowed in the dorms.

So its hard beacuse I love holiday season, I mean Ive jump started on gift wrapping and spent almost 2 hours christmas decorating my moms entire house last weekend, but then I come home and it's silent and I don't have her to share my enjoyment with. Even my yearly season long mission of getting her to keep a bow on her head long enough so I can take a pretty picture of her is something I already miss terribly.

But I'm trying to distract myself with writing. I have another Javier part of my little mininseries ready to be posted, and I'm a couple thousand words into my next Joel miniseries addition. Turns out I'm addicted to writing angst even though I very rarely can stomach reading long angst fics. I also might do another Marcus Moreno fic thats a Christmas themed one since he's a much more lighthearted character to write. I've officially written too many fics and I literally have a masterlist in my drafts just so I can keep track of them all.

I'm enjoying writing again a lot, posting on here is hard though I don't get a lot of feedback on my stuff and some I get absolutely none at all so it's really hard to gauge how much people actually are enjoying it. So its a battle to find any motivation to post my work thats the issue.

#i still come home and look for her and even almost start greeting her like I always did #my psychiatrist asked me yesterday if not having her is whats making things worse #and i almost started crying at the mere mention even now i can feel it building #idk its just...i had her for 20 years of my life i still feel so lost and purposeless without her #the spot on the couch beside me is still empty #it was her spot beacuse she loved curling next to me #and all thats allowed to sit on there is her blanket and a photo of her laying in that exact spot looking at the camera #its kind of crinkly i think i want to reprint a flat one #and ill put the crinkly one up beside my bed where i have another photo of her sleeping #writing has slowed the past few days beacuse missing her has just really hit me out of nowhere #i just hope no one in my family starts the 'maybe get a new cat' conversation this holiday season #I feel sick when thinking about replacing her #side note i do post all of my work on ao3 so check that out id you wanna see any work ive done thats not posted here #my username on ao3 ia hadontini

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

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fly on the wall * fem!driver

she crashes in her third race of her f1 career, but she's more concerned about its repercussions than the concussion

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: crashing the car

notes: ooooh my god i had to rewrite this 5 times because it wasn't up to my liking initially, and then tumblr was having some issues saving my shit so i lost it?? it's very sad fr

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

"are you alright?" sebastian's voice comes onto the radio.

his eyes are trained on the big screen, cameras focused on the car parked into the wall out of a turn. he couldn't get an answer out of his driver so he had to resort to the third party.

if his assumptions are correct, she would have hit her head on her seat hard at impact. but things like that can lead to so many bigger things that he might not even be prepared for.

her vision slowly returns, blacking out for a mere second as the car went into the barriers of the baku track.

she had issues with her brakes for a few laps. sebastian had suggested retiring the car if she didn't feel safe, but she pressed on. the issue didn't seem so serious and it seemed manageable.

at first.

it's a driver error - missing the early braking point to accommodate her already tweaking brakes. she missed it by a millisecond, clipped the wall and got sent straight into the wall.

she sighs, pressing the button on her steering wheel. "i'm okay," she answers shakily, tears now filling her eyes.

"okay, that's the important part. don't think about anything else. i'll see you in the medical centre." sebastian is quick to shut her thoughts down, clearly prioritising her wellbeing and not the car.

"i'm sorry," she sighs, voice shaking and lips quivering. “i’m so sorry, seb.”

this is only her third race in f1, how could she have already crashed out? on a race where she was so close to that podium. it would have been such a monumental moment — a woman on the podium.

with 20 laps left in the race and her in 5th place, it wasn’t all that far out of reach at the time. yet, here she is causing a yellow flag as she starts to notice the smoke surrounding her.

"like i said. don't think about anything else."

she sighs to herself as a marshal appears above her halo, greeting her with a soft smile. she nods, letting herself get helped out of her car.

but only one thought eats away at her: she crashed on her third race. what's everyone going to say about her now?

“let me talk,” sebastian sighs, hands up in the air as he tries to calm the girl sitting on the examination bed. he’s barely able to get a word in.

she’s slouched against the wall, purple balaclava in her hands as she traces the thread that holds it together at the hem. the minute he walked in, she looked up immediately with tears in her eyes and a string of apologies.

it hasn’t stopped since he poked his head through the door, cutting him off before he could even ask if she’s okay.

“do you not see the problem?” she shrieks, eyebrows furrowing at sebastian. “i just crashed out! imagine what the media has to say about my performance today? they’re just going to use this as a reason to justify that i shouldn’t be on the track!”

sebastian drops his hands to his side, deciding that he’d just let her get it all off her chest. it might make her feel better.

though, it doesn’t make him feel good that she’s continually talking down on herself. he vouched for her for weeks for a reason, and it’s because he believes in her. more than she does in herself, it seems.

“i didn’t work my ass off my whole life just to be undermined because i’m a woman!” she tosses the balaclava aside, now picking at the loose skin by her fingernails. “i didn’t get this far for everyone to count me out because of one crash! can you fucking believe that shit? it’s a fucking rookie mistake, seb! i’ve been racing for years!”

she drops her hands by her side and groans again, rolling her eyes. “i’ve earned my rightful spot to be where i am! they are not going to care about that!”

sebastian shrugs slightly, overlooked by the infuriated woman across him. he can barely get a breath in before she continues, shutting his mouth immediately as she continues her rampage.

“imagine the headlines tomorrow! a driver is as good as their last race — i know that! don’t try to sugarcoat it. you know i’m right!” she rambles on, eyes darting all over the room. she’s pushed herself off the wall slightly, clearly flustered over the course of events.

she avoids sebastian’s eyes, the fear of fully breaking down in front of him prominent. crying over a crash seemed like such a silly thing to do, but there’s no denying how demanding the sport truly is.

in her short three races in the season and people’s neverending criticism of her abilities, it makes her lie awake at night rethinking her position on the grid.

following her crash, sebastian hadn’t expected for her to ramble on for this long. he initially thought that the crash would have sent her into a shocking silence, so while her anger is warranted, it was definitely not on his list of things to be ready for.

“imagine what they have to say about me!” she throws her hands in the air, scratching her head gently. “imagine what they’ll say about you! it’s not going to be good, trust me! i’m a woman in a fucking racing car in a male-dominated sport!”

“hey!” sebastian’s voice bounces in the room, making her lift her head with her eyes narrowed into a glare.

the sudden movement reminds her of her restrictions, hands coming up to nurse the back of her neck. she feels a sharp pain shoot through her head all the way down to her shoulders. “what?” she hisses, quickly looking down to hide the pain.

“you literally just crashed head-first into a wall at 250 kilometres per hour! you’re lucky all you got was a concussion and whiplash! it could’ve been worse!”

“if i was lucky, i’d have been able to recover and get on the podium as we discussed! i was already 5th!”

“and you didn’t! that’s okay! you learn from things like these!”

“no, it’s not! i’m already hated as it is!”

“it’s part of the sport! fernando alonso has crashed, lewis has, and so have max and charles! every other big name in formula 1 has had their fair share! you’ll be okay!”

she finally meets sebastian’s eyes, slouching even more as she audibly sighs. he watches her body deflate, leaning back dejectedly. “it’s still different.”

she’s still in her fireproofs. her race suit had to be taken off during her short time with the doctor, hanging on the back of the plastic chair in the small medical room. her helmet sits next to her, underneath the balaclava she’d thrown on top of it.

her hair is in a loose ponytail with stray hairs poking out and resting on her face. the adrenaline has yet to leave her body, chest heaving as if it’d just been over and beads of sweat still scattered all over her.

“i know it’s different. but everyone else who says whatever isn’t the person behind the wheel, you have to remember that,” he says in a soothing tone, finally coming up to stand next to her. he sighs, putting a hand on top of her head. “and i know it sucks.”

she shakes her head. “no, you don’t. we’re different; our problems are different.”

“the way they used to hate me, and things they say about you are different, yes,” sebastian nods in a low voice, his thumb now tracing circles on her head. “but you still can prove them wrong. you just started driving in formula 1 — you’ll have way more chances to shut them all up.”

“i could’ve already. if i just controlled the car a little better.”

“it’s okay.” he slides himself onto the examination bed, sitting next to her. he intertwines his fingers and rests his hands on his thigh. “everybody crashes at one point in their career.

“let the media say what they want, but not all that criticise you have been in a race before. nobody on that grid thinks you’re lesser than you are just because of what happened today.”

“you don’t know that.”

sebastian just shakes his head, refusing to elaborate any further. he leans back into the wall as well. “oscar is on the way with some snacks for you.”

crashing out during a race is never easy. years before he decided to retire, tapping and crashing out of a race has always been demoralising. it always feels like the first time when he does.

“i don’t need snacks. i need to go back to 4 hours ago when i was still on track for a podium finish in the first half of my rookie season.”

“with your talent, i can assure you that this will not be your only opportunity in formula 1. i will make sure of it, of course. wherever i go, you go.”

the door creaks open, cutting her off before she can throw an answer back as sebastian. “i’ve got your favourite snacks. i also stole a couple of twix bars from your backpack, i hope you don’t mind.”

“well, why’d you take them and still tell me about it knowing i wouldn’t even have given it to you in the first place?” she reaches for the nearest object next to her, yanking it towards oscar by the door.

“because it was calling my name,” he shrugs, pushing the door fully open to reveal who he’s strung along to the medical centre.

“i took a packet of haribo,” logan shrugs as he steps in. he flinches when she clenches her fist, scrambling to pull something out of his paper bag. “but i got you a can of sprite to make up for it! don’t be mad!”

her gaze softens when she notices lewis hamilton standing behind her friends, a paper bag hanging on his fingers as he grins at her.

“how are you, sweetie?” his voice is empathetic and low, giving her a look that she’d seen from everyone she’s passed on her way here.

she sees lewis and sebastian exchange glances, almost making her roll her eyes again.

she doesn’t talk to lewis that often, but he has addressed her before when she would trail behind sebastian on the track. she would often greet him softly as she hid behind her mentor, or simply excuse herself when she sees either oscar or logan passing by.

he’s a role model and the last thing she ever wanted to do was be too overbearing. to see him come to her aid is only a dream come true.

“i hope you don’t beat yourself up because of that. you drove a brilliant race today,” he smiles. “everybody crashes out. don’t even care what others have to say about you. you did well.”

lewis understands being cast out as a minority. he will never understand the struggles and pressure put on her, but he can at least relate to a certain extent. “don’t even sweat it. you’re now one of the world’s greatest in a fast race car. you’d smoke anybody who would dare challenge you.”

oscar tilts his head. “why would someone random just challenge her out on the street?”

“oscar, shut up,” logan shoves the australian slightly, landing a warning smack on his shoulder after. “let her have her moment.”

lewis laughs but does wave oscar off as he returns his attention to her. “what they say will string, but trust me, this is not the end of the world. i know it feels like it.”

she nods to herself. “okay, hand me the snacks so i can eat away all my pain. i deserve it.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock

#sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #fem!driver #female driver #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 fem!driver

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youkissedareaderinthedark · 6 months

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Coraline

Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.

tagged: @treehouse-mouse

2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.

Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.

This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.

Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.

With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.

Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.

You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.

“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”

“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”

The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”

You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.

“Sorry?”

There’s no way

“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.

You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.

Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.

Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.

Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.

“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.

“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”

Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.

The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.

You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.

It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.

“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”

You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.

From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.

You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.

They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.

All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.

When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.

Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.

There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.

So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.

Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”

You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.

Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.

You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”

Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.

The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.

You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.

You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.

You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.

“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.

“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.

“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.

“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.

“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.

“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.

Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.

You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.

You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.

They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.

Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.

You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.

They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?

You think you deserve to be here?

They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you

You are nothing compared to the other drivers

You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team

You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.

You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.

You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.

Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.

You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.

The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.

You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.

Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.

It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.

You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.

The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.

You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.

This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.

You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.

It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.

The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.

The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.

They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.

They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.

So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.

Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.

Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.

You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.

You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.

And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.

After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.

It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.

You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.

“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”

“Will you have a seat next year?

“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”

“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”

You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.

Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.

You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.

Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.

You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.

“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you

“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.

“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”

“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.

“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.

“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”

You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.

“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.

“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”

Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.

You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.

You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.

“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.

“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.

“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.

Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.

The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.

“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete arsehole, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.

Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.

“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.

So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.

“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.

“Yeah, not entirely, but better”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”

“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”

“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.

“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.

“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.

“You promise?”

Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.

“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.

“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”

“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.

When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.

Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.

These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.

The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.

The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.

#formula 1 #reader insert #driver reader #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 driver imagines #platonic f1 grid #f1 2023 grid x y/n #f1 imagine #female driver reader #comfort fic #angst with a happy ending #angst #please look at trigger warning before you read #lewis hamilton #charles lecrelc #platonic lewis hamilton #platonic charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

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hairyjocktf · 19 days

Text

Filling the Roster

Aidan was just starting his second year at university. The summer home with family had been exhausting and he was pumped to be back on campus with everyone and to get back to his routine. Ever since going off to college he’d been trying to work on himself, including going to the gym for the first time in his life. He’d gotten into a good routine his freshman year but hadn’t managed to gain much muscle yet, to his dismay. He was hoping to change that this year. The first day of classes had been a snoozefest, just reading syllabi and some uncomfortable ice breakers, so he was ready to get out of the classroom and into the gym again.

He walked into the campus gym and glanced around to see what was open. He noticed what looked like the wrestling team in the back, hogging all the squat racks and making their presence known with obnoxious grunting. Making a mental note to avoid that area today, Aidan went over to the treadmill to warm up. He’d always been on the nerdier side growing up, and while he did have a year of exercise under his belt now, he still didn’t fit in with that kind of crowd. Aidan put in his earbuds and got to it, the next hour flying by as he did a mild total body workout to ease himself back in.

Satisfied with himself for the day, he grabbed his water bottle and headed to the locker room. Normally he hated changing here and would just walk home first, but he had a club meeting that evening and he didn’t have time to go all the way back. He walked in and was immediately assaulted by the stench, the room absolutely stunk of BO and sweat. Yeah it was a locker room but this was a bit much, he thought as he breathed through his mouth. The wrestling guys had evidently finished their workouts too, as the room was noisy from all their chatter and yelling. They’d left their gear scattered all over the benches and floor, leaving hardly any room for anyone else. Aidan rolled his eyes and squeezed his way through the chaos to an empty corner. Despite working out for an hour he hadn’t sweat much, he never did, so he skipped the shower. Midway through changing he realized the room had gone silent. He turned around to check if the wrestlers had all left but instead was greeted with a sight that made him freeze.

The entire team had gathered behind him and now stared at him. The biggest guy, who Aidan recognized as their captain, Beau, broke the silence.

“Hey pipsqueak,” he said with a shockingly deep voice for a college student, “We found out today we’re down a man this season. We gotta solve that ASAP, y’know?”

Aidan was confused and intimidated. “Uh… Sorry to hear that man,” he said with a crack in his voice. He took a step back only to hit the wall of lockers behind him.

“Yea it’s a real shame ain’t it,” the wrestler took a step towards Aidan. “It’s a good thing I’m a great recruiter,” he laughed to himself. There was an almost sinister grin plastered on his face.

Aidan felt cornered, realizing that he was standing there in just his boxers. “What do you want with me dude?” He asked frantically as the wrestlers slowly closed in on him. The putrid stench in the room was only getting worse as the jocks came nearer.

“Like I said, we need a replacement wrestler,” Beau replied, pulling a yellowed jockstrap out of his bag that was on the bench. “I think you’ll enjoy getting to know the team.”

Aidan’s heart was pounding through his chest, he didn’t know what they wanted with him but he knew he needed to get out NOW. His fight or flight (mostly flight) instincts were kicking in. He looked past the wall of jocks to the door of the locker room, about 20 feet away. Before he had a chance to act, two of the wrestlers pounced. They grabbed Aidan’s arms and held him in place as Beau walked up to him.

“What the fuck, let me go!” Aidan cried in distress, struggling against his captors. They were bigger and evidently much stronger than him, not letting him budge at all.

“Hush now, I think you have some real potential here, I’m just going to let that all out,” Beau told Aidan before grabbing his boxers and ripping them off. Aidan’s flaccid cock was on full display, as were the paltry few hairs he called his bush.

“Well, I’ve seen worse,” Beau chuckled to himself. He took the dirty jockstrap in his hand and pulled it up Aidan’s legs letting it snap into place around his small member.

“Let me go!” Aidan yelled, continuing to try and break free from the jock’s hold.

“Just give it a moment,” Beau said, kneeling down to look closer at Aidan’s groin. Aidan’s struggling lessened as he noticed a strange sensation coming from his crotch that was seemingly getting more intense every second. It felt… good almost. No, it did feel good, it was almost like he was jerking off without even touching himself. He felt his dick start to harden as the sensation of pleasure grew.

Beau laughed, “There you go man! I knew you’d come around.” Those words barely registered in Aidan’s ears as he stared at his dick, watching it grow erect and push against the jockstrap as his body was flooded with pleasure hormones. It felt incredible, like his dick was growing harder than ever before. It in fact was, growing steadily past his previous five inches, reaching seven, eight, as it really started to tent the jockstrap. A tingling feeling arose within Aidan’s crotch at the same time as Beau leaned in to take a closer look.

“Aww yea, look at those pubes start to come in. Fuck that’s hot.” He watched as dark hairs sprouted out of Aidan’s mostly bare crotch, like thick weeds shooting out of his skin. Aidan groaned as the sensation of hair growing added to his already euphoric state. Hairs continued popping up across his groin, filling in denser and denser as they spread out. “Looks like our man’s goin’ through puberty right in front of us,” Beau said as he rubbed his hand through the sprouting bush. Aidan’s body shivered in pleasure, Beau’s touch seemingly encouraging more hairs to push out of him. The pubic hairs grew longer and curled together, climbing up the shaft of his now massive cock. Beau grinned as he noticed Aidan’s balls swelling, growing to the size of eggs, then tangerines as they stretched his sack and hung lower. That was just the beginning, as the same thick dark pubes wormed their way out giving him a thick coating. At this point the jockstrap was barely covering anything. Aidan’s now nine inch cock stood completely erect, tenting the fabric and letting his new bush explode outward. Those thick pubes were starting to produce their own musk, not too dissimilar from the general stench of the locker room. The hairs spread out even farther, beginning to climb up above his waistband and onto his stomach, as well as spreading to his inner thighs with a thick rug. Aidan hung in the jocks’ arms nearly limp, his cock dribbling precum like a faucet.

“Well I think this has served its purpose,” Beau said to himself as he pulled the jockstrap off Aidan, letting his thick cock snap up against his stomach. The flow of precum soaked the area around his navel, and where the precum had wetted his skin, more thick hairs began to crop up. Beau went back to his bag and exchanged the dripping jockstrap for a wrestling singlet. It was damp from sweat and being stuffed in Beau’s dank gym bag, and stank to high heaven. With the help of the other wrestlers, Beau got the tight singlet onto Aidan’s lanky body. It didn’t really fit, but there was an enormous bulge from Aidan’s recent developments. He pulled the shoulder straps and let them snap down onto Aidan’s bony clavicle. That immediately pulled Aidan out of his subdued hormone-fueled slumber.

