#this is was so much more than I planned on writing-

[randombush3]

love's gonna get you killed

alexia putellas x reader

summary: alexia is older, wiser, and trying to make you the best. in doing so, she loses sight of more important things.

words: 5.4k

warnings: it’s a little bit toxic and there’s an age gap

notes: the request for this can be found here. genuinely never flinched more when writing something and this is only the beginning... NEW TRILOGY TIMEEEE

p.s. it's set in two timelines and i hope you clock otherwise this will not make sense

then again, this could've been a fever dream over the past few days soooo

Morning. 

Like dawn; like the freshness of dew on the grass and a light breeze. A thousand suns and the bluest of skies. 

How do you even begin to describe it? 

A spark? 

Yes. It starts with a spark. 

Barcelona play Levante. An away match for the former, but hardly a challenge. Tough games are increasingly difficult to come by with the depth of their squad (and the failings of their league), but Alexia doesn’t mind too much. The break is welcomed with open arms, and she loves nothing more than to crush her opponent. 

She is merciless, but she is never unkind. 

The goals come flowing like an unstoppable river; white-water rapids tearing up the shitty pitch and obliterating the Levante players. Alexia runs to stay afloat, to further prove the excellence of the club she adores, and her buoyancy is mimicked by those of equal skill. 

Weirdly, an intruder survives the flood. 

What was struck off as a clean sheet is flipped on its head; tainted, stained. 

One goal. 

One magic boot, one hero. 

One player saves Levante from losing four to nil. 

The small-ish crowd wildly shouts your name, well-acquainted with screaming those syllables after seeing the swoosh of the white net and the step towards victory. 

Alexia’s eyebrows furrow, although she knows they are not going to lose. It’s frustrating for her, having failed to apprehend a pass somewhere down the line that had connected and connected until it found your feet and soared home. In her head, clouded with pride, it makes no sense. 

Who the fuck thinks they can score against the greatest club in the world? 

(Maybe, thinking about it now, Alexia is a little unkind.) 

The rallying war-cry that she roars catches your smug attention. You’re glad she thinks you’re a threat, even if your team is technically being thrashed.

Somehow, Alexia assigns herself to mark you. The fluidity of Barcelona’s formation allows for the defence to press higher than their manager’s instructions, and, as you are clearly the best Levante has, you are all over the ball; drawn deeper into the action. You almost forget the definition of ‘striker’, too engaged in the midfield. 

You’ll be bollocked for it later, you think when there’s a brief reprieve, the ball rolling out of play for a Barcelona throw-in. You look at the gap you have left in the front line and the chaos you have caused in the midfield, and you try to convince yourself to return to the game-plan. But then there’s Alexia Putellas, her hand pressed against your back, fingers gripping your shirt to stop you from intercepting the bouncing ball as it hurtles towards one of her own. 

Alexia Putellas has a decisive grip on you. She pulls you back, and she makes it seem easy. 

You take one look at her expression, jaw clenched as she concentrates on ripping your team to shreds, and feel the need to roll your eyes.

Her determination to embarrass you is admirable enough. It’s clear that Alexia can’t handle losing in any capacity. It’s clear that she cares. 

She is worried, and that is obvious too. 

She doesn’t let you get very far from her, despite the shouts for extra coverage down the middle. Alexia is clever when it comes to football, and she can smell talent like a blood-thirsty shark. Preoccupying herself with defending meaningless passes that only wind the clock down would be useless; it will always be useless when you are on the pitch. 

Because you’re good. Really good. Young, fresh, talented, and just what the Barcelona squad might need. 

The ball comes to your feet and she is ready to quell the threat. She faces you, her closed defending designed to make you feel caged. However, when the ball slips between her open legs, she is left to catch smoke in the wind, and, though it’s at her own expense, she is impressed. 

Just like that, something ignites. 

...

Alexia wakes up with a low, determined groan. Her alarm is loud and you begin to move in your sleep, distressed by its intense, relentless mission to rouse the entire world. Alexia doesn’t care if you want to sleep in. She thinks you should be foaming at the mouth to train with her today. 

It’s the day after the latest league match. 

Together, Alexia and you scored three shared goals. The connection on the pitch is undeniable, and has been since Barcelona leapt at the chance to sign you at the start of last season. 

She’s an impactful player and is lethal when her passes are fired towards you. 

Days like these are tests. You hear the alarm and know you are waking up beside your captain, not your girlfriend. 

The alarm might as well signify the start of another trial; another exam. Do you want to be good, or the best? Do you know that talent is not everything? 

Whenever the questions appear, more in her eyes than on her sharp tongue, you hold back your remark. It’s the same every time. 

Maybe I don’t want to be the best, Alexia.

Maybe I have more talent than you, Alexia.

Captain Alexia Putellas is easier to shout at than the woman you love. 

...

Levante loses but you do not seem disheartened; you’re only twenty, and there will be many more matches to win in the future. 

You wipe the sweat from your brow, laughing at how some of the Barcelona players grimace as you hold out the same hand for them to shake. They are mostly the younger ones; those you know from the national team. 

They ask you whether you’re going to celebrate your goal later. There’s no real reputation of partying attached to your name, but there is a certain standard that comes with being a young and bright star. Kick-off was early, and it would be a good day to explore Valencia’s nightlife. 

“I’m going home tonight,” you explain pointedly, just to stop them from further taking the piss. 

“No way.” 

“Yeah, we’re having dinner.” 

“You and your family are–?” 

“I’m trying to move past it,” you reply. It’s curt and a clear end to the conversation. The crowd of players disperses soon after and you are following the victors back to Barcelona before you know it. 

A sleek, black car picks you up from the station with more than the necessary fanfare. The driver’s window rolls down, revealing an unfamiliar face; dark sunglasses, starch-ironed shirt. 

“You’re new,” you mutter to the driver as you slide into the backseat. He remains silent. “Where did the last one go? It hasn’t been that long.” He couldn’t have died or anything, you’re sure of it. 

It has only been, what, four years since you were last here? 

Your parents divorced when you were seven. Like most cases, you were caught in the crossfire, but that was hardly traumatic enough. 

They were liberal and believed in your emotional capacity with slightly more vigour than it deserved. They told you all the gory details: who slept with whom; who should go to Hell. 

The most gruesome part was the debate about who should keep you. It was a bloody battle, but not a choice a seven-year-old was able to make. And your father, the pathetic man he had become, bowed out after a month, fucking right off to Munich with a new job and bitterness in his heart that led him to vow to never, ever be in contact with you again. He lost and he chose to keep on losing. 

Fatherless, it was easy to attach yourself to the man your mother began to rebuild her life with. He was caring and he made your spiralling mother happier, funding lavish shopping trips and holidays. 

You moved into his house in the most affluent part of Barcelona – that was home, even if it didn’t quite feel like it. 

But you grew older, and so did the wonderfully in-love couple. Your father’s nose moulded itself onto your face, and his eyes grew more prominent whenever your mother tried to converse with you. It haunted her, your likeness, and it was unsettling to the man who