“Oh, god, oh, oh what the fuck,” he said, processing the past few minutes. Part of his brain was still in adrenaline mode, telling him he needed to BOLT, while another part was content with this situation, elated even. The longer he breathed in the musky air of the locker room the louder that voice became, and the more he wanted Beau’s hands back on him. He looked up away from his own body and made eye contact with Beau, a grin crossing his stubbled face.

“You already look good in that singlet man, it won’t take much now,” Beau told him. Aidan’s mind was running at light speed but his mouth was not on the same wavelength.

“What are you-, why are-, how the-,” Aidan was trying to get his thoughts out when the pulsing, pleasurable sensation began to return. His words trailed off as he looked down at his own flat chest, watching with wide eyes as two muscular pecs began to push out. He felt his whole body begin to tighten as muscle started popping out all over. Pronounced bone disappeared under layers of thick muscle that began to fill out his form, and the singlet. What had previously been impressively slack for a spandex suit was now taught against his body, expanding as he did. His pecs grew sore as they continued to grow, blocking Aidan’s view of his lower half as they packed on size. On the new horizon of his chest he noticed something, tiny hairs were poking out of his mountainous pecs. They started small and slow but quickly began shooting up all across the vast expanse of his chest. The hairs itched as they grew in, Aidan wasn’t bothered, he was in awe at the forest that was engulfing his new muscles. He ran his hands through the growing hairs, pulling gently on the hairs as they continued their advance across his chest, working up towards his neck and down across his stomach. As the hairs matured they grew darker and curlier, tangling into a thick rug across his pecs. Beau watched Aidan become enraptured by his own jockification. He noticed a growing wet spot in his groin where the precum continued to leak out constantly.

Beau stepped back up to Aidan and planted his hand on his chest, feeling the growing fields of hair. That alone was enough to get a soft moan out of Aidan, putting a devilish grin on Beau’s face. He pinned Aidan’s growing frame against the locker before raising one of his arms up. What he found was underwhelming; a handful of light wispy hairs scattered across the armpit. That would have to change. He stuck his hand into his own sweaty, hairy pit and rubbed it around, coating his fingers in thick jock sweat and musk. He sniffed them just to make sure it was potent enough, and his body was never slacking in the sweat department. Taking his moistened hand he went back to Aidan’s nearly hairless pit and massaged the sweat in. Within moments he felt little prickles of stubble against his fingers. Beau saw dark pinpricks appearing across Aidan’s pit, spots that quickly erupted into thick, wiry hairs. The original wispy hairs grew dark and curly as the sweat did its work, and soon Aidan had a respectable amount of hair under his arm. But that wasn’t enough for Beau, he dug out some more musky sweat from his own pits to finish the job. Soon enough Aidan’s pit hairs completely coated the area, even reaching out to connect with the pelt on his chest. Beau’s fingers were combing through the thick hairs, gently tugging on them and pulling out more growth. Aidan moaned again; the feeling of Beau’s hands stroking his growing pit hairs was euphoric. He was slipping more and more from his old self as his body grew to love this new reality, the jock voice in his own head growing louder.

Beau was satisfied with the pit situation after he was able to smell Aidan’s newly produced stench from a distance. He stepped back and watched as Aidan’s body continued to adjust to the singlet. In the same way his pecs had ballooned, his arms began exploding with size. His delts, triceps, biceps, and forearms grew intensely sore as they put on years worth of bulk in moments. Aidan was finally starting to look like a wrestler who could hold his own on the mat. The definition on his new muscles was quickly hidden as hair began to sprout across his boulder shoulders and down his arms. What started as a few hairs popping up across his shoulders grew into a flood of dark hair that surged down his arms, and the singlet left it all visible for the crowd. The hairs continued growing denser, curling around each other as the hair began to resemble fur on his bulky arms; he would look like a total beast of a man in action. Aidan’s hands got the same treatment, his palms grew bulkier as his hands stretched out in size. He could hear the popping sounds of his growth but was too flush with hormones to care, barely registering the thick hairs growing on the backs of his hands. Beau could already tell Aidan was going to become one of their best wrestlers, with his immense size and build. All he needed was to let the inner jock blooming inside of him take control.

After the growth in Aidan’s arms slowed down, his legs picked up the slack. His quads beefed up, thighs nearly shredding the singlet with their girth. Beau watched as Aidan’s bulge twitched and leaked as his legs grew longer and thicker than they’d ever been. His feet began to stretch and grow, expanding to a size 15 before becoming covered by hairs. Those hairs raced up his calves and onto his thighs, leaving him with a thick fur coating for his tree trunks. Aidan had grown to the point where he could take most of the jocks on the team, almost rivaling Beau’s height and mass. Beau knew he’d made a good call with Aidan, he’d been so similar before he joined the team. He couldn’t help but rub his hands over Aidan’s furry legs, feeling the coarse hairs run through his fingers. He could feel Aidan’s heart rate increase. He almost felt envious of him, experiencing immense growth like this was a once in a lifetime event, and he knew Aidan was almost complete.

Aidan groaned as his body fully filled out the singlet, stretching it to its limit with his massive muscles. The fur that had coated his body felt incredible rubbing against the fabric, keeping his cock at full mast, pressed against the singlet so everyone knew. Beau looked him up and down; Aidan had the body of a tank, a heavyweight champion, but a severe case of babyface. Beau had an idea, he went back to his grab and grabbed his mouthguard. It was grimy and had a couple hairs stuck to it, but it’d do the trick. He grabbed Aidan’s pudgy face and opened his mouth, shoving the guard in. Aidan sputtered as he gagged on old spit and wiry hairs.

“Aw, the hell bro what was that,” he complained weakly. Beau smiled, he was already speaking more like a jock, and that voice was getting deeper. He watched as an Adam's apple pushed out of Aidan’s neck, cementing his new rugged voice. Aidan’s face started to darken a shade as the shadow of thick stubble spread across his jaw. It quickly pushed out, brown hairs coating his face. They grew longer and thicker, with more popping up between old ones, giving him an incredibly dense short beard. Aidan moaned as the hairs spread across his jaw and up his sideburns to his hair, which gained some lighter highlights and shortened into a more athletic style. His upper lip erupted with the same thick hairs, giving him a full short beard. His jaw squared up and his eyebrows grew bushier, before his ears grew and stuck out from his head more. He finally looked fully like a champion wrestler. Aidan stroked his hands through the dense growth, finally pushing him over the edge. His breaths quickened and grew louder as he climaxed, grunting as cum erupted out of his thick cock. It pushed through the fabric of the singlet, pouring down the front of it. The euphoric trance he’d been in began to fade, but the old Aidan was gone. He was Aidan the wrestler, a jock ready to conquer his path on the mat. Instinctually he flexed, showing off his beefy arms and hairy pits. The scent emanating from his pits matched the rest of the locker room now, and he took a big whiff of it out of habit, that manly odor really turned him on. Beau laughed and grabbed Aidan’s hand, pulling him upright. His cum was still dripping down his singlet onto the floor, adding to the pungent scent of the locker room.

“Welcome to the team bro,” Beau said, looking forward to their best season yet.

#male tf #hairy tf #jock tf #hair growth #hairy #hairy chest #hairy pits #beard #my writing

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fangirl-dot-com · 2 months

Text

Across Every Universe - Part 2

Well, I didn't expect this work to get this long. It was only supposed to be short but then I worked on it all day and for multiple hours on end?? I guess I just enjoy this concept so much! These are basically the stories I wanted to put in last time, but they needed their own chapter to truly shine.

I know people asked for Arthur and reader romance, but To Do Is To Dare has always been a racing fic first and romance second. I tried to add in all the people I could without going crazy with the plot line or it would have gotten out of hand (or more than it already is). There is a lot of Max and Charles (my two favorite boys on the grid).

If anyone has anything against Lestappen - there's the door :)

Please enjoy :)

Earth 33891

“Please stand for his Majesty King Max Emilian Verstappen, King of the Netherlands and Prince of Orange.”

Max always hated these announcements. Like, why did they have to always say his middle name and all the titles that came with it? He put on a gentle smile and waved to the crowds around him. Thankfully, his dressers had decided to forgo the kingly robes and opted for a nice suit with his pins. Definitely fitting for the Dutch Grand Prix.

This would be his ninth to attend since taking the throne at 18-years-old after his father passed away. The kind always enjoyed seeing the Orange Army at the home race.

After greeting everyone, he was led to the special box. Apparently, more than one royal had decided to attend as well. Max’s shoulders loosened when his eyes landed on a familiar figure.

“Charles!”

Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc, The Sovereign Prince of the Principality of Monaco. Max was always glad that his mother only chose one middle name for him instead of three.

The prince’s green eyes widened at the sight of the Dutchman. He waved off whoever he was speaking to and all but glided across the room. The two forwent the formalities and brought each other into a hug.

Max leaned back a bit to look the Monegasque in the eye.

“What are you doing here? Monaco not enough for you?”

There was a playful glint in his eyes as Charles rolled his. The brunet gestured to a plush couch in the corner, one that Max was excited to sit in.

Charles began to speak, a small smile on his face, “Well as you know, my brother is currently dating one of the drivers on the grid. And it is her home race so Arthur wanted to come watch.”

Max nodded, understanding perfectly. He knew exactly who Charles was talking about.

Y/n L/n, the only female driver, who currently was working on her fourth World Champion.

“And where is your brother now?”

“He’s in the garage,” Charles rolled his eyes. He had wanted to go, but an ambassador had insisted that he needed to talk to the prince.

“Why don’t we head there. I always want to say hello to my race winner.”

Now, Max and Y/n had a very loving sibling relationship. The king had watched her grow up karting and made sure to sponsor her and support her through her career. Without his support, the girl would not have been able to continue. Yet, when you put the royal Dutch crest on your Formula 3 car, someone has to know that it means something.

This would be her 4th season in Red Bull, having been 19 when she joined in 2019. She was only 20 when she won her first World Championship, breaking the record for the youngest ever to dominate the sport.

Now she was 24 and is on a path to win her fourth in only five races if she keeps up the winning streak. Max was only older by 3 years, yet he watched over her like a very protective older brother.

He and Charles had made their way down to the pitlane, much to their advisors’ chagrin. They passed by the Mercedes garage to say hello to King Lewis Hamilton III and then George Russell, Duke of Sussex. The two Brits had been friends or well, colleagues, with the other two reigning monarchs for quite some time. They were currently backing Kimi Antonelli and Mick Schumacher, the current driver line up for Mercedes.

Right next to the silver garage stood a very orange and bright one. Max was excited to see Lando Norris, Duke of York also in attendance. He was very close with the two Aussie drivers, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo.

Down the line was Williams, who was attending to a very eager Logan Sargeant, the President of the United States’ kid. Max was fond of the blond and often said hello to him whenever he got the chance in diplomatic settings.

But finally, they were able to reach the big navy garage. Max could definitely pick up Arthur’s almost French accent everywhere. But, his ears were tuned to the sound of your Dutch accent that was similar to his.

“Geitje!” he called out, finding your blond hair against the navy racing suit.

You looked over your shoulder, pausing the conversation with your boyfriend. You rolled your eyes when you saw Max in his kingly splendor. You took a few steps toward the fellow Dutch and gave him a hug.

“I told you to quit calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore, or was never a goat for that matter.”

Charles took this moment to catch up with his brother.

Max looked down at you fondly. “You’ll always be that small kid whose suit was two sizes too big on her.”

You honestly wanted to cry, but you kept the tears in. There was a race that you needed to win.

“Are you going to give me my trophy this year?”

“Don’t I every year?”

You looked up in mock thought. “Well, there was that one year that you had appendicitis and your mom gave me my trophy.”

Max lightly nudged you. “That was one year, let it go.”

You grumbled. “Well I hope that someone won’t break my trophy this year.”

Your teammate, Ollie Bearman, popped his head up from where he was looking at his tyres.

“It was one year Y/n! One year!”

You giggled at the disgruntled yells from the British Driver. Ollie had been one of your favorite teammates.

Your first year, you were paired with the golden boy himself, Sebastian Vettel, before he retired with one last championship. And then your first year as world champion, you were paired with Oscar Piastri before he left for McLaren. Ollie had been your teammate for the past two years, but you had a feeling that he’d stick around for more than a year.

You got the heads up that the race would be starting soon. You turned back to Max.

“Are you staying here or do you have to go?”

Max had a mischievous glint in his eyes and was about to reply before being interrupted.

“Actually, their royal highnesses need to return to the royal box.”

Max fought the urge to roll his eyes. You only laughed and pushed him in the direction of the exit.

“Go, I’ll see you at the top.”

“Blijf veilig, alsjeblieft,” Max softly pleaded.

He really hated that you put your life on the line every weekend for the job that you loved. He remembers the first time you had a terrifying crash when you were unconscious until they got you to the hospital. He was told that you probably wouldn’t wake up. However, you defied the odds and were back in the seat for the next race.

You responded, just as gentle, “Voor jou, mijn koning, altijd.”

When Max left, he turned around one last time and witnessed you giving Arthur a quick kiss before he put your helmet on. It was something that the two of you had been doing since you started dating almost two years ago.

The Dutch king was back to walking with Charles to the box.

“So, when is he proposing.”

He hadn’t expected an answer, but was surprised when he got one.

Charles gave Max a look. “They’re actually going to a restaurant, and he plans to propose tonight.”

Max’s eyes widened at the confession. But, he got over it quickly before gently smiling. You deserved happiness, and you found that in his closest friend’s brother.

“So will she have to stop racing for royal duties?” the blond questioned.

Charles shook his head. “Non. Arthur will step down.”

Max clapped him on the back. “Guess you and Alexandra need to start with some heirs huh?”

Charles squinted up at him. “Says the man who currently needs to propose as well.”

The prince got the last laugh as he left Max stuttering for a comeback.

You won the race like Max knew you would. The king watched as you held your head up high as the Dutch National Anthem played loudly through the crowds. He saw the crowds of orange, the only ones rivaling the red Tifosi at Monza.

The crowds were shouting, “De Langverwachte! Onze kleine leeuw!”

The Long Awaited.

Their Little Lion.

Max had always wished for a champion from his home country. Something to ode back to the sport he loved as a kid. His wish came true in the form of you. People talked as the king publicly backed the only female driver on the grid. But he knew that you were something special. He was there as you took the championship from Vettel in the last lap of the 2020 season fair and square. Obviously he was thankful that there was no safety car to ruin your race of any kind. You had coped brilliantly against your older teammate and your talent truly showed.

Max was given the signal to head out with the hand painted trophy. He was honestly kind of scared to drop it. But he made it across the stage and handed it out to you.

You proudly took the trophy from Max after you bowed in respect. He may have been your friend, but he was your king first.

The ceramic trophy was held high once it was safely in your hands. Jokingly you hugged it tight as you gently stepped down off the podium. Ollie gawked at your childishness before spraying you with the champagne.

With trophy set down a nice ways away, you took your own bottle. Except, instead of spraying Ollie, you pointed it at Max, whose jaw was on the floor as you came after him with the liquid.

If you were having fun now, you wouldn’t expect what was coming later that night.

And you said yes.

Earth 12399

“Zusje!”

Your eyes widened at the familiar squeaky and young voice. You turned your whole body away from your race engineer to only be taken down in the knees. Once you were on the floor, you laps was immediately filled with a small body that had bleach blond hair and bright blue eyes.

“Maxy, Ik heb je gemist Kleintje!”

“Uh Y/n, is everything good?” Charles’s voice sounded from above. You stared back at your teammate in the red overalls. You grabbed under the child’s arms and hoisted him up along with yourself.

“Yep! Charles meet Max. Max meet Charlie.”

Max’s small eyes widened before he tucked himself in your neck. Your hand came up and rubbed his back as you cooed. You turned back to Charles.

“He’s a bit shy in front of his favorite driver.”

You poked Max’s side and his giggles filled the room. The small one turned his head and peered at the Monegasque whose eyes were wide, looking at the child in his teammate’s arms.

“Didn’t know you had a kid.”

Your jaw dropped at his statement.

“He’s not my kid, idiot. He’s my brother,” you hissed, lightly bouncing Max up and down as you swayed side to side.

“Oooohhhh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah oh. I’m younger than you.”

“One night stand?”

“Charles!”

The brunet laughed loudly, making Max giggle a bit with him. You looked down into his blue eyes.

“Oh so you think that’s funny hm? I’m getting bullied.”

Max only giggled more before pointing at Charles.

“Rari?”

You lovingly stared at him in your arms. “Yep, Rari.” You saw how Charles was staring at Max. “You want to hold him?”

Charles dropped everything (only his water bottle) and reached out to take Max. Once he was in Charles’s arms, Max immediately rested his head on his shoulder and gripped the red suit. You smiled fondly at the two.

“He’s so small,” Charles whispered after seeing the kid’s eyes close in slumber.

You ruffled the spiky blond hair. “Yeah, he’s only 3 though. Full of wonder.”

“Y/n!”

Ah, there was your mother. You looked over and saw Sophie walking with your other sister Victoria. Thankfully, your dad was nowhere to be found. After you found out what he had done to Max, you put in a restraining order against him immediately.

It was a hard discussion with your mom when you told her that she needed to divorce him. Tears were shed and hearts were broken. But, you never wanted to see another bruise on your younger brother again.

It was fine if he did that to you. But to Max?

Jos wouldn’t stand a chance against your anger. He had shaped you to be like him.

A racer. A winner. The best.

But being the best wasn’t supposed to be the most important anymore. And if he wanted you to be like him, then he’ll get his own anger thrown back into his face. You remembered how your fist met his eye after you found Max alone with him one night. An ugly purple thing covered Max’s tiny wrist and there was a scratch on his face.

You had just returned home from a triple header and wanted to surprise your family. Only, you came home to Max’s screams of terror and Jos Verstappen yelling. You didn’t think, you just did. Sophie and Victoria returned home to multiple police cars and an ambulance in front of the house. When they finally were told what happened, they found you covering Max’s body with your arms as you spoke to one of the paramedics. A blanket was draped around your shoulders and a bruise was forming on your face as well.

After that, you moved your entire family to Monaco with you. Your house was plenty bit and you only shared it with Charles whenever he came over to play FIFA. But now, whenever he wanted to play, you insisted on going to his house.

It might have been to protect your family. Or it might have had to do with a certain handsome brother that Charles had.

Definitely the first one.

Hence why Charles had never met Max beforehand. But that also didn’t stop the little gremlin from choosing Charles as his favorite driver and not his sister.

It’s not like you were bitter or anything.

You walked toward your family and gave the two women a hug.

“I’m glad that you could come today!” you told them, truly happy at their arrival. It wasn’t like it was a big race. You had already won the championship last week, which sadly they weren’t able to make it. But Max was still up past his bedtime when you got home after. The kid sleepily muttered that he was glad you won, even though you had beaten Charles. Yet, you reminded him that Charles had won the year before and it was sissy’s turn.

Sophie looked at Max in Charles’s arms. “He’s so comfortable. I honestly thought he’d be scared of men after what happened.”

Victoria nodded in agreement.

You crossed your arms. “I think that Max knows that dad wasn’t a good man. And well, he still loves Lando though.”

“Is that Max?”

Speaking of.

Max’s head jerked up from Charles’s shoulder at the familiar voice. His little head swerved in the direction of the papaya clad driver.

“Lanno!”

Max started to squirm in the captive arms. Charles quickly set him down, not wanting him to fall. Max immediately ran to the Briton, who picked him up with ease. At the sight of the two, Charles pouted.

You knocked him with your shoulder. “Don’t’ worry, you’re still his favorite. He bought Max a toy McLaren for his birthday and Max demanded that I paint it red and add a 16 on the side.”

Charles seemed to gleam with pride at the confession.

“Don’t tell Lando though. He’d be devastated.”

What Lando didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“Hey little man. You ready to watch the race?”

Max’s head bobbed quickly.

“Are you going to watch Lanno win?”

At that, Max shook his head making Lando’s eyes widened.

“Little Verstappen I am hurt.” Lando clutched his hand to his heart in mock hurt. Max only stared at him while the McLaren driver put on a bit of a show.

Charles piped up from beside you. “Max, is Charlie going to win?”

Max, once again, shook his head. Now that made you confused, because Max always cheered for Charles. You cocked your head as you looked at your brother.

“Then who Maxy?”

The boy shyly pointed at you before muttering, “Zusje gaat jullie allemaal verslaan.”

Not that made you laugh out loud, causing even more confusion to the two male drivers. You covered your mouth as you continued to laugh. Sophie and Victoria laughing as well.

You smirked at your rival and teammate.

“He said I’m going to kick your asses.”

Max gasped as he heard your words.

“Bad words!”

Max pouted as he was put down by Lando. His little legs ran to you and his arms stretched out wanting you to pick him up. You squatted and scooped him up. Your arms tightened around him as he tried his best to hug you.

“Sorry for the bad words kid.”

“’S ok,” he slurred, getting even more tired. It was definitely his nap time. And it was time to get in your car. You handed him back to Sophie, who gave you a kiss on your head as you stooped. You gave a quick hug to Victoria before going back to kiss Max’s head.

“I’ll win for you ok?”

Obviously, he couldn’t hear you, but you would say it anyway. You turned away from your family to get ready.

“Going soft on me L/n?” Lando quipped, making his way out of your garage.

You discreetly flipped him off, to which he laughed at as he left. It took about 30 minutes to get in the car and get everything ready. You swerved your head, making sure the helmet was tight. Your eyes flitted about the garage and caught sight of your family again. Max was now wide awake and waving at you.

Your gloved hand reached out and displayed your fingers wide. The little boy reached over in his mom’s arms and clapped your hand with his small one. You were given the signal that it was time and drove off once Sophie was out of the way.

Her and Max watched as you rounded the corner in your red Ferrari, out of sight.

Sophie leaned down and kissed her youngest’s head.

“Mijn baby, zal zus winnen?”

Max’s small voice was just loud enough for her to hear.

“Ja mama, sij is kampioen.”

Earth 9596

(btw - I made the max pic because no one has good edits of him in a ferrari suit)

“Scuderia Ferrari Signs Y/n L/n for the 2024 Season”

“Ferrari Mistake? The Formula 1 Team Signs the Youngest Driver to Date”

“Ferrari Becomes the First Formula 1 Team to Sign Female Driver”

“Former F1 Champion Lorenzo Alessandrino Backs Goddaughter as Her Race Engineer”

“How Will Verstappen React to His Younger Teammate on the Track?”

You hadn’t known what to expect when you arrived at the paddock first thing on Saturday morning. You had convinced Lorenzo to bring you early so you could at least avoid some of the crowds, if not all. However, it seemed like everyone else liked that plan as well, and the paddock was full.

You hung back near Enzo as the two of you walked side by side. Your hands gripped your backpack straps hard, turning your knuckles almost stark white. Thankfully, your sunglasses kept your wide and scared eyes from the public. It wasn’t that you were scared of people. It’s what you thought that they thought about you that made you nervous.

Just 17 and baby faced.

Something that wasn’t heard of in 2024. Yet, with older drivers retiring back and forth, the FIA had to make new changes to deal with the need of rookie drivers. Hence why Lorenzo pushed to have Ferrari sign you as early as possible. You basically went from karting, to Formula 2 and didn’t even start your second season.

It came as a shock when Lewis Hamilton finally retired after only one year at Ferrari. You had thought that he’d want to get one more championship to make it to 9. But, life throws curveballs and it was headed straight to you.

Now you had to face your new teammate, a champion himself, Max Verstappen. You let out a sigh of relief when you noticed that he was talking to Charles Leclerc and Fernando Alonso. The two black Mercedes polos stood out in contrast to Max’s red one. You took a quick glance at the two drivers and realized that they were already watching you.

Your cheeks heated up as you quickened your steps to get to the garage faster. Once you were in the safety of the garage, you let out a deep sigh.

Lorenzo looked at you with a sad smile. He knew you were going to be overwhelmed for the entire day. He took his backpack off and reached down in, fingers feeling for your headphones. He took them out and handed them to you.

You immediately put them on, connected them to your phone, turned on the music, and got to work on your racing journal. You wanted to go over your notes before the race. While you were distracted, Enzo took a little walk, trying to find some coffee.

He ended up walking past the group of three drivers and smiled at Charles. The Italian knew of him growing up and was excited to see him in a team that gave him a good championship winning car.

He nodded his head toward your new teammate. “Max.”

Max’s eyes lightened at the familiar face. “Enzo!”

The two bro-hugged before parting, letting Enzo greet the two Merc drivers. When he was done, Max had a teasing attitude.

“Can’t convince you to stay as my engineer? Don’t get me wrong, I love GP, but you knew me better.”

Enzo smiled and shook his head. “No can do. Gotta take care of my kid.”

Fernando entered the conversation. “Where is she? We saw her walking but then she disappeared.”

The older man scratched his head. “Yeah, she tends to do that. She’s a bit nervous.”

Charles scoffed. “I’ll say. They shouldn’t have said anything until Wednesday. Sky Sports announced it way too early.”

The Monegasque had something similar happen to him when he first joined Mercedes. It had all been planned that he would take Valtteri Bottas’s seat mid-season. Yet, Sky Sports announced it before Mercedes had a chance to even say that Bottas had wanted to retire early due to an illness. The media had made Charles into a seat-stealing villain his first season.

The engineer nodded sadly. “I think she’s also nervous about the team.”

Max looked at him with a shocked expression. “The team?”

Enzo waved his hands. “She has full confidence. Y/n’s a bit nervous about trying to be on your level Max.”

Well, that didn’t settle well with the Dutchman. Great, he was excited to have such a young teammate: someone who he could get along with and help them grow in the sport. But now, you were afraid of him?

“She’s not scared of you Max, just nervous.”

Oh. He said that out loud.

Max glanced back at the garage. “Can I go talk to her.”

Enzo nodded before handing him a pen. “I forgot to give this to her, she’ll be looking for it. You don’t mind giving it to her right?”

“Not at all,” he responded, thankful for something that could break the ice between the two of you.

Max grasped the pen and made his way to the overly bright red garage. He really wished Ferrari would take a page out of Mercedes’s book and make everything black. But no, they had to show off the corsa rosso red.

You were too busy writing some notes down, with the wrong pen, to notice Max’s shoes now in your line of sight. The Dutchman lightly nudged your own shoe, which had your head jerking up to look at him.

Your eyes widened and your hands reached to pull your headphones off.

Max only smiled down at you. He thought that you looked like a scared mouse. He wondered if you were quiet like one as well.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

You could only shake your head no and scoot over as Max sat down on the concrete near you. The two of you sat in silence as you continued to scribble. Max suddenly remembered the pen in his hand.

“Here. Enzo wanted me to give this to you.”

Your fingers lightly touched his as you grabbed it from him.

To Max, you also reminded him of his sister at this age. Shy, meek, quiet. But he had seen your videos and your impressiveness on the track. Your overtakes were nothing to be overlooked. He heard you sigh as the pen now nicely glided over the pages.

The Dutchman let his eyes wander over the pages. He noticed that you were even taking notes on him as well.

You didn’t look at him, but you spoke, “If you break a bit later on turn 4, you can cut off another tenth.”

Your voice gave Max whiplash as he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him without being prompted. His mind ran as he tried to remember turn 4. When he did the calculations he was surprised to find that you were correct.

“How did you..”

“I watched your onboards from last season. You’re very, what’s the word,” you gave him a smirk, “predictable.”

Max’s jaw dropped, which caused you to laugh a bit. Max, although shocked, was glad that you were coming out of your shell a bit.

He leaned over to whisper, “Are you overwhelmed with the red as much as I am.”

You smiled as you whispered back, “It is positively draining. Why can’t they do black like Mercedes?”

Max threw his hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

You pretended to think. “What if we gang up on them. They can’t resist both drivers.”

Max put on a weird accent, making his voice higher. “It’s either change the garage and everything to black or we walk.”

That made you snort which caused Max to wheeze.

Enzo was just on his way back with two coffees (both for him) when he heard the sound of you laughs mixed with Max’s. He smiled fondly at the two drivers. He took a sip before putting on his bright red headphones that he needed for qualifying. He coughed a bit, but it was soon over. Nothing like the sickness that he barely beat back in 2019. He was thankful that he got to continue to watch you grow.

Max asked, “How far do you think you’ll get in qualifying?”

You thought for a moment. “Uh, I hope to make it to Q2 if possible.”

The Dutchman lifted his hand to ruffle your hair. Your hands swatted at him as you pouted.

“I think you can get farther.”

You only shrugged. “We’ll see.”

The car was definitely your safe space. You felt as though you could finally breathe easier.

“Radio check please.”

“Loud and clear Enzo.”

“Ok, let’s get this bread.”

You shook your head as you sat in the car. “Please never say that again.”

Much to your and the team’s delight, you made it past Q1 and Q2. And you ended Q3 in the second row in P3. Max had just missed pole by mere hundredths. Charles Leclerc always had scarily good one lappers in the third session.

Max gave you a giant hug at the end of the session, very glad at your positioning.

As he had his arms around you, he thought to himself.

“Yeah. You were going to be great.”

Earth 331649

The big letters stood out to Max as his eyes began to water.

“Not Applicable for Adoption at this Time” was all the top said. He hadn’t bothered to read the rest. He knew what it was going to say. It’s what every letter said for the past few months.

They weren’t approved.

They traveled too much.

There weren’t any in their preferred age group that were adoptable right now.

They wouldn’t be able to take care of a baby.

They were…Max didn’t even want to mention the word.

He glanced at the gold band that adorned his ring finger on his left hand. The sight made his eyes water more. The paper was quickly crumpled and thrown to the side. The Dutchman leaned forward and put his hands over his face and just sobbed.

They had been trying for so long. The conversation had started two years ago as they lied in bed one night. They were nearing the ends of their careers, but they hadn’t wanted to wait until they were retired. They were sure in their marriage enough to where they both could handle a baby in their lives.

A mini them running around, playing with Jimmy and Sassy. The thought was too much to bear right now though.

The door clicked but Max hadn’t heard, he just continued to sob.

“Amore, I’m back from the shop. They had the pastries that you really liked. Amore?”

Max started sobbing harder. Before he heard knew it, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders. He heard a big sigh as a head rested against his back.

“Another one?”

Max didn’t even reply, but his sobs had subsided into quiet sniffles. Charles glanced over at the crumpled paper that had been tossed to the side. He’s told Max time and time again to wait until he gets home to read them, but the older was always a bit too excited or anxious to wait. He bit his tough, not wanting to say anything that could upset the Dutchman even more.

“It will be all right.”

“Will it?” Max bit back, full of sadness and anger. But, it wasn’t anger at Charles. He was angry at the world.

“It will,” Charles hummed. However, the Monegasque was also getting run down by all the rejection letters. He didn’t know how much more he could take. But, he wanted to be strong for Max. For himself. For their hopeful future child.

“Every time Charlie. Every time, it’s always a different excuse.”

“Our time will come.”

“But what if it doesn’t? We aren’t getting any younger Charles.”

The Monegasque harshly inhaled. He stopped rubbing Max’s back. Although, he really didn’t know when he started.

He went to say something, yet his phone rang loudly, breaking the silence of the room. Charles muttered something about wanting to hang up, but his breath hitched at the sight of the name at the top of his phone. His thumb had never pressed the answer button.

He quickly put the call on speaker.

“Bonjour?”

“Ah, Mr. Verstappen?”

“This is he.”

“Is your husband here with you?”

Max perked up at the question. His eyes were bloodshot, but he was now paying attention. He scooted even closer to Charles, face almost in the phone.

Charles chuckled at Max’s closeness.

“Oui, he is here.”

“Ok, so we just got a call from the Princess Grace Hospital. We think you want to come here for this.”

Max gulped before whispering. “It is what we think it is?”

Charles held his breath as he and Max waited for the answer.

“Why don’t you come find out.”

The two of them could hear the playfulness as the their adoption agent hung up the phone. They looked into each other’s eyes before they dashed around, getting their shoes on. Max almost tripped as he hopped on one foot, his shoe getting caught on his finger. Charles chuckled as he bent to tie his own shoe.

Max was halfway out the door, still waiting.

“Come on Charlie.”

“Mon amore, are you forgetting something?”

Max patted his pockets and realized he forgot the key that were now dangling on Charles’s finger.

“Oh.”

Charles rolled his eyes as he walked toward the door, grabbing Max’s waste as he walked. The Dutchman quickly followed him to the Monegasque’s Ferrari Purosangue. He bought the SUV when he and Max put in their first adoption profile.

Max huffed as he noticed that Charles was going below the speed limit.

“Baby, can you maybe, hurry up?”

Charles only hummed as a reply. He did step on the gas a bit, but the Monaco speeds were slow as it. It wasn’t their fault that they drove ridiculously fast cars and his husband was currently high strung.

Charles put his hand on Max’s thigh and started to rub small circles, which in the long run did help Max calm down a bit.

The Dutchman had calmed down some by the time they parked in front. Charles started to get out of the car, but Max’s hand grabbed his arm before he got far. Charles recognized the look of fear on his husband’s face. His pointer finger found the golden band on Max’s finger and started to rub it.

“What if- What if- What if it happens again.”

Charles’s eyes drooped a bit at the sadness in Max’s voice.

“But what if it doesn’t?”

A glimmer of hope came back to Max’s eyes as he places a chaste kiss on Charles’s lips.

“Let’s go.”

With an unbuckle of his seatbelt, Max was out the door. Charles had to catch up to Max’s larger steps. His hand soon found Max’s as they walked in. He squeezed three times, and got three in return.

Charles look the lead as they approached the front desk. The lady at the computer had a nice attitude as she gave them a smile when she looked up from her screen.

“May I help you gentlemen?”

“Ah, yes, my husband and I got a call from our adoption agent, Mitch Walker.”

The lady’s eyebrows raised as she started to type on her computer once again. Max bounced in his place, willing the lady to type faster.

“Ah, floor three, room 89.”

“Thank you,” Charles stated, already watching Max walk toward the elevator. He chuckled as he slowly followed, knowing the elevator would arrive when he got there. Inside the contraption, Max read the list of floors.

His finger traced them until he got to the third floor.

“Charlie.”

Charles looked where his finger had landed.

Delivery floor.

Before Charles could react, the elevator doors opened. They both bolted into the hallway.

86.

87.

88.

89.

They both paused in front.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Charles grabbed the nob and slowly twisted. The room was a bit dim and Mitch was standing in the middle of the room. She turned at the sound of the door and a smile made a way on her face.

“Hi guys,” she whispered. She stepped closer and pulled a curtain that cut the room in half.

“Hi,” Charles replied, also whispering.

Mitch put her hands together. “So, we have a little someone who was given up today. If everything goes well, you two might be going home with a baby today.”

Tears welled up in Max’s eyes at her words. He choked down a sob and bit his knuckle.

“I just need you two to wash your hands and then you can meet her.”

Charles whispered, “Her?”

Mitch only nodded.

This time, Charles was the one to let out a small sob. They gingerly walked over to the sink, hands bumping into each other as they rinsed under the water. Once dry, Mitch dragged the curtain back over.

In the middle of the smaller section near a couch, lied a bassinet. With bated breath, Charles and Max peered over. Tears now welling in both their eyes. Max’s finger gently moved towards the baby’s face.

He lightly grazed the soft cheek, causing the baby to squirm. Max had never jerked his hand away from something faster. Charles let out a small and quiet laugh. The baby’s hand was open, inviting Charles to put his finger in the tiny palm.

The baby suddenly curled her fingers around the one finger, eyes suddenly opening. The Dutchman wanted to cry once again. Her green eyes peered up at him. Max’s eyes caught a tuft of hair and he gently pulled back the tiny hat. Blond hair appeared in a small bit. He gently pulled the hat back into place.

His blond hair.

Charles’s green eyes.

Charles turned to Mitch.

“Can I hold her.”

A single nod had Charles scooping the baby in his arms, and he placed her on his chest. His body leaned back just a bit to accommodate her. Max immediately took his phone out and took a picture. He was definitely going to use that as his lock screen picture from now on.

Max watched as Charles sat on the small couch in the corner. Max followed suit and sat next to him.

The baby was looking right at him.

“Hello little one,” he whispered, finding the courage to graze her face once again. A small smile appeared on the girl’s face, but it was short lived. But, Max had seen it and he was happy that it was directed at him.

“-ax, Amore.”

His eyes shot up to Charles’s face.

“Yes?”

The brunet rolled his eyes. “I asked: Do you want to hold her?”

Max could only nod. Charles gently handed her over to his husband and watched as his big hands cradled the baby. One hand was gently placed on her bum and the other on her head. He cooed at the man and baby, seeing tears stream down his face.

Mitch quietly approached the couple. “So, it seems like everything is going well. I can almost read your minds and I got your application approved. It’ll take a while for everything to come in but you are good to take her home.”

Charles stood and gave her a giant hug: big enough for the both of them. She patted Charles’s back before grinning widely again.

“You know, she doesn’t have a name yet.”

Max’s head whipped from the baby to the woman.

“We get to name her?” he questioned, heart filling with so much love. There were so many names that he and Charles had picked out. The first name would be something special, something not used before. The middle names would be in honor of loved ones past and present. And then, the baby would take both last names.

Mitch came over with a certificate and pen in hand.

“Do you two know or do you need a moment?”

Max nodded at Charles and then looked back down at the beautiful green eyes that stared up with him.

Charles did the honors.

“Her name is Y/n Julia Sophie Pascale Antoinette Leclerc-Verstappen.”

Little Y/n. Oh how the world wasn’t ready. But it would welcome her with open arms.

Earth 959589

“Shit!” you yelled, tumbling out of bed. You were late, oh you were so late. Max was going to kill you and you could say goodbye to your seat.

Before the season even started.

You tripped as you pulled on a shoe, face planting back into the bed. Your phone was currently blowing up with notifications as it rested on the side table. You hastily pulled on your Red Bull polo and grabbed your jeans. Your foot got stuck since you put your shoes on first.

Great move Y/n, great move.

You finally got a hand on your phone and answered the call.

“Where are you? Max is close to having an aneurism,” your race engineer hissed through the phone.

“I know Charles, but my alarm never went off!”

Your head was pressing your phone to your shoulder as you talked and walked toward the elevator.

“Just please get here ASAP,” he sighed. You could see the man rubbing his eyebrows, even if you couldn’t see him.

“I’m getting in the car now.”

“You better be thankful. I’ll see you here.”

When you arrived to the paddock, you went directly to the interviews, which you were late for as well. You winced as you walked in front of everyone and sat down, face ablaze in red.

Lando poked your side. At least he went with the polo so you two could be matching some. He leaned over when a question was directed to Arthur.

“Max is going to kill you.” He smirked as he leaned away. Your microphone accidentally picked up the smack to his shoulder. Some eyes landed on you as you tried to duck away.

Arthur looked over at you. “Nice of you to join us champ.”

You shrugged. “My alarm didn’t go off.”

“Sure.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse you?”

Before you could get any farther, a journalist asked a question directed toward you.

“Y/n, if I may, how is this season a bit different than last?”

Your eyes looked up as you thought of a good answer. “Uh, well, there was a lot of change within Red Bull this past winter break. My old teammate went to being my team principal. And then he somehow convinced Charles to join as well and be my race engineer.”

A scoff came from Arthur that cause you to lean to look at him.

“Are you all right Leclerc?”

The Monegasque rolled his eyes.

“I would like to have my brother back please.”

“Well, too bad I got him first. And then back to my question. Lando became my teammate and he’s giving me a run for my money.”

Lando smirked at that statement.

“Ah yes, the cheeky little bugger he is. But, I’m really on track for my second championship. Maybe next year I’ll let Lando get one.”

The journalist thanked you for your good answer.

Fortunately the press conference ended after that. Yet, it was unfortunate for you since you could feel Max’s glare from miles away. You stopped, causing Arthur to bump into your back.

“Any chance I can come hide in your driver’s room?”

Arthur shook his head yes, giving you some hope.

“No.”

You visibly deflated as you watched him walk toward the bright red garage.

A sigh left your lips as you stalked toward the garage. Charles gave you a sympathetic look as you walked past. His hand rubbed your shoulder until he gently pushed you toward Max. You winced under the Dutchman’s glare.

“My office Y/n.”

You could only follow him into the office. You took the first seat you passed in front of the large desk. Max rubbed his eyebrows and sighed. But, you panicked.

“I’m so sorry Max. I swore I turned on my alarms last night, but I was up late going over data again because I can’t let the team down again like last race. I know that I can make up the speed. And then my phone was on silent and then I tripped on my shoe and the car got stuck in traffic. I swear I went straight to the conference. I won’t be late again I promise, just please don’t take away my seat.”

Max watched in horror as you lost your composure right in front of him. This monologue only told him that you were truly scared that he’d kick you off the team because of a little DNF last race. His heart dropped as he saw tears stream down your face as you visibly shook.

He stood up quickly and rounded the desk. His hands dropped on your shoulders.

“Kid, kid. Listen to me. You’re not going to lose your seat. I was just worried when you didn’t show up and when you didn’t answer mine or Charles’s calls.”

“Oh.”

Max wanted to laugh. “Yes, oh. Do you remember all the times I used to show up late? The times that Charles showed up late as well?”

You let out a chuckle as you remembered both Ferrari drivers would show up a bit late. No one ever seemed to mind. You let out a sigh of relief.

Max stood up and walked toward the door. “Now, let’s go out there and what do we do?”

“Kick names and take ass!”

Max rolled his eyes. “Sure kid. Sure.”

Earth 1218 - Present Earth

You gasped as you sat up in your bed.

“Kid?” Max questioned, head popping up from the couch. Vegas had been super early again and you and Max didn’t want to go back to the hotel when you had FP2 soon. So, the two of you just curled up in his driver’s room. His voice was groggy as he had just gotten up from an interrupted nap as well.

You clutched your head and groaned.

“I had such weird dreams.”

“Oh. Tell me?” Max’s head was already back down on his pillow.

“You were a king, and then you were my younger brother?”

Max snorted but let you continue. He knew that you wouldn’t remember in the morning anyway.

“And then you were my teammate at Ferrari and Charles drove for Mercedes, Enzo was there. Oh, and then you and Charles were married.”

“Kid you have been watching too many Lestappen edits on Twitter and TikTok.”

You only grumbled.

“I do not. Finally you were my team principal.”

“Strange. Go back to sleep.”

Max never got an answer back, because you were already zonked. He chucked and turned back over, phone clenched in his hand as he watched the edit of Charles’s 2022 sunset lap into his 2023 pre-storm qualification. However, he didn’t know that his volume was so loud.

“He was sunshine, I was midnight rain…And I could see it all in my mind…”

“I KNEW IT! YOU WATCH THEM TOO!”

“GO TO SLEEP!”

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551 notes · View notes

fcthots · 5 months

Note

here with some Christmas gus ask 💪💪

when jason sets up the Christmas tree he has to place the decorations of the tree high enough, out of gus's reach, because gus always plays with them and knocks the Christmas decorations if they're within close reach

- 🦇

Merry Christmas nonnie!! Gus is the best present

Tim had a minor injury. Very minor. That was why he collapsed on the fire escape of your apartment. Okay, maybe the blood loss wasn't ideal, but hey. He's not dead yet.

Though he thinks he might die out of spite when he sees the large orange ball of fluff staring at him from the window. Gus's screech of a meow does not help the migraine brewing behind his eyes. Though he supposes he should be thankful when said demon screech alerts you to the bleeding bird on your balcony. He watches the shock and worry on your face as you use one hand to tear open the window and the other to hold the still yelling cat away from his desired escape route.

"Tim, what the fuck??? JASON"

He tries to say "it's fine," but to be completely honest, he's not sure he gets the words out. He sees Jason come barrelling down the hallway, eyes checking over your body for injury until he spots Tim still laying in a pile on his fire escape.

"Hey." He is fairly confident that he managed to get his mouth to move this time. Jason does not respond to his greeting in the same kind manor Tim had opened with. Rude.

Jason manages to pick Tim up and deposit him into a chair. He spends time stitching up the knife wound Tim got from what he swears was "just a lucky hit." Tim takes Jason's mother henning in stride while you make him something to eat, insisting that a granola bar doesn't count as dinner. Gus is not happy about Tim's intrusion into his home, watching his every move. Tim assumes the cat thinks it's being subtle, but all 20 pounds of cat do not hide behind the leg of the kitchen table as well as it may think. Especially when it flops over as Jason passes, heading to grab some spare clothes for Tim who "shouldn't grapple home with a stab wound."

Tim huffs and crosses his arms, only slightly wincing as it tugs at his stitches. It's only then that he notices the tree, the tree that only has the top half decorated. Almost three feet above the ground of this tree has no ornaments. He can find no discernible reason. He knows Jason would have decorated the apartment November first and it is well into December. He's seen the ridiculous number of ornaments that the two of you own. To be honest, he's not sure where you keep all the decorations out of season. The working theory is an extra safe house somewhere, but after working this pet project in his spare time for two years now, he hasn't figured out which one. Regardless, he can think of no reason, nay, negative reasons as to why not all of your tree is decorated. He stares at it so long that he spaces out and loses track of time.

Come to think of it, has your tree always been like this? He's noticed that the bottom of your tree usually has less ornaments, but the no ornaments thing has to be new, right?

"Uh Tim?" He whirls around to face you where you hand him a plate of something that looks like pasta. He briefly looks at you and then back over to the tree. "You good there, bud?"

"I am losing my mind. Why is only half of your tree decorated?"

"Is that why you've been staring at the tree for over a half hour now?"

"It's bothering me. Please. I have to know."

Tim isn't sure why he was expecting it to be some earth shattering secret. He probably should not be disappointed that it wasn't because you were sending an assassin a top secret code using trees. He is only mildly ashamed to report that his mouth hung open with slight judgement and shock as you said, "Gus likes to knock the ornaments off the tree for sport, and while we're usually just glad he's getting exercise, last year he tried to eat the glass of a broken ornament so we're just playing it safe this year."

The cat seems to laugh at Tim's descent into insanity from behind the table's leg. The cat could be an assassin now that he thinks about it.

And now that he thinks about it harder, maybe he lost more blood than he was previously aware of.

373 notes · View notes

pedrisbanana · 1 year

Note

pedri and joao threesome pls 🙏🏻💕 absolutely love everything u write

Their cum as lipgloss >...

Enjoy 🍌

Twice The Fun

You were squealing like a little school girl, when you opened your package. After removing the wrapping paper, the royal blue fabric greeted you. The polyester was soft between your fingers, when you took the shirt from the box.

You smiled.

Another piece for your collection. Immediately after seeing the transfer announcement on his instagram, you went to the FC Chelsea website and placed your order.

Scrunching your nose at the chemical smell, you cut the labels and put it in the washing machine. 20 Minutes and it will smell fresh as ever.

His jerseys held a special place in your closet, right behind your dresses and blouses. All of them neatly hung up on black coat hangers, sorted by club and season. You started collecting them long before meeting Pedri, who wasn't exactly fond of your little obsession with Chelsea's new striker starlet.

So when you sat on the couch two days later, watching Chelsea's Champions League match and Pedri came home from practice, he gave you a cold stare instead of the usual kiss. All because of that damn name on the back of the jersey.

"So you're a Chelsea fan now ?" Your boyfriend asked mockingly, sitting down next to you.

You smirked. "Only until the end of the season, then I can watch him beat your ass in LaLiga again"

"I should bend you over and give your ass a little beating for talking to me like that" Pedri replied, obviously pissed off.

"I really don't get why you're so jealous. I'm just a fan" you poked his chest playfully.

"I'm not jealous! João Felix is a fucking arrogant asshole, who thinks he's the next Ronaldo just bc he scored a few goals. You shouldn't sit here, wearing his jersey." Pedri crossed his arms.

You decided to push his buttons a little more. "and yet he's there playing Champions League and you sit here, exhausted from extra training, because you disqualified from Europa League"

The midfielder rolled his eyes. "If he's so great then why aren't you there with him ? I bet you'd let him fuck you after the match, the way you're jumping up and down just because he hit the crossbar. Any 4th grader would've scored that."

"If you had asked me in 2019 I'd tell you yes. I thought his braces were really hot" you admitted, focus back on the TV.

Pedri laughed. "His braces ?" You joined in, glad he lightened his mood.

"What can I say I am obsessed"

He looked at you, raising a brow. "So you're telling me you didn't think about it recently"

"If I say I did, will you get a pissed again ?" you nudged his shoulder.

You leaned close to his ear, not waiting for a reply. "Because I did, but don't worry, only when Barcelona played against Atletico. Twice the fun, right ?"

Teasing Pedri with João wasn't your best choice. You boyfriend had been acting annoyed all week and ignored your affectionate tries to lighten him up. You decided to surprise and apologize to him.

Pedri had a new campaign photoshoot with Adidas today, meaning he would probably come home late.

You dimmed the light in your shared bedroom and lit a few tea lights to set the mood. Pedri loved it when you wore lingerie and you had just found the right set on your shopping trip today. It came with a matching robe which wouldn't make you feel too naked. The color was a soft red, powdery and not to bright, complimenting your skin tone.

The thought of Pedri's lips teasing your skin as he slowly took the lace of your body made you shiver in delight. He wouldn't be able to resist you.

Putting on some light makeup, you heard the lock turning. You quickly applied some last layers of mascara and went to the hallway.

You jumped into your boyfriends arms, pulling him into a heated kiss. His hands caught your waist under the robe caressing your hips. Your fingers caressed his cheek as you broke the kiss, staring into his deep brown eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you. I'm more obsessed with you than with João." you said, hoping he'd accept it.

"Didn't sound like that when Pedri told me about it." a voice with familiar accent stated. You know that voice.

You let go of your boyfriend to see if your guess was right, but it couldn't be. You must be hallucinating.

João Félix was standing in your hallway. He wore a beige oversized t-shirt with the logo of some designer brand and light ripped jeans. You looked back and forth between the Portuguese and Pedri.

So many questions ran through your mind.

"I wanted to apologize for being an asshole and Félix and I did the photoshoot together so I invited him to meet you since you love him so much." Pedri explained, pushing you a little towards João.

"I- ummm. Hey." the blush that decorated your face and neck must make you look like a beet.

"Hey." João smiled at you and checked out your outfit. Realizing you were still only wearing the rather revealing set of underwear, you wrapped the robe around yourself.

"I'll umm go change." The presence of João made you forget how to think properly.

"No need to. Red is my favourite color, but I'm sure you know that." João said teasingly, a smirk curling on his lips. His hand caught your arm, holding you from leaving.

You stopped in your tracks and you were sure you forgot how to breathe for a second. Did he just flirt with you ?

His grip on your arm was firm but soft. It made your whole body shiver. You turned your head to see Pedri's reaction. He must be fuming.

To your surprise you're easily provoked sweetheart was watching the scenery without a hint of anger or annoyance.

"You do look irresistible. What a nice surprise-" Pedri looked at João and winked. "- for both of us."

You shot a confused look towards Pedri, about to ask what he was up to when he walked towards you. Trapped between the two footballers, you swallowed.

"Isn't this what you dreamed about, princesa ? Twice the fun. Remember ?" His voice went straight to your core, soaking your panties.

Of course you remembered. The thought of both Pedri and João touching you helped you fall asleep many nights, but that was it. Just a fantasy.

João moved his hand to undo your robe. He slightly towered over you due to his height, lips almost touching your temple. You leaned into him, inviting him to go further.

Pedri slipped his hand inside your panties. The pads of his fingers finding you wet and needy.

If you thought about what was happening right now, you'd probably laugh, but you couldn't rationally think right now. João's and Pedri's hands on your body was all you could think about.

João discarded your robe and opened your bra with a flick of his fingers.

"You're so pretty." he whispered. His voice was drowned in arousal.

You wanted to speak up, but he cupped your breasts and massaged them, which had you moaning instead. Your boyfriend started to kiss your neck.

Somewhere between João teasing your now hardened nipples and Pedri having two fingers pumping in and out of you, the three of you ended up in the bedroom.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed and watched as João took his shirt off. His skin was tan and his muscles defined. He sat next to you on the duvet and Pedri encouraged you to be more confident.

João caressed your hair as you opened the fly of his jeans. His long fingers combed through the strands and he leaned back a little. His dark brown eyes watched you intensely. Your hand reached inside his boxers.

He was hard and warm in your hand. The other found leverage on his knee. João let out a breathy moan when you started to move your hand up and down, spreading the precum leaking at the tip. His hand wrapped around yours to tighten your grip around him, teaching you how he'd like it.

You moved your sitting position to kneel beside him on the bed. The wetness between your thighs felt sticky and you rotated your hips slightly to create some friction.

"Put me inside your mouth, amor." The striker whispered, hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

Strong hands pulled at your hips as you leaned down. Pedri's hand sneaked inside your panties again, finding your pulsing clit.

You let spit run over João's tip, covering his shaft, before taking him. Teasing the head by tracing the small furrow on the underside with your tongue made him call out your name. You clenched your thighs.

Your boyfriend pulled your legs apart with one hand, keeping them apart with one knee. Pedri kneeled behind you. His hips flush with your ass. He must've taken his pants off, because you felt his hot skin on yours.

João's other hand started to play with your hair again as he watched you take more of his cock.

"That's perfect, take all of me." he praised you, slightly pushing your head down by the neck. He added just enough pressure to make you press yourself against Pedri's erection. The midfilder let go of your hip to play with one of your nipples. Pulling and twisting it, making it harder not to grind against him.

Removing your hand from João's shaft, you grasped his shoulder. The hand on his knee moved to play with his balls. They were full and heavy and João thrust his hips up, making you gag.

Tears formed in your eyes from the burning sensation in your throat. João found a fast pace with his hips, hitting the back off your throat repeatedly. You were on the edge with Pedri rubbing your sensitive spot.

You came with tears and spit running from your face, still swallowing João's cock.

Pedri pulled you up and João wiped your tears with his thumbs. Pedri held you to him and kissed your flushed cheek.

"That was so hot, princesa. Can't wait to be inside of you." he said, lips warm against your face.

João's warmth disappeared as he got up to take his pants off, but you stopped him. Reaching forward you pulled his jeans and briefs now all the way down.

His thighs looked strong as he walked towards you. He turned to Pedri, asking him something in Portuguese which you didn't understand. Pedri laughed and nodded, replying.

João went over to one of your drawers but before you could see what he did, Pedri pulled you into a kiss. His tongue massaged yours and his hand intertwined with yours. You reached under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his six pack.

The midfielder broke the kiss to take his shirt off, only his boxers covering him now. You wanted to please him. He shouldn't have to watch you have fun with João, even though Pedri had encouraged all of this.

"Lay down." he whispered and grabbed some pillows from the headboard.

As you were getting comfortable, Pedri positioned one pillow beneath your head and one beneath your ass. His hands explored your body doing so, touches lingering longer than needed. It got you excited all over again.

The bed dipped beside you as Joao came back. His hands travelled from your knees to the dip of your waist, spreading them in the motion. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slid them off you. His hand immediately cupped your exposed pussy and you bucked into him.

He watched you squirm, lips slightly parted and moved to lay beside you. His lips left butterfly kisses on your shoulder, goosebumps erupting on your skin. Two of his long fingers entered you, making you arch into the pillows.

After discarding his briefs, Pedri appeared on your other side. He whispered declarations of love into your neck. You felt something cold on your wet folds and hissed. João pulled his fingers out, spreading the cold liquid over your sensitive pussy, before moving them back inside.

At least you thought so, but his digits only teased your entrance before guiding them lower. His middle finger teased the little ring of muscles, making you shriek in shock. He stopped.

Pedri caressed your cheek and pressed his forehead against yours.

"I'll be careful. You'll like it if you relax." João mumbled against your shoulder.

Your boyfriend moved his hands down your lower stomach to find you're prepared and dripping. He easily slid his fingers inside.

"I'm here, mi vida. I've got you." Pedri said, curling his fingers. You cuddled into him. "We've got you."

Pedri made you feel safe.

João moved slightly atop of you. His free hand exploring your chest and his lips followed. When he teased your nipple with his tongue, he continued to massage your back entrance.

This time you relaxed, enjoying the new sensations. The tip of his finger slipped inside as Pedri found your sweet spot inside of you.

You felt your orgasm building up and Joao pressed further inside. He slowly started to move in and out, reaching hidden spots.

The name on your lips was now his. He chuckled against your breast. "I told you you'll like it."

Pedri circled your clit, wanting you to reach your peak. He had you clenching uncontrollably around him in seconds. João took the opportunity to slip a second finger inside of you. You barely even noticed it, being focused on the electricity making your body spasm. He bit down on your nipple.

Now focusing on your other breast, he increased the pace of his fingers and Pedri, too, continued the play of his fingers.

"Hermosa, you're a sight." Pedri moaned against your lips. His sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed. He looked so sexy when he was aroused, you almost started drooling.

João looked up at you from your chest, releasing your abused bud with a pop. "I think you're ready to take my cock now, amor."

He cocked his eyebrow and smirked. Removing his fingers, he crawled next to you. Pedri guided you to lay on your side, facing him. Your boyfriend handed João the lube again.

Your heart thumbed in your chest. You had never experienced this much pleasure. Pedri hooked your leg over his waist, pulling you closer.

Finally you could feel his cock against you. You were impossibly wet, his tip immediately slipping inside, being pressed flush.

Pedri fucked you in a static pace, enough to make you moan, but not enough to make you come. His face pressed into your chest, hands spreading your cheeks for João.

You clawed at Pedri's back, surely leaving bruises. Arching your back into him, he increased the speed of his hips. You barely even noticed João entering your backside. He felt big, too big to make this pleasurable, but these two had proved you wrong before.

Guiding his cock further, he moaned your name into your neck. His hands held your hips in a vice grip. He filled you out completely, waiting for you to get used to the feeling.

Your hand found his and he slightly intertwined your fingers, resting them on your hip.

"You're doing so well, amor. Taking two cocks at the same time." João kissed your shoulder.

You couldn't quite register what he said, your thoughts and feelings overwhelmed by the intense pleasure. Your face felt sticky as you pressed it into the pillow. You didn't know if it was from the tears or the sweat.

Pedri groaned into your chest as João started to move. They must feel each other pleasuring you. After a few thrusts the two synchronized each other. The sounds coming from your mouth were pure and raw desire.

"This feels so good, makes me think we should invite him more often. What do you think, cariño ?" Pedri toyed with your nipple between his teeth, making you nod and scream out in pleasure. He never had a better idea.

João grinned against your neck and moved your joined hands to your middle. He let go of your fingers, but you trapped his hand in a vice grip. His fingers found your clit, drawing figure eights.

The third orgasm of the night crashed over you in waves. It felt even better than the first two.

Expecting the boys to come inside of you, you tried to move your hips, riding out your orgasm.

They had other plans, as João carefully pulled out and detached himself from his hugging position against you. Pedri followed and slid up to the headboard.

His crotch was now at level with your face, cock glistening with your juices. You felt João's hands guide you on all fours above Pedri, repositioning the pillow under your pelvis.

João slipped inside your pussy with ease, filling you to the brim. You clenched around him greedily accepting his hard thrusts. His balls slapped against your throbbing clit.

Pedri jerked his cock, guiding your head onto him by holding your hair in his hand at the back of your skull. Taking him fully, he moved the hand from his manhood to rest comfortably on the pillows behind his neck.

Before you got to enjoy to blow your boyfriend, João released himself inside you. He pulled out, spilling some of his cum on your pussy and ass.

This didn't bother you enough to stop sucking Pedri off. His cock was familiar between your lips and you knew exactly how to move to get him to lose control.

João didn't let go of your hips. His fingers spread his cum over your core and found your clit again. The striker soon had you coming for a fourth time.

The vibrating moans at the back of your throat, brought Pedri over the edge. He thrust his hips into your mouth until he was spent. His cum tasted salty, but nice. You liked swallowing him.

Climbing off him, you laid on your back exhausted. Pedri turned to pull you into him. João left into the small attached bathroom.

After getting a washcloth he kneeled between your thighs, softly cleaning you up.

"If Pedri doesn't mind, I'd like to hear more about your little obsession with me, amor."

A/N: Finally I built up the confidence to post this!

Special love and thanks go to @pedrisgatorade & @simpingmyassoff who were so kind to read this over! You're the best!

I really hope you enjoy this and leave me a comment 💕🫣

Love you❤️

#pedri gonzalez #joao felix #pedri fanfic #joao felix fanfic #pedri smut #joao felix smut #pedri one shot #joao felix one shot #pedri x reader #joao felix x reader #joao felix x reader x pedri #pedro gonzález lópez

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zelphin124 · 8 months

Text

SeasonTale Creative Challenge

PLEASE REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE THIS!

Art and Design by PrinceTal

Greetings, Artists, Voice Actors, and Writers! It is I, Zelphin, and I am hosting an (annual?) competition! Introducing the first year of the SeasonTale Creative Challenge!

This is a competition to express your creative talents by contributing to SeasonTale for a cash prize! There are three ways to participate: Art, Voice Acting, and Writing! Contribute some time to use one of the three involving SeasonTale to enter the challenge for the prize!

DEADLINE IS NOV 15th, 2023, 12:00 AM (GMT-6)

my birthday hehe~

Winners will be announced on December 1st!

Updates are in #scc info

Scroll down for details!

Rules

It must be a SeasonTale Sans. (I might do other characters from SeasonTale another year)

You MUST tag #SeasonTale Challenge and @zelphin124 in the post so I can see it! Or DM me on Discord!

You CAN do more than one submission (one per Sans for VA, two for writing)

You CAN do the Season Sanses interacting with OCs or popular Sanses, get creative!

DIFFERENT/SIMPLER OUTFITS ARE ALLOWED! I know they are a pain to draw...

You CANNOT steal/copy from other creators!

Please keep all content PG-13

Payments will be made via PayPal (unless negotiated otherwise)

Specific rules within the Google doc!

Prizes

All prizes are in USD currency!

Artists

First place: $55

Second place: $35

Third place: $20

VAs and Writers

First place: $40

Second place: $30

Third place: $20

Prompts

Summer flirting with literally anyone

Particularly a feisty character

Spring cooking with Swap/Horror

Spring loves cooking Japanese Ramen

Autumn being a gremlin, as usual

Usually being feisty while training or hissing at a cat (he’s scared of cats)

Winter meeting your OC/you in the snowy mountains of SeasonTale

The Four Sanses in a training session

The four Sanses exploring a new AU

Spring comforting someone

Summer flirting with someone

Autumn getting frustrated at someone being annoying and telling them to go away

Winter is an awkward teddy bear trying to organize something

Ft. Iro!Sans for a female character/female voice actors!

Make something up! Be creative! Have fun!

Need more details? Here's the Google Doc:

References

Art and Design PrinceTal

Oh and Iro!Sans

HAVE FUN! I'm so excited to see what you all come up with!

Been dying to do this for a long time~

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leilakisakabiri · 11 months

Text

Spanish Boy (Gavi)

Summary: You and Gavi attend a Chelsea game and he think’s you’re a little too into the game, or more specifically number 11.

Warning(s): None

A/N: Please send in requests if you have any! Guys I wanted to make this angsty but it just ended up being fluff like usual. Oh well.

Word Count: [1735]

Masterlist

“Ahh I’m so excited I can’t believe I finally get to see them play.”

Gavi grinned in the seat beside you, bumping your shoulder.

“I’m glad you get to see them, but to be honest they’re shit this season.”

You gasped offended, “Ok Gavi not everyone has to win La Liga to be considered good.”

“They don’t even play in that league!” He argued.

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever, UEFA, basically the same thing, just different clubs.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “You sure you’re a Chelsea fan, or are you just going to see who I think you wanna see?”

The two of you were currently driving to the Chelsea game happening in London. You had surprised Gavi with tickets last week and while at first he was just as excited as you, his excitement had quickly turned to annoyance once he realized just exactly why you were so intent on going to the game.

He was sure you didn’t even care about Chelsea, more interested in supporting the player with the number 11 stitched on his jersey.

He had walked in on you and your friend talking about said player just a few days ago.

Your friend had been saying how you were so lucky, and how hot he was, and you had just been giggling along.

Gavi had backed out slowly from the kitchen once he heard your conversation, not wanting to intrude, and honestly a little hurt.

Since then, his excitement had diminished immensely and now he was hating himself for scheduling a private tour of the stadium before the game started.

“We’re here.” You said excitedly, looking out the window to see the large stadium come into view.

Although you had traveled quite a bit to support Gavi at his games, the sheer size of some of the stadiums still took your breath away. You couldn’t believe that something that big was made for people.

The driver took you to the underground entrance to give you some privacy from the fans that had already started congregating at the stadium entrance, counting down the minutes till the gates opened.

“Ok we have two hours before the game starts. Let’s go get the tour.” Gavi said once the two of you had gotten out of the car, walking towards the entrance.

You pulled his hand as he walked forward, stopping him, “Thank you Gavi. Really. This means a lot.” You said sincerely.

The boy smiled at you, “No problem.”

Once you walked into the building you were even more awestruck, the fangirl side of you taking over.

You had grown up in a football household, meaning that every Saturday morning your TV would be playing various matches happening around the country.

You had seen this stadium so many times on the TV when you were little, but now standing inside it, the Chelease logo apparent in everything, it was so surreal.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when you heard Gavi greet someone, “Enzo how have you been?”

You had to physically stop your mouth from dropping open.

Enzo Fernandez was standing in front of you, and apparently Gavi knew him.

You finally found your voice, “You guys know each other?”

Enzo nodded, “Yah we met each other back at the World Cup.”

Gavi nodded affirmatively.

“Anyways let me show you guys around real quick.” Enzo spoke, gesturing for the two of you to follow him.

“Ok, but don’t you have to get ready?” You asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders, giving you a grin, “Eh, 20 minutes won’t hurt anyone.”

You laughed at his answer, wishing you could take pictures of everything as he showed the two of you around.

You finally got to the tunnels, and he pointed to just around the corner, “Over there is the locker rooms. I would show you, but the guys will probably be here soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry about. No problem at all. We should probably get out there anyway.” You reassured him, waiting as Gavi said goodbye.

You had just turned around you when you felt a body collide with yours. Hands reached out to grab you, stopping your fall. You looked up once the world stopped spinning, coming face to face with a very apologetic player.

“Eu sinto muito linda.” He spoke, reaching up to pull off his headphones, eyes focused on you. (I’m so sorry beautiful)

“Sem problemas.” You said softly, still trying to gather your bearings. (No problem)

You saw his eyes light up, “You speak Portuguese?”

You were about to respond when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You mentally hit yourself.

You looked over your shoulder to see Gavi come to stand beside you.

“Joao.” Gavi spoke, his voice coming out harsher than needed.

“Gavi.” Joao replied, voice taking on a similar tone.

You looked between the boys. It was no surprise that they weren’t exactly friends. Joao used to play for Atletico Madrid, one of Barca’s biggest rivals. The two had problems on the field long before you, and whatever stand off they where having now.

“Well enjoy the game.” Joao finally said, moving past you.

You gave Gavi a look telling him to play nice as well.

His lips remained in a firm line but he let out a small, “Thanks.”

You had just started walking again when you heard Joao call out, “What’s your name?”

You turned back, puzzled if he was talking to you, but by the way he was making direct eye contact with you, you guessed he was, “Y/n?” You said, but it came out more as a question.

He nodded, a smile playing on his lips, “I’ll remember that.”

You felt Gavi stiffen next to you but he didn’t say anything. You could see the veins on his arm jut out as he balled his hand into a fist.

You were both silent as you walked to your seats.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You tried to break the silence with a lame joke, “So that was kinda intense back there huh?”

You saw Gavi give you a glare before he turned back, focusing his attention on the field.

“Oh c’mon now you’re ignoring me?” You asked.

He didn’t answer.

“The games not even going on. You’re literally staring at grass.” You huffed, trying to get him to break.

He hummed in response, but still no words.

“Did I do something?”

Again nothing.

“Ok so I did do something?” You questioned.

Silence.

“Ok I’m taking your silence as a yes.” You continued.

Nothing.

“Bro I really feel like this is one sided.” You muttered.

“Did you just call me bro?” Gavi questioned finally breaking his silence.

You let out a cheer, lifting your arms in the air, “Hooray, he’s finally talking to me, and it only took me calling him bro to respond. How sweet is he?”

He glared at you again not appreciating your sarcasm, “You know why I’m mad.”

“But I don’t. So if you could just tell me.” You dragged out, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He turned to look at you and suddenly your faces were centimeters apart. You couldn’t focus on what he was saying too consumed memorizing the pattern of the freckles that were scattered across his nose, so light that if you weren’t standing close enough you would miss them.

“Are you even listening to me?” He asked getting frustrated again.

You chastised yourself, you really needed to start paying more attention.

“Sorry I got distracted.”

“Oh let me guess. Did Joao just walk onto the field?” He asked bitterly.

Now you were confused.

“Wait what? Joao? Why would I care about him?”

He looked at you with the blankest stare, “So you’re going to sit here and tell me you weren’t flirting with him in the hallway?”

“Flirting? What no way! We just bumped into each other!” You defended.

“Right. Well in that case let me just go bump into Rosalia.” He muttered.

“Gavi!” You smacked him on his arm, fighting back a laugh.

That was the thing about you and Gavi, you could never stay serious for long. Even when something was bothering the other person, yes you would talk about it, but a few jokes would still be made, giving your relationship the air of lightness and security that you loved. Your relationship made you want to fly with Gavi, not drag him down with your baggage.

“I’m sorry if it looked like that, but honestly, I only like you.” You said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Someone tell that to Joao.” He joked.

You grinned at him, “I will. After the match if you want.”

He grabbed your wrists, trapping you beside him, leaning in, “You. You stay away from him.”

You were centimeters away from him again and this time you couldn’t help it. You leaned in closing the distance between you.

You kissed him sweetly, pouring all the emotions you felt for him, all the love, all the things you wanted to say to him but were too shy to.

Your hands traveled from his shoulders up to his annoyingly soft hair, one hand getting tangled in his locks, while the other went around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

Damn you really needed to steal his hair care routine. Shit was so soft.

He bit on your lower lip playfully and you felt a shiver run through you.

You both pulled away after a bit, out of breath. Chests heaving as you looked at each other with glazed over eyes and lazy smiles.

“Hope no one saw that.” You whispered not willing to move away.

“Hope Joao saw it.” He whispered back, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You both didn’t say much after that, watching as the match started.

The game ended up going well with Chelsea winning 2-0.

You both cheered once the final whistle blew, happy that the team you had come to support had won.

The team came over to the fans’ side of the stadium, celebrating their win.

You cheered along with everyone, “Hey Siri play London Boy.” You joked.

Gavi heard you, giving you the dirtiest glare.

“Kidding!” You laughed.

“He’s not even British! He’s Portuguese!” Gavi exclaimed.

You wrapped your arms around him, “It doesn’t even matter, cause I love my Spanish boy more.”

You felt Gavi cringe beside you, “Yah that doesn’t sound as good.”

#pablo gavi #gavi #gavi imagine #gavi imagines #gavi angst #gavi fluff #gavi one shot #gavi headcannon #pablo gavi imagine #joao felix #joao felix imagine #joao felix imagines #pedri #pedri imagine #Pedro Gonzalez #FC Barca #FC Barcelona #chelsea

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tonguepiercedanyway75 · 30 days

Text

Sharing favorites // Matty Healy x reader

Summery: After your night shift you can finally spend the morning with your boyfriend

Warnings: fluff, smut

Masterlist

────────────────────────

You are waiting for the clock to strike 7. You‘ve been in the hospital for twelve hours. It’s time to go home, go to Matty‘s house and just drop into his arms. You’re tired and annoyed and you desperately need sleep. You’ve been doing rounds the whole night, doing Stiches and cleaning wounds. No operation. Nothing.

It’s like being at the beginning of your career all over again. Being an intern. Nevertheless it’s what you always wanted to do, but right now it’s finally time to leave this place. You get into your car after changing into sweatpants and a hoodie from Matty.

It’s a 20 minute drive which feels like a 20 hour drive when the tiredness is hitting you. Matty still didn’t send you a ‘good morning’ text which means he’s probably dead asleep. The pictures of Matty being cuddled up in bed gives you a warm feeling on the inside.

After what felt like an eternity you finally arrived at his house. You grab your purse, search for the house keys and enter while being the most quiet you’ve ever been, not wanting to wake him. You slip out of your shoes, hang up your coat and make your way to the bedroom. The blinds are shut in every room, not letting the slightest bit of sunshine in, those lighting conditions make the 7am morning feel like a 11pm night.

The bedroom is as dark as the rest of the house but you can still see Matty clearly. He’s laying on his stomach, his face hidden in his pillow while his dog Allen is right next to him. Your heart melts at the sight of your two favorite things.

You lift the blanket and get greeted with the warmth of Matty’s body heat. His arm finds your back as you snuggle your face into the crook of his neck. This is everything for you. Sleep is onto you but it seems as Matty is waking up. “Morning love,” he mumbles into your skin while giving you a kiss on your cheek.

You hum in response, too tired to answer him. “You need anythin’?” You shake your head and nuzzle into him even more.

“Missed you,” you get out before closing your eyes again. You feel completely at ease around him. Matty notices that you can’t keep your eyes open and your breath steadies. He chuckles at your attend to roll him on top of you. “Be my weighted blanked,” you whisper against him.

He does as you wish and Matty immediately feels your weight shift under him. You like cuddling like this. His head is tucked under your chin, arms needling their way behind your back to hold you close. “Sleep well love,” he whispers, the comfort and security of Matty being so close helps you drift off into a light rest. He gives your head a few more kisses, making sure you’re asleep before falling asleep as well.

It’s only 4 hours later when Matty awakes still on top of you. He looks at the clock next to his bed. 11:32. It’s always like this when you have Night Shift, only that sometimes you’re alone in bed. You can sleep way better and longer when you feel your boyfriends presence.

It was an adjustment for Matty at first because he usually gets up between 5 and 6 am. But since you’ve been together he loves nothing more then staying in bed with you.

He gets up, leaves the curtains shut and gets up to give his dog food, he also leaves the door to the garden open so Allen can knock himself out at the fresh air.

After he gets himself a glass of water he goes into your shared bedroom again. You’re laying on your side, hugging the blanket tight around your body. He smiles and picks up his laptop from the drawer and settles next to you.

You introduced him to this mind blowing series, Criminal minds. It’s the series you always watch and the perks of having this many seasons is, it doesn’t end. It feels like you’ll never reach the end.

You are currently on season 9, but since watching without the other is a no-go Matty skips to the start of the last episode you watched. 5 minutes in the series and you snuggle against him, laying your head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady. He looks down at you and removes your messy hair from your face, then he kisses your temple.

Another 5 minutes and you slowly open your eyes. You’re still tired but you know you have the day off and that thought eases you. You groan lightly and sit up. You cover your face in your hands and Mattys hand finds your back, rubbing up and down your lower back. “You sleep okay?” He asks and you let out a quiet yes. You slept good but a little too short.

“How did you sleep?” You ask and turn around to face the man whose curls hang in his face and whose eyes look as tired as yours. His stubbles are more visible, since he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days.

“Like a Baby,” he says and gives you a silly smile. Your favorite characters voice raises your attention to the screen. You slap his chest lightly, “what was that for?”

“Did you continue without me?” That would be just cruel but Matty turns the screen and it shows you a scene you recognize. “What do you think love? Would never do that.” He reaches for your hand and kisses every one of your knuckles.

After you come from the bathroom, he settles the laptop to the side and pulls you onto his lap. You feel his erection through his boxers, but it doesn’t stop him from lifting you higher up his body making you laugh. “Matty what are you doing.” You’re now sitting on his chest but he grips your hips tighter, you whine. “Lift your hips and sit on my face.”

You blush at the direct demand and who are you to say no to the man who looks so sweet right now. You hover over his face but feel a little nervous to crush him so you hesitate.

“Get down baby,” he says. “Okay.” And with a gulp, you allow your hips to lower, your knees slipping on the silky sheets which open your legs wider to give your boyfriend better access.

“Like that, good,” Matty cooes and patiently coaxes your body all the way down with encouraging hands until his mouth attaches itself to your clit, encouraging whimpers to leave your mouth.

“Jesus- Matty,” your hands grip onto his hair and you pull slightly, earning a growl from your boyfriend. “Not Jesus,‘s just me.”

Your hips start to grind down, meeting his tongue to chase your high. You let your eyes roll to the back of your head while Matthew never stops. He purrs, sucking your clit between his lips.

Making you come is one thing. Tasting you is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Matty grips your thighs tighter. “Matt- baby,” you moan. He is obsessed with you, with your scent, your taste, your moans, with being the first ever person to ever touch you like this, to make you feel so good.

Pleads leave your mouth, “Oh, my god—” you cut yourself off with a languid moan, rolling your head to the back while closing your eyes. He groans in approval as your hands card through his hair, moving one hand to slide affectionately up and down your thighs, to feel your relax more and more.

“Fucking obscene,” he mutters as he feels you let go around his tongue, “my favorite taste.” Matty licks you clean before pulling you down. You close your eyes and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue and lips. You keep your eyes closed, too tired to open them. The 4 hours of sleeping getting to you.

“You with me?” He asks and nudges you a little, you shake your head ‘no’ which makes him chuckle. He strokes your hair while holding you close, rubbing your back soothingly. “Have to clean you up baby, ‘be right back.”

He picks up a wet towel from the bathroom and cleans your lower body, you hiss at the contact with you clit and he apologizes. “So pretty,” he wipes your inner thighs and throws the towel into the laundry basket.

“I love you,” you say as he settles next to you and picks up the laptop again. He leans down to kiss you. God, you love kissing him. His lips are made for you. “I love you too,” he tells you.

You both watch the next episode of criminal minds in bed, cuddled up, sharing lots of kisses during. At some point you finally get up and begin the day, until you fall asleep at the exact same spot.

#matty healy #matty healy fluff #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy oneshot #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fic #matty healy x you

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

the new hires * fem!driver

still skeptical about roaming by herself on a race weekend, oscar and logan pick her up from her garage before media commitments

pairings: oscar piastri x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, sebastian vettel x fem!driver

warnings: nothing~

notes: i am really liking this so far! feel free to send in requests for this series and/or in general! requests are always open~ i hope you guys enjoy this hehe

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

she leans back on her race car, arms folded over her chest as she chews on the inside of her cheek. she stares at the concrete floor blankly, wondering when she get swept away from the garage.

the day has barely started. the garage only had a few engineers roaming around, and sebastian is absolutely nowhere to be found. which is why she's decided to hide in the comfort of her own garage.

oscar had texted her when she was making her way to the paddocks that he would pick her up when it was time for media commitments. but it's been 20 minutes since the agreed-upon time, and sebastian has now been kidnapped by other people for his big-boy meetings.

meetings that didn't involve her right now.

she can't handle the stares when she walks around the paddock, so she simply doesn't go anywhere on her own. she hushed whispers and judgemental stares always manage to get to her.

"oi!" a familiar accent catches her off guard. she stands up straight and turns towards the exit of the garage, finding the two taller boys waving her towards them.

"we're gonna be late, let's go," logan laughs, hurrying her to get to them. "we can't be late — we're the new hires."

“you’re the new hires,” oscar mutters, pointing between the two as he sucks in a sharp breath. “i was here last here.”

"then you shouldn't have taken so long to pick me up," she mutters. she jogs over to the two other rookies and smiles widely. "thanks for picking me up, though."

"you wouldn't have made it there on your own otherwise," oscar shrugs. he pulls her in for a side hug and a kiss to the crown of her head. “what’s a 2023 rookie round-up video for if it’s just logan and i?”

“but it wouldn’t wind up to that because you picked me up,” she states, narrowing her eyes down into a judgemental stare. “duh?”

when he pulls away, she hops over to logan and greets him with a hug. he gives her a kiss on the cheek before they start walking around the lane of garages to get to the paddocks.

"so, did you finally buy your first car over the break, (y/n)?" oscar begins as he shoves his phone into his pocket. he leans forward slightly to get a look at her face with a raise of his eyebrow. "don't tell me you haven't."

logan turns his head to the side, glancing at the girl walking next to him. "by the looks of it, she hasn't."

"well, you guys keep saying i should get a supercar," she explains, lifting her hands up in the air, "but i just want a functioning car that i shouldn't have to overthink in while i'm driving."

which is exactly why she's put off buying her car for months. now that she's a somewhat prominent public figure, everyone's been telling her she should get a car that speaks for her career.

but she doesn't want an expensive car that she has to truly overthink. she doesn't need a car that would stress her out if she were to climb a curb or hit a wall.

think how expensive that would be for her.

not to say that she's a bad driver. she just prefers an easy car.

"dude, you've been talking about that car for years!" oscar throws his head back, rolling his eyes before throwing a glare her way. "you can't tell me we listened to all your yapping about a milestone car when you get into formula 1 only for you to not... get one."

"give it time," she scowls, waving oscar off.

"well, it at least better be a cute car," logan mutters with a scoff. "or else i'd be quite disappointed i waited this long for you to get a car that isn't you."

"i don't need a car, anyway," she answers breathily. "you guys drive me around plenty. my license is only good for the track, it seems."

“we won’t be around forever to drive you around. we’re not together all the time,” logan scoffs. he lifts his arm up and rests it on her shoulder as they walk.

“well, when you do happen to be around, you will,” she scoffed, pushing his arm off her shoulder. “and stop doing that — just your arm is heavy enough!”

“i know, that’s why it was on your shoulder.”

“logan!”

“what?”

“knock it off,” oscar scoffs, pushing himself between them. “you’ll attract the cameras if you’re going to be like.” he turns to her. “do you want that?”

she quickly shuts her mouth and stands a little straighter. she looks straight ahead and presses her lips together. “you got me there.”

“i know,” oscar mutters, glaring at her.

“hey, you’re not kidnapping my driver, are you?” sebastian’s voice halts their footsteps, making them turn around at the same time comically. “i need her for the race on sunday.”

she scowls at her mentor. “yes, cause i’m walking with them in the paddocks unwillingly.” she puts a hand on her chest and the other on her forehead. she runs over to sebastian, faking a sob. “my knight in shining armour, thank you for saving me from these bad bad men!”

“hey!” logan grips her wrist before she can get any further. “we’re going to be late!”

sebastian raises an eyebrow. he looks confused at first but it slowly carves into realisation why the three of them are out and about together. “oh. f1 media commitments?”

“official crew and all,” oscar shrugs with a small smile. his eyes follow logan and her, gently exhanging smacks on each other’s arms as they hurl insults at one another.

“oh, alright,” sebastian laughs before briefly turning away from them. “have her back in my garage on time! with no scratches, preferably. we have a meeting with the team later.”

“i’ll try, but she keeps hitting me!” logan answers, landing a firm shove on her shoulder.

she’s barely moved, only taking a small step back to regain her balance. she gasps at his action, “don’t make me bite you.”

“okay, cut it out,” oscar laughs. he walks away, leaving the two behind. which would be a problem seeing that they don’t actually know where the filming setup is. “i’m leaving.”

“see, he left us because you’re being annoying,” she grumbles, landing one last hit on logan’s shoulder. she jogs to catch up with oscar, who has walked away quite a fair bit from them.

“i’m only taking inspiration from you.”

“oh, shut up.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse (comment to be added)

#oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #f1 x reader #disneyprincemuke f1

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youkissedareaderinthedark · 5 months

Text

The Scare

Synopsis: A terrifying crash puts Y/n in an even more terrifying situation, and it affects everyone, in the end.

young female driver x 2023 F1 Grid

A/N: for this one, valtteri is retired and reader has taken his seat at alfa romeo

also, @badassturtle13 you requested a fic like this a month or two ago while i was in my writers block-era, but if you remember your ask and would still like to read it, here it is

You knew the risk. All twenty of you did. That’s how yet got into these cars every weekend. But that doesn’t make it any easier when you actually face the risks.

You weren’t the biggest fan of the Las Vegas Grand Prix from the start. You knew the planning for it was rough, and that there were a lot of elements of the weekend that everybody was unsure of.

You weren’t exactly surprised when the reasoning behind the storm drain incident was released after Free Practice 1, or when race directors revealed they didn’t even look at the predicted weather for this weekend.

But there wasn’t much you could do about either, about any of it really, so you put your head down and focused on your car.

You joined Alfa Romeo as the third rookie of the 2023 season, and although you and Zhou weren’t getting wins and podiums each weekend, you finished in the points nearly every race, and helped bring your team up to 8th in the Constructors Championship.

As of the second to last race, you were having a good first season; you and Zhou got along great, your team trusted you, and you liked getting to know and hanging out with the rest of the grid. Specifically, your closest friends Logan and Oscar, who you were walking with in the paddock before Sunday’s race.

“Is it bad that I’m not excited for the race?” Oscar asks from the middle of you three, as you walk down the grid.

“I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t want to start P17 either” You admit.

“You’re gonna be fine Oscar, you’ve made your way up the field before, you’ll do it again” Logan shrugs, assuring him.

Oscar nods as you speak up with the beginning of a smirk on your face. “When you make it up the field and into the points, along with me and Logan, what are we doing to celebrate?”

“No. No, we have-” Oscar’s already shaking his head as Logan laughs. “I know some of the grid is going to a club a few blocks away, you guys wanna go?”

“Yes,” You rush to say after you see Oscar start to protest. “we’ll go. No objections”

“We have flights tomorrow-” You interrupt the Australian. “I don’t care, we should all go. And I have to leave now so you can’t say no” You point out as you near the Alfa Romeo garage. Oscar rolls his eyes playfully as Logan continues to laugh.

“Good luck Y/n, see you after the race” Logan says, still chuckling as Oscar waves and continues down the paddock with the American by his side.

You greet Zhou as you walk towards your drivers room to meet with your trainer. The last 20 minutes you have before you’re needed on the track is spent doing reflex tests and speaking with the strategists one last time.

You leave the garage to stand for the national anthem after a brief Grid Walk interview with Martin, and quickly return for the formation lap.

“Alright Y/n,” Your team principle, Alessandro, comes over your radio as you’re pulling out into the pit lane. “do your best to maintain P7 or higher, just be aware of the tires. Stay safe, good luck”

“Thanks, will do. See you at the finish line” You reply before flipping down your visor and accelerating onto the track.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a cold night here in Las Vegas, but the city is awake and ready to watch the last U.S race of the 2023 season. Our drivers are approaching the starting line, the five lights are coming on, and it’s light’s out and away we go!”

You manage to pull away from Magnussen behind you and advance closer to Logan in front of you as you near Turn 1. You get through the first and second lap fine, until your race engineers Alex, informs you that Lando’s crashed during Lap 3, and the 19 drivers remaining are being led by the safety car until Lap 7.

You think your race will be uneventful past that point until you notice the reluctance in the car’s breaking during Lap 19. “There’s something wrong with my brakes, it’s getting hard to slow down” You radio concerned, back to your team.

“Stand by Y/n, we’re checking” Alex tells you as you approach Turn 1 on the next lap. After a few moments without an update, you radio again.

“Anything? It’s getting bad, I can’t slow down” Your voice shows your clear concern. It’s clear to everyone that you’re getting more and more distressed each minute.

“One moment, Y/n, we’re trying” The engineer becomes audible again, and you get that everyone in the garage is trying, but right now it’s not enough.

You’re going at 150 miles an hour down the straight after Turn 4, and you could practically hear your heart beating nervously as you approach Turn 6.

You press on the brake pedal. Nothing. You try to release your hold on the accelerator pedal and clutch on your steering wheel. Nothing.

You go through the options in your head;

Turn and crash purposefully now to slow your car down? There are drivers less than a second behind you, the straight isn’t that wide, they could get hurt.

Turn and hit the curb as you pass the corner to slow down? There are drivers less than a second behind you, the corner isn’t that wide, they could get hurt. You could get hurt

Your adrenaline is pumping, thoughts are flying through your head at a million miles per second, and you don’t know what to do.

You’re going 150 miles an hour down a straight, but now the corner is coming closer.

“I can’t fucking stop! Alex!” You’re pressing the radio button frantically, hoping someone, anyone responds.

Nothing.

It all goes by in a flash.

Turn 6 comes at you faster than you imagined. Your Alfa Romeo crashes front-wing first into the barriers, the momentum of a 150 mile-per-hour car so strong, not even your harness can stop your body from colliding into your steering wheel.

Everything goes white for a moment, all you could hear is a deafening ringing in your ears, and then the only thing you could feel is pain.

The hurt in your chest is intolerable. You think you’re screaming. There’s smoke or clouds of dust or something else you can’t begin to decipher in the air surrounding you. You could feel the vibrations of the track from the passing cars below you, but you don’t bother to move your head up from where it rests on top of your wheel.

If the ringing wasn’t so loud, you might’ve been able to hear three of your ribs on the right side of your chest break when you first made impact with the wheel. If the pain wasn’t so unbearable, you might’ve been able to notice how because three of your ribs on the right side of your chest are broken, your lungs can barely produce oxygen for you to breathe.

It’s only when you try to gasp for air against the tears running down your face do you notice. The second you try, it sends streaks of pain overflowing throughout your body. Then you realize. You can’t breathe.

You want to stay calm, you really do, but you’re crying so much you could feel them soaking your balaclava, you’re scared to the point that your hands are shaking uncontrollably, there’s still so much adrenaline in you, and you can’t breathe.

You try to radio your team to tell them to send medics or just do something to help, but when you open your mouth to speak, the same thing happens as when you tried to radio for help earlier.

Nothing.

You’re stuck in your crashed car, without a voice, without a breath, and you think this is it.

It feels like hours, but really, it’s only been about a minute since you’ve crashed. Every grand stand is silent, and Martin Brundle and David Croft are speechless. Alex is trying to communicate with you while the other engineers attempt to figure out the the state of your car. Drivers are being led by the safety car under a red flag, anxiously talking to their own engineers to find out if you’re okay. And finally, the safety marshals and medical staff have made their way onto the track and to your car.

The marshals repeatedly shout to you for a sign of responsiveness while the medics move to pull you out of the car. Everyone else is either running in and out of the ambulance that’s just arrived, or helping place a curtain around you for privacy.

The medics transfer you onto a gurney on the ground while the lead medic assess you. She’s pulled off your helmet and balaclava and is left staring at your pale face, alarmed eyes, and gasping mouth.

A few touches to your pulse and lungs confirm her suspicion, and the woman quickly asserts her team. “She has flail chest, she needs an oxygen machine and an IV for pain meds. Her ribs are broken on the right side of her lungs, she’s been barely breathing”

The materials asked for are provided in seconds, and within a few moments, an oxygen mask is placed around your face, and the skin in your left forearm is being pierced with a needle.

For the first time since you started Lap 19, you’ve found both your voice and your breath, the pain striking through your body isn’t as severe anymore, and your nerves have calmed down.

The lead medic hovering over you notices your less-tense state, and lets out her own breath. “You okay kid?” With an oxygen mask, 3 broken ribs, and an IV in your arm, you nod with small smile of relief on your face.

The medics let you stay laying down on the gurney, and transfer you into the waiting ambulance to get you to the nearest hospital. The safety marshals update the Alfa Romeo garage on your state of health, and your damaged car gets moved off the track. Once informed themselves of the situation, Crofty and Martin advise the anxious and waiting fans of your condition and when the race will resume.

The 18 drivers that were restlessly sat in their garages are now visibly relieved and preparing for the race start. The engineers on your side of the garage are pouring over the data from Lap 19 to figure out where it all went wrong, while your trainer leaves to go meet you at the hospital.

While you’re in the hospital, you get hooked up to a new IV and get assessed by a nurse before a doctor comes in to take your X-rays. The results show your 3 broken ribs and the few bruises on your lungs that are set to heal within a week or two.

You’re put on a ventilator to help your breathing after the doctor tells you that you had to stay in the hospital for at least 3 days, and you’d miss the last race of the season as a precaution.

You also undergo surgery hours later to stabilize the broken ribs, and ensure you’re not internally bleeding. Because of all the anesthesia and pain medicine, your either asleep or painless for your first night in the hospital.

The next day is when you’re brought into the real world again, and your trainer tells you everything you missed. He tells you Lando, who you learn was in the room a few doors down when you came in, visited you after your surgery and wished you to get better soon. He tells you about the rest of the race and everything the rest of the drivers have said about you and your crash.

You talk to your team eventually and convince them to let you travel to Abu Dhabi on Saturday to at least watch the race from the garage. You talk to your parents and friends to inform them that your lungs are healing accordingly, that you’re off the ventilator, and have been breathing fine by Thursday.

You’re discharged from the hospital Friday night, and only stop at your hotel to collect your things before catching a flight to Abu Dhabi. You told Logan and Oscar you’d be arriving Sunday morning, which explains why they’re so surprised when you show up in the paddock after Qualifying Saturday night.

“It’s not the best place to start from but-” Logan spots you first, in the middle of a conversation with Oscar. “Oh my god” Is all he mutters before running up to bring you into a hug. You’re smiling, almost laughing at his reaction, until you hear what the American says.

“Don’t do that again. I thought you-” You notice his voice break, and you’re once again aware of what everyone else was feeling while you were breathless inside your car almost a week ago.

“I won’t Logan, I’m okay now” You assure him as best you can before Oscar comes over to both of you. Logan lets go momentarily while the McLaren driver hugs you.

“We were all really scared, y’know. We didn’t know,” He pauses, his voice catches before he’s speaking into your shoulder again. “we didn’t know if you were okay”

“I know Oscar, I’m here though, I’m okay” You know you can’t say much in sympathy to either of the drivers right now, you’ll never exactly know the anxiety and worry they felt on Sunday, but you do tell them about your time in the hospital and how you’re expected to make a full recovery in time for next season.

“I wish you were driving today though, you should be in your car for the last race” Oscar says as the three of you walk through the paddock together.

“I know, I want to drive too, but at the same time, I’m kind of glad I’m not driving until next season. I want to let my lungs rest and everything before I get in my car again” You say with a shrug.

You were being truthful; you weren’t afraid of crashing again, you actually couldn’t wait to drive your Alfa Romeo, but you heard all the possible long term affects of rib and lung damage, and you’d rather miss out on one race than your entire F1 career.

“I’m just glad you’re okay” Logan admits as Oscar nods.

“Yeah, me too”

a short, somewhat emotional f1 fic. 1 down, 3 to go

#reader insert #formula 1 #driver reader #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 driver imagines #platonic f1 grid #f1 2023 grid x y/n #f1 imagine #female driver reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #platonic oscar piastri #platonic logan sargeant

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decorativetrashbag · 2 months

Text

Cup of Coffee, and a Tall Glass of You

Parings: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: Zeff hired a barista for the restaurant, FINALLY, but Sanji wasn't expecting a girl, let alone one as beautiful as you. He can handle his coffee, but can he handle a dollop of falling in love? Warnings: None! like 2 instances of Y/N Genre: Fluff, Modern AU, Barista AU Words: 3.7k

a/n: this one's been asked for, and at my barista job, i had nothing better to do BUT write this. I think this is the only story i started writing, then rewrote all of it lol. enjoy it! <3

“I wonder if we have potatoes…” Sanji mumbled to himself in the empty kitchen as he whisked the eggs He had just cracked into the bowl. It was about 5:45 am now, but Sanji always came to work early to prepare breakfast. Most of the other chefs start rolling in about 6:20, and as much as Sanji loved the sound of a bustling kitchen, he'd be lying if he didn't say he enjoyed the quiet, empty moments too. Even though he had to follow the menu Zeff always posted the night before, cooking in the kitchen alone gave him a bit of freedom. He was pulled out of his thoughts about what dish to make with potatoes when he heard the door open and Zeff entering the kitchen.

“Morning, old man,” Sanji said, adding the seasonings to the eggs.

“You’re always here so early, Sanji,” Zeff replied with a thunderous chuckle.

“Breakfast isn't going to serve itself,” Sanji stated, incorporating the scrambled egg mix again.

“We have chefs that can do that too,” Zeff said, hobbling over on his fake leg to look over the blonde's shoulder.

“I know,” Sanji said, rolling his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zeff nod at his work and lean on the counter.

“Trust in the kitchen Sanji, they do hard work,” He said. Sanji chuckled.

“I would if they knew what they were doing most of the time,” the comment made Zeff laugh and pat Sanji’s back.

“I'll give you credit for that I guess.”

“Why are you here so early? Are we getting a shipment in or something?” Sanji asked, setting down the bowl of eggs and fishing his phone out of his pocket for the time. Zeff hummed and walked over to a shelf to grab another mixing bowl.

“I’m here early cause we have a new hire. Finally got us a barista to handle the morning crowd from that hotel ‘cross the way,” he said, as Sanji’s ears perked up with interest.

“You hired someone?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, and without your opinion either,” Zeff chuckled.

“Well, is he any good?” Sanji asked, getting out a pan to preheat it on the stove. Zeff sighed as he set down a bag of flour.

“She has experience, so she knows what she's doing,” Zeff said, which caused Sanji to stop what he was doing and look up at the older man. “I've already trained her on the basics, she's got a cheat sheet if she forgets.”

“Back up, she?” Sanji asked, now fully turning towards him. “Is she here??”

“She is, she walked in after I did.” Before Sanji could even start walking towards the kitchen door Zeff grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Don't go flirting with my barista,” He said in a low and stern tone.

“I'm not gonna flirt with her, what makes you think that?” Sanji laughed nervously.

“Cause the second I said she, ya got heart eyes. Eggplant, I know you're a ladies man. If you weren’t complaining about being a waiter for the first couple weeks of us opening, you were laying charm on the women sittin at tables.” Sanji frowned a bit at the call out, but Zeff wasn't lying. He knew he was a little girl crazy, and was the cause of a lot of fights. Zeff let go of his arm and sighed.

“You can introduce yourself to her, just don't make her uncomfortable.” Sanji grinned as Zeff turned him back to the pan on the stove.

“Scramble these eggs first, since you're already here. You can check out the station after, and I need your help making the pastries to sell out there.” Sanji sighed but turned on the stove anyway.

“Fair point, finishing cooking what I started. I'll greet her on my smoke break.” Zeff hummed in approval as the two began cooking breakfast and making the pastries. Slowly but surely more chefs started rolling in for their shifts and before Sanji knew it they were open for the day and the kitchen was bustling and busy, the quiet morning evaporating like the steam off the fresh pastries Zeff pulled out of the oven.

Around 10:30 am Sanji wiped his hands on the towel draped across his shoulder and walked through the kitchen over to Zeff, fishing the cigarette box out of his pocket.

“I'll be back in like, 15,” Sanji said, waving the box to him and Zeff nodded.

“We'll take it from here,” he said as Sanji left the kitchen. He briskly walked by tables of people dining, stopping occasionally to ask customers how their meal was. Walking out of the second room of tables, Sanji reached the front of the restaurant, starting to pick up with the brunch crowd, the host trying to seat people, waiters bustling around the tables to meet people's needs. And there, in the corner of the front of the restaurant, next to the bar, was the new barista. He watched your set down a couple to-go cups, lidded them, and sent a customer on their way with a smile, doing the same for someone who ordered a pastry, judging by the to-go box you handed them. Though he was known to be a little girl-crazy, and seen his fair share of beautiful women, he admitted he was a bit taken aback. You were definitely up there with some he found beautiful. He made his way over to you as customers exited the restaurant or went to be seated, greeting them as he passed them. Sanji finally made his way up to you, placing his hands on either side of the register and looking up at the menu, studying the options. He looked around your little corner as you served people, you were pretty set up for handling customers. A dishwasher, two sets of fridges, one with windows in to see the bottled stuff, a countertop oven, a place to brew more coffee, the big espresso machine he knew Zeff poured a lot of money into, syrups, cups, lids, ice maker. All you needed was a stove and you'd have a whole kitchen.

“Have a good one guys! Oh! Hey you work here right?” You asked him, pulling Sanji back to reality and you leaned on the counter in front of him. He blushed a little being up close to you, quickly trying to study every detail of your face before he answered.

“I do, yeah!” He started sticking his hand out for you to shake. You took his hand and gave it a gentle handshake, Sanji could almost feel the sparks from fingertips brushing and hands meeting. He took your hand and gingerly kissed the back of it. “I'm Sanji,” He winked, watching your cheeks grow a light pink dust of blush.

“Oh, you're Sanji,” you chuckled, “that makes sense now.”

“You know?” Sanji asked, it tugged at his heart to hear you say his name.

“Zeff told me all about you. I'm Y/N,” you said as he let your hand go, feeling the electric tingle sizzle away as you left his touch. He cursed Zeff in his head for filling your brain with info about him, for probably exaggerating how he acts towards women and silently thanking Zeff for putting the idea of him in your thoughts.

“Y/N, well it's nice to meet you! Zeff told him he hired someone, didn't know it'd be a beautiful rose like you,” Sanji said, really laying on his quintessential charm.

“Yeah! He trained me all weekend so I feel pretty familiar with everything.” All weekend? No wonder he was out of the loop, he took the weekend off to spend time with Luffy and the gang.

“How are the pastries doing?” Sanji asked, the chef side of him curious about the work he put into helping make the pastries today. The both of you looked at the case, the fresh pastries sitting on plates ready for the perusing eyes of people.

“Good! Had a lot of to-go's for them, they must look as good as they taste,” you said.

“Well Zeff and I did bake them this morning, so I'd hope they'd be enjoyed.” He said, watching you blush a little and look at him.

“You made them this morning?? Oh wow! Usually the places I've worked at make them the night before!” Watching your amazement at the idea of them baking the pastries fresh made his heart squeeze in his chest. He was smitten, you were adorable to him.

“Well, glad you're settling in just fine! It can be hectic but if Zeff trusts you, then so do I,” he smiled, finally pulling a cigarette out of the box, about to make his leave.

“Oh! Sanji! Did you need anything from me?” You asked, leaning onto the counter and looking up at him, tilting your head a little at your own question. Sanji looked at you, blinking a bit as he felt his cheeks get hot. Not only did you call him by name, but asked him if he needed anything from you. Of course he could think of a million flirtatious answers, he felt like he might be thrown back in happiness and a nosebleed, or that he could drop dead right now and be the happiest he's been. Sanji, cleared his throat, cheeks burning with blush as he just smiled.

“Maybe I'll grab a coffee later! Just wanted to say hi and all that,” he said, feeling like words were just falling out of his mouth.

“Nice to meet you!” You said giving him a wave as he walked outside.

“Pleasure's all mine!” Sanji waved back, once he got out of view, he lit his cigarette and leaned against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling the heat of blush on his face. He exhaled a stream of smoke, but to him it looked like hearts, and it might as well have been.

“God, she's so cute,” he mumbled, a bit lovesick already.

~4 months later~

Sanji always looked forward to work. He loved cooking, he loved that he could cook for others and see that happy smile on their faces as they ate. He loved the creative freedom Zeff would let him have once in a while for a dish and be lucky if it made the daily special. He loved getting to work early to start prepping for the day, and he loved you. Of course he hadn't told you yet, but he loved getting to work at the same time as you, he loved when you asked for his help, he loved getting the coffee on break and opening it to see the heart in the latte art. He adored when you asked if he needed anything else from you, he'd hold his tongue and say something polite, but in his dreams he'd pull out the lines he wished he could say.

On a slower day, You and Sanji were talking as the few tables used were cleaned off. Both of you leaned over the counter as you watched Sanji carefully ice one of the delicate pastries.

“I don't think I've ever seen it so slow in here,” you remarked as Sanji pulled the piping bag away.

“It's an early weekday, it happens every now and again,” He said, leaning back over the pastry.

“You wanna coffee?” You asked, “I feel like I should at least look busy.”

“That sounds amazing actually, usual vanilla latte for me,” He said, looking up at you with a smile as you nodded and went off to make it. He pulled the piping bag away one last time and admired his work, finally setting it down and watching you work. It has been about 4 months since you started here, and Sanji has never skipped a beat in saying hello to you every morning and taking in every word you had to say on his break. Since your shift ends around noon, he felt it best to soak up every ounce of you before you'd run off for the rest of the day. Even then, he still thought about you, he was a flirt and a ladies man, sure, but when it came to you, he didn't know how to act, what to say, how to express himself. It made him a mess, a love sick mess. Sanji was brought back to reality with the mug being placed in front of him with that heart shaped latte art. He smiled.

“You always give me a heart,” he said, taking a sip.

“It's one of the few I've got down to a habit,” you chuckled, looking at the pastry. “Wow, you did a great job! If no one eats it, I might!” He felt a tug as you pulled at his heart strings. He wasn't worthy of you eating his food, and he certainly wasn't worthy of the praise.

“You'll have to tell me how it is,” he said, watching you put it in the case.

“Well, you should cook for me sometime, since I keep hearing how good of a cook you are,” you said, resting your hand on your cheek.

“I'd love to, dear, say the word and I'll do it,” He flirted, happy to see you laugh at it. He has slowly been trying to be more bold with you, and it seemed you were used to it at this point.

“Coffee's good?” You asked as he finished the rest of the small mugs worth.

“Perfect as always, I'll make you food, if you keep making me coffee,” he said, leaning on both his arms resting on the counter.

“Sounds like a deal,” you chuckled, pink dusting your cheeks as he looked at you.

“Need anything else from me, Sanji?” God, it killed him every time. The sweet look you gave him, saying his name sounded like honey dripping into tea, his heart squeezed and did flips when you asked. It felt like you were teasing him every time you asked, just pushing his buttons to get him to confess. He needed you, and all to himself.

“Well, maybe your number?” Sanji flirted, unable to help himself anymore, he was wrapped around your finger whether you knew or not. Your cheeks get rosy as you blinked.

“My number?” You asked, a little stunned but raise your eyebrow with a small smile in reply. “4 months of us knowing each other, Sanji, and you just got the courage to ask?”

“Well it felt weird asking you out right, and Zeff warned me against flirting with you, buuut you keep teasing me and now I have to ask,” Sanji admitted, leaning closer to you. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“I'm a tease?” You chuckled and Sanji nodded. “You know, when they said you were a huge flirt and a playboy, I definitely saw it, but man, you can be a mess.”

“Only around you, I don't know why, I'm just smitten by you,” He said with a softened tone and look in his eyes that made you blush. You managed to fumble pulling the pen out of your apron pocket and rolled out some receipt paper and began writing. He had never seen you so flustered unless you messed up an order, one in a blue moon, it was adorable, it made him swoon inside.

“Plus, you're like one of the main things I look forward to coming to work,” he explained, causing you to look up from your writing.

“What's the other main thing?”

“Cooking,” He said plainly.

“Cooking?” You asked, certainly not believing him. “You like cooking that much?”

“Of course! Look, everyone that comes here enjoys their food. Right?”

“Yeah, customers always tell me, always a rave review.”

“I love cooking and seeing the happy smiles on their faces eating my food. To make good food, to not ever let any go to waste, and that no one walks away hungry.” Sanji explained as you looked at him paying attention to every gesture and word he said. You chuckled a little.

“I don't think I've seen or heard anyone be as passionate about cooking as you. You must be amazing at it.” You said, finishing your writing.

“I'll have to cook for you sometime,” Sanji smiled, taking out a cigarette and sticking it between his lips unlit.

“That's what you can use my number for,” You teased, snapping your fingers like the idea just came to you. Sanji happily played along.

“Oh yeah! Just call you to come over and try my cooking! Didn't even cross my mind.” He said.

You pushed the piece of paper over to him and he took it, folded it and put it in his pocket.

“Gotta keep it safe,” he said with a wink. Suddenly the moment was interrupted by Zeff calling for Sanji.

“Sanji! What'd I say about making googly eyes at my barista??” Zeff interrupted thunderously, chucking a ladle at him. Quick reflexes cause Sanji to kick-box it out of the way back towards Zeff.

“I'm not making her uncomfortable, old man! Watch where you throw!’ Sanji shouted back.

“All that kicking doesn't do anything for this kitchen except break up fights!” You then chimed in and said;

“It's fine Zeff, he's not bothering me.” Zeff softened at your comment and nodded, picking up the ladle and pointing it at both of you.

“If he makes you uncomfortable, I'll take care of him,” he said, hobbling back to the kitchen.

“Mmm, you're in trouble now” you teased the blonde cook, who chuckled in reply.

“Well, duty calls, thanks for the coffee!”

“Let me know if you need anything from me!” You waved and Sanji almost swooned at the idea, of course he could always need something from you, just for the excuse of taking your time.

~2 months later~

Sanji awoke to the sound of his phone alerting him that he had a message. Fighting every part of him telling him don’t look, just lay here and try to fall back asleep, he rolled over and picked up his phone anyway. The time of 9:00 am looked back at him. Normally he’d be up at the crack of dawn to get to work for Zeff’s restaurant, but he slept in enough today. It was a message from Zeff with the photo of the menu for next week’s specials attached.

“I'm not even gonna worry about that right now,” he said, putting his phone down and sitting up in bed. “It’s my day off, I'm going to enjoy it.” With that sentiment in mind, he got out of bed and got ready for the day. He pulled on a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, nothing compared to his usual look of dress pants and a crisp button down shirt. As he got dressed the smell of coffee wafted through the air, and he put his phone in his pocket, following the enticing smell into the kitchen. The sight of the kitchen made him smile, sunlight was already creeping through the apartment windows as you stood in the kitchen, pouring espresso into a couple mugs and steaming milk on his espresso machine. He admired your concentration that he'd normally see when you're working. Instead of the regular uniform, you were wearing one of his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up, it was just big enough to pass as a short dress on you. Being as quiet as he could, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. Feeling you standing up straight, he nestled his head into your neck.

“Hey, I didn't know you were awake,” you said, tilting the mug as you made a design out of the milk.

��I didn't hear you get up,” Sanji said, intently watching. He knew how to make latte art, but he liked watching you do it.

“Well, lover boy, it seemed like you needed sleep, so I didn't want to wake you.” You explained as you moved to the second mug.

“You didn't have to make coffee, the restaurant's closed today, we're off,” he teased as you chuckled.

“I'm aware, I just thought you wanted coffee. It's not hard to do, it only took me like, 10 minutes to figure out your machine.” Sanji hummed, planting a kiss on your neck.

“You're all the morning coffee I need, love,” he purred, and you laughed.

“You love sick dork,” you said, turning to face him in his arms, handing Sanji the mug as he broke the hug. “I didn't know you had the same coffee as work.”

“Of course, who do you think told Zeff to get it in the first place?” He asked as you rolled your eyes.

“Should've known.Are you gonna cook for me today?” You asked, looking up at him as you sipped.

“Princess, I'd cook for you, even if you didn’t ask,” Sanji winked, making you smile.

“I can cook too, ya know,” you said and Sanji chuckled.

“You'll have to show me sometime.”

“You have my number,” you teased as he set the mug on the counter and pulled you back in his arms.

“God I love you,” He sighed happily. You set your mug down and put his arms around your arms around his neck.

“I'd hope so! You've texted me everyday for the past couple months, call me over. I'm not sure how a big handsome flirt like you managed to do it.” You chuckled.

“You're no better! Everyday I looked at your sweet face and asked me if I needed anything from you and I could've died on the spot, or said a flirty line! But I braved it.” He laughed.

“I wasn't trying to tease, I was asking! You always came over to talk to me!” You laughed. Sanji just smiled, taking one of his hands and putting a finger under your chin.

“I'm just unworthy of you Princess,” he purred, leaning down and kissing you gently. You happily kissed back, letting your fingers play with the back of his hair. You tasted like coffee, he tasted like cigarettes. He hoisted you up and sat you on the counter, his arms around your waist, your legs around his hips. And as he kissed you, Sanji swore he could die happy, flirting with the cute barista was a million percent worth it.

192 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 months

Text

Love, By Any Other Name

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: You want him. Castiel can’t help but crave you. Dean sees both of you and wishes you’d stop being idiots.

AN: This is my first ever commission! Written for @girlsforpjm, who requested "mutual pining" with Castiel. Here you go, lovely! I sincerely hope you enjoy it. 💜

**Also, this is set during season 12.

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 4,500

Tags/Warnings: Mutual pining, angst, blood and injury, (contains events from 12.12), fluff, some spice, implied smut.

“Achooo!!”

Sam grimaces while he watches you wipe your nose against your bare wrist. You shake your head and frown at the dusty tomes piled high beside you. You and Sam have been organizing the library for two hours now.

“That’s it, I can’t do this anymore,” you lament. “I need a break. My sinuses need a break.”

Sam’s lips twitch at a smile. “It’s okay. I got the rest of these.”

You aim a lazy salute at your friend and continue to sniffle as you leave the library. You circle this labyrinth of a bunker for a while, but you can’t seem to find the trench coat-wearing angel that’s supposed to live here too.

You end up in the garage, where Dean is tuning up his Baby. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, and he’s got a grease stain across his cheek.

“Hey, you seen Cas?” you ask.

Dean barely perks up from under Baby’s hood to answer you. “He went out this morning. Haven’t seen him since.”

You pout at that, leaning against the side of the car near where Dean is tinkering.

“Is it too much to ask for him to leave a note or something?” you mutter.

Dean finally glances over at you. His lips edge at a smirk.

“What, miss your little boyfriend?” he teases.

The insinuation manages to take you by surprise. Your face starts to warm in embarrassment, but you cover it with a scoff.

“You should know. He was your boyfriend first,” you volley back. Dean’s expression flattens in annoyance.

“Don’t you have anything better to do right now?” he snarks.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the “P.” But you have mercy on him.

Instead of pestering him further, you just tip over the screwdriver he had balanced on the car’s frame. He makes a sound of protest as it falls somewhere between the gears inside his precious car.

He barks your name, and his angry voice echoes on the walls to magnify his frustration, but you’re already hastening back into the hall and down to the kitchen, trying to stifle your laughter.

You’ve slipped into the kitchen to escape. Yet that’s where you find the bunker’s resident angel, washing his hands of what looks like breadcrumbs in the sink.

“Hey,” you greet him jovially. He treats you with a small smile. “Where were you?”

“Oh, nowhere really. Just stepped out for a bit,” he replies. You get the sense that he’s hiding something. You smile and step closer to him, leaning a hand on the counter.

“Oh, yeah? Where?” you ask. Your eyes gleam with amusement. “Another ‘mission on high?’”

He sends you a droll look. “No.”

You tug on his sleeve. “Come on. Tell me.”

He smiles in return, and he gives you his own version of teasing.

“Childishness doesn’t become you,” he says.

“I’m just curious. You’ve been gone all day,” you reply, tilting your head. Your stare is unyielding, and familiar; Cas knows how stubborn you can be when you want something—especially information. Sometimes he finds it annoying, but in moments like these, it’s tempered by your playful, endearing smile.

“I was on a walk,” he finally admits.

You raise your brows. “A walk? Cas, it’s winter. Like 20 degrees outside.”

“I enjoy nature,” he shrugs. “The cold doesn’t bother me much anyway.”

…Well, he is an angel. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t feel the frigid weather like a human would. Your brow quirks with another curious thought.

“So you were washing your hands because…?” you ask.

Castiel’s face becomes a little more bashful. “I was feeding the birds some bread.”

At that, your smile grows. Here he is: Castiel, warrior angel of the Lord, Feeder of Pigeons.

“Well, if you ever want a walking companion, I’d be happy to join you,” you offer.

Castiel gives you a certain look, like he doesn’t quite believe you.

Your lips purse. “What?”

He sinks his hands into his pockets as he leans his slightly hunched form back on his heels.

“Nothing,” he claims. “It’s only, I seem to remember you forcing Dean to kill a spider in your room. You claimed, and I quote, bastard things that crawl don’t belong indoors.”

You cross your arms and stare back at him narrowly, even though you try to stifle a smile.

“What’s your point? Everyone’s afraid of spiders,” you reason.

He raises a brow. “You also claim to have a vendetta against birds.”

“Pigeons, Castiel. They’re rats with wings.” Even Dean would agree with you on that one.

Castiel gives you a dubious look, however.

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your supposed love of nature,” he says drolly.

You want to argue more, but Sam enters the room with Dean on his heels. Both men seem to sense they’ve interrupted something. You clear your throat and turn to them.

“What’s up?” you ask, more nonchalant than you feel whenever you’re near the angel beside you. Castiel glances at you, before he too silently addresses Sam and Dean.

“Uh, we’ve caught a case,” Sam says. “It’s not far. Three dead, all with their hearts, and most of their internal organs ripped out.”

“Ech,” you reply with a grimace. “Sounds kind of like a ghoul. Maybe a werewolf on steroids?”

“Well, they were fresh kills, and it’s a full moon. So more than likely we’re looking at werewolves,” he replies.

You smile thinly. “Great.”

You hate werewolves.

Correction: you really hate werewolves.

The thought hits you yet again as you lay on the floor of a dusty old hunting cabin.

The irony.

Dean hefts you in his arms, after slicing his silver blade through the heart of the yellow-eyed bastard that tore you open with his claws.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” you ask, hating how your voice trembles. Dean doesn’t answer you at first. He holds his hand to the oozing gash in your side.

“Nah, you’ll be okay. Just hang in there,” he says. Blood quickly covers his palm. He curses inside his mind.

“Cas!” he calls out roughly.

The angel had been fighting in the other the room with Sam, but after he burns out the eyes of the last werewolf and its body falls to the ground, he hears the undercurrent of alarm in Dean’s shouting. With Sam on his heels, he returns to the living room to find you and Dean.

Castiel’s steps halt in the doorway when he sees you. His face slackens for a moment, but then he hardens. He moves forward swiftly.

“Move,” he says to Dean in order to come to your side. Dean’s eyes widen, but he does as he’s told after laying you down to the floor.

Castiel stares down at your face, offering you comfort with his eyes. You stare up at him in pain, but also with hope, and trust. You’re able to curl your fingers around the edge of his trench coat.

Then he presses his hand to your cheek. He closes his eyes in concentration while he heals you.

Though he expels more power than he should to heal you completely. He knows it when his body sways a little after he’s done. Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady.

“You good?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods; he’s more focused on the way you’re catching your breath. You marvel at how your wounds, your pain, and even your blood is gone—completely washed away. He helps you sit up with an arm wrapping around your shoulders. Then he gathers you tight against him, so he can help you stand as well. He wavers again on his feet, just a little, but you’re too perceptive not to catch it. You realize he did too much to save you.

You still chide at him with a frown. “You didn’t have to use up so much of your energy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Think nothing of it.”

Those are useless words, but you don’t bother arguing with him anymore. You just sigh and hold onto his strong arms while regaining your balance. You know for a fact that you’re blushing when you glance up at him.

Biting your lip, you soon turn away to grab the knife you’d dropped in the fight.

Without you or Cas noticing, Sam and Dean share a knowing glance. It’s subtle, in the way the brothers have perfected. Dean barely curbs a smile as he leads the way back to the car.

You settle next to Cas in the backseat and try not to glance at him too often. You don’t know that he’s trying not to do the same to you.

Dean glances back at you two in the rearview mirror. He shakes his head.

Idiots.

Mary Winchester has been a welcome return to the family…when she’s here. Ever since Amara brought her back, she’s been distant with her sons. You don’t understand it all that well, but it’s not your place to say anything, you don’t think.

You do think Mary is a badass hunter. You just don’t know her that well.

About a week after the werewolf hunt, Mary drops in with Wally, a fellow hunter in need of assistance with a demon problem. You, Sam, Dean, and Castiel are all game. While you haven’t had to deal with demons too much in the past, you know that they’re…something of a specialty for the Winchesters.

But of course, it quickly goes to shit.

The demon lives alone, in some shack by a river where he likes to fish. The group of you wait until he’s stepped out of the house before you go inside and case the place, looking for a good spot to spray a Devil’s Trap or two and try to trap him.

When the demon returns, he’s far stronger than any of you anticipated. The Devil’s Trap breaks with little effort (the demon’s just laughing). Then he flashes yellow eyes. You and Castiel share a look of widening shock. Mary takes a preemptive step back.

And when the kitchen door is about to close on the three of you, the angel pushes you into the next room before you can turn and fight. Sam helps you back onto your feet, though you stare at the door in horror. He and Dean try to break the door down, but it’s no use. It’s supernaturally sealed.

You felt useless standing there. You wrack your brain for a solution, and you glance out one of the windows. Maybe there’s another way into the kitchen!

“Guys! What if we go around?” you suggest.

With that idea taking root in each of you, Sam and Dean follow you outside. Before you guys can even make it around the house, Wally flags you down.

“We’ve got incoming!” he says. And you realize what he means. A group of black-eyed demons are bounding toward the house.

Aw, shit. You’re grateful to have Sam and Dean beside you, because the demons nearly overtake all of you. You manage to hold your own, along with the brothers. Wally isn’t so fortunate. His body hits the floor after his own blade sinks into his chest.

A pit begins to form in your stomach as you scramble toward the Impala. The plan is to catch up with Mary; thanks to Cas, she’d been able to flee the demon strong enough to snap a Devil’s Trap like a cheap trick. But she’d then taken Cas with her to safety.

Now, Dean drives the Impala down the road at breakneck speed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks his mother through the phone. The car is silent enough for you to hear Mary’s reply.

“…No.”

When you step into the barn, the first thing you have to focus on is Cas covered in his own blood. He’s been stabbed by one of the demon’s strange and powerful weapons, and he lies on an old, dingy couch. You hurry to Cas’s side and take in, your face filled with horror, though you try and fail to mask it.

You reach out a hand, but you hesitate to touch him. Suffering is written across his face. He tries to stifle sounds of pain out of habit.

Tears are fresh in your eyes as you look down at him in dismay. You chance laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you heal yourself?” you ask.

“No,” he answers eventually. “I think the demon’s spear was poisoned. I think I’m…”

No, your lower lip trembles as you shake your head.

“No,” you repeat aloud. “You just need time.”

You turn to Dean, who’s approached from behind you. But you quickly turn back to Cas, as if you’ll miss out on precious few moments. Castiel’s furrowed gaze tells you he’d rather not have you see him like this, but you don’t care. There’s no way you’re leaving his side.

The weapon that was able to do this to him was the Lance of Michael, you all discover, when Crowley suddenly appears. He also informs you all that this is no ordinary demon. It’s Ramiel, Prince of Hell. You don’t give a shit about the specifics of how Crowley is wrapped up in this.

All you care about is if there’s a cure to Cas’s wounds. Crowley’s only words of wisdom are to leave the angel behind and run as fast as you can.

He disappears before you can spit at him.

“Cas, how bad is it?” Dean asks, after the King of Hell predictably makes a run for it.

Castiel opened up his shirt collar to reveal a spiderweb of black crackling across his clammy skin, slowly breaking down his vessel.

“Crowley’s right. You should go.”

Your hand tightens on his shoulder. “Cas—”

“No, listen to me,” he says, staring into your eyes. He continues with difficulty. “Look…thank you. Thank you. Knowing you all, it’s been the best part of my life. The things we’ve shared together, they have changed me… You’re my family, and I love you.”

His gaze had fallen on you, making your breath hitch. But his dark blue eyes travel to Sam and Dean next, and even Mary.

“I love all of you.” The angel is the closest to tears and heartbreak that you’ve ever seen him. He struggles to hold himself together, in more ways than one. “Just, please, please don’t make my last moments be spent watching you die. Just run, and save yourselves, and I will hold Ramiel off as long as I can.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes the sentence. Tears pour down your cheeks in silent streams, but you still hold him down when he tries to force his body to sit up. He doesn’t have the strength to resist you encouraging him to lie back down.

Dean voices what you’re all thinking.

No. None of you would cut and run and leave him to die, no matter what Cas says.

“Like you said, we’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”

Ramiel comes for all of you, specifically for his stolen weapon. Killing the rest of you would just be an added bonus.

But while the four of you manage to pin down the demon with holy fire and a good fight, it’s Sam who manages to stab the Prince of Hell with Michael’s Lance, killing him in flash of brilliant light and rendering his body to ash.

Of course, that’s when Crowley arrives once again, late holding his proverbial Starbucks. In this case, what would’ve been a mocha frappe is actually the Lance—and Crowley breaks it in half. It somehow reverses the curse of the blade, and therefore frees Castiel.

He’s able to heal himself back to a full recovery.

But also, rather predictably, Crowley disappears again before you all can recover yourselves.

Sam and Dean help the angel back onto his feet. His clothes are still covered in blood, but his skin is clear and no longer clammy, his eyes no longer bloodshot. He’s shocked to still be alive, and you can barely contain yourself. Tears stream down your face as you surprise him with a hug.

Cas releases an oof, his body wavering just slightly before he plants his feet and wraps his arms around you. His hold tightens around your smaller frame, and he chances resting his chin on the top of your head.

“So…you’re good?” Mary asks incredulously.

Castiel raises his gaze to answer her. “I guess I am.”

You’re quiet for the rest of the drive home. Mary had taken her own car for the hunt, so it leaves you once again in the backseat with Castiel.

He finds your silence perturbing, though he doesn’t have the courage to ask you what’s wrong. Despite his full recovery, you still seem upset somehow.

Part of him wants to reach out to you…but he stops himself. He also reminds himself not to stare at you. Instead, he turns his head back out the window. You felt his gaze on your profile, but you resolve to keep yours stubbornly out of your own window.

The only one who notices the exchange, yet again through the rearview mirror, is Dean. His lips firm into a thoughtful frown.

Home, sweet home, you think wryly when you enter the bunker.

You give into the urge to beeline straight for your room without even turning your head.

Sam and Mary follow suit, which leaves Castiel hesitating in the hall. Dean takes pity on him and claps his shoulder.

“You okay, man?” he asks. Cas is staring after you like a man who’s lost his way.

“She’s…upset,” he replies, both confused and bothered by that fact.

Dean’s lips twitch humorlessly. “Yeah, well, you almost died.”

“Yes,” Cas gives a wry nod. “But she seems upset at me.”

Dean has to smile for real. It’s plain as day what’s on his friend’s mind, and why. Just like it’s obvious as hell (at least to him) why you’re probably “upset.” As always, Dean takes up the role of wingman.

“Why don’t you just go talk to her then?” he suggests.

Castiel hesitates. He’s not sure if he’d be intruding on you. The emotions of human women are foreign to him. They always have been, even when he was human, not so long ago. But he trusts Dean’s advice on these things.

So, he eventually nods. He means to follow you, but Dean stops him for a moment with a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe after you, uh, wash your clothes. Take a shower. Maybe shave a little,” he says, brushing his fingers over his own chin. “But uh, keep a little scruff. Some chicks dig that.”

“Shave my facial hair, but…keep my facial hair?” Cas tries to clarify.

Dean blinks at his friend. Christ.

“Okay, look, just clean yourself up,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

With one last clap on the back, Dean disappears down the hall to his room. It leaves Castiel feeling somewhat unbalanced, but he treks the other way.

Normally he would restore his clothes with his powers, but he’d used up his reserves just to heal himself. There was a time when his connection to heaven was enough to do more than heal his own injuries. Now, however, both he and heaven itself are in a lesser state.

Shaking his head, he goes down to the laundry room. He still remembers how to wash his own clothing.

He unintentionally finds you there in the laundry room. You’ve peeled away your jacket that had been stained with his blood, and you’re tossing it into the machine. It leaves you in a thin shirt and jeans.

Castiel finds himself admiring your form; the familiar curve of your face, the shade of your hair, the outline of your bra through your shirt (which he tries not to notice), and the other curves that he has to often felt guilty for tracing with his eyes…and imagining with his hands.

You look up when he enters the room.

He knocks himself out of his thoughts and freezes, a bit uncertain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers.

You just shake your head. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes roam over him then, from head to toe. It makes his face feel a bit warm.

“You want me to throw that coat in with mine?” you ask, pointing over to him. Cas examines his bloody trench coat.

“I’m not sure there’s any saving it, but we can try,” he says. He peels off the coat and allows you to throw it into the watching machine along with your bloody clothing.

“Your shirt’s white, so you should wash that separately,” you advise.

“I know,” he says, with a faint smile. “I, uh, I remember.”

You begin to regain some of your normal self, glancing at him with more warmth in your eyes.

“Do you ever miss being human?” you ask. Cas draws closer to you. He rests a hand near yours, where you lean on the dryer.

“There were some enjoyable aspects. Food, in particular,” he admits. “Now if I try to take a bite of a sandwich, it’s just…molecules, really.”

You wince in sympathy. “God, I don’t know how I could go through life without being able to enjoy another Snickers bar.”

He nods in agreement. He remembers chocolate well.

“But it wasn’t just the taste. It was the feeling of satiety. Sometimes, being uncomfortably full was quite satisfying,” he says. That makes you smile.

But it soon drops when you take in the disgusting state of his shirt. Unbidden, it reminds you of every horrific thing that happened tonight. You really can’t bear it.

“Okay, give me that,” you gesture at the shirt.

You start to unbutton it before he’s really ready for you, but he tries to get over his embarrassment by removing his tie. Meanwhile, you undo the buttons of his shirt while trying not to think too hard about what you’re really doing as you start to see flashes of his skin, from chest to sternum.

He takes a peek at your face.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

Your brows are furrowed, but this time more in confusion when you look up at him.

“No. Why?”

Cas’s brows furrow. “It feels like you’re angry…at me.”

The hasty motions of your hands calm at that. You consider him with a frown. Maybe you are a little upset at him. It’s not really fair, you know, but it’s how you feel. You blow out a sigh.

“I just… After everything we’ve been through, everything you’ve done for us, how could you think for one second that we would leave you there alone? Alone to die?” you ask. It renders Castiel a bit stunned into silence.

Your grip tightens on the now open edges of his shirt.

“Look, that situation was bad enough. But if you ever try to push me away like that again…”

You’re unable to finish that thought. You become waylaid by your own tears as emotion clogs your throat and threatens to choke you.

Castiel raises a hand to touch your face, tentatively at first, then more comforting. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, catching the tears there.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” he confesses. “I was trying to save you…because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, even as I lay dying.”

You hold onto his hand. Biting your lower lip, you find enough courage to meet his eyes. They’ve lowered to your lips, you realize, though maybe Cas doesn’t. He seems a bit surprised when you lean up towards him.

You go more slowly. Your hand falls on his warm chest. For God’s sake, do something, you tell yourself.

You don’t know if he can pick up on your thoughts as well with your bodies touching this close, but he seems to have an internal battle of his own. You each make a decision at the same time.

It has you leaning up the rest of the way, and Castiel bending down to meet your kiss.

He gathers you closer; one hand finds its way into your tangled hair, while the other grasps your hip and brings you flush against him. Your hands move up his chest and wind around his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his lips claim yours, over and over with increasing urgency.

He turns you in his arms and hefts you up onto the dryer machine. There he gets even more leverage to kiss you the way he has secretly imagined, to touch you the way he’s too often craved, with his hands warming up and down your thighs.

You utter a moan of longing as you hold his face. You like the scrape of his stubble against your palms. You can almost imagine that delightful tingling against otherplaces down your body. Places you’d like him to explore when you have more privacy…

Or maybe here is privacy enough.

You alternatively tangle and tug your fingers through his hair. And it’s his turn to moan when you take his lower lip between your teeth, scraping just hard enough to be both painful and delightful.

He squeezes your thighs in retaliation. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him even closer. Your dirty boots cross behind his back.

But soon, his touch gentles, more tender than demanding as he slows the kiss. His lips veer from yours and burn a path across your jawline, down the smooth column of your neck.

It allows you to catch your breath, but the feeling of his gentle lips and rough cheek just turns you on even more. You card your fingers through his hair and close your eyes.

“Cas,” you breathe in content.

He hesitates, with his lips on your neck. “Yes?”

You blink for a moment, but then you have to giggle. You twine your arms around his neck and hold him close.

“Nothing,” you reply. Your smile says it all though. Cas sees it when he pulls away a bit, turning his gaze back to you. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t think feelings such as this…desires like this, would affect me after I became an angel again.”

Your smile brightens, even as you blush. “Does that make me special?”

“Yes,” he replies, with a soft smile. “But for many more, and far better reasons than that.”

Your eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. You bite the edge of your lower lip, but Cas’s thumb swiping across encourages you to release it.

“When you said that you loved me,” you say, a little shakily, “did you just mean…in the family sense?”

Castiel meets your eyes, and there he finds his courage.

“Yes,” he says. “And no.”

With another one of those smiles he’s come to love, you bring him back in for a kiss. All too soon, it becomes hungrier, rougher, born of passion and secret desires finally spilling free.

“Wait,” you pant against his lips, taking his hands in yours. “Come with me.”

Anywhere, his heart says.

But after you jump down from the dryer, you tug him by the hand out of the laundry room. After a quick scan of the hallway, you give him a playful little smile and lead him down to your room.

Castiel can’t help but smile in return. He follows your lead in more ways than one when the door to your bedroom shuts behind you both.

You help him shrug off his tattered shirt, and he helps you out of yours next, followed swiftly by the belt buckle on his slacks.

In that moment, and many moments after, you’re grateful for door locks. You just hope the Winchesters aren’t dumb enough to interrupt what you have planned next for your angel…

Because it might just take all night.

AN: I haven't written for Castiel in a long time, but I had fun with this. 🥰 I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think. 😘

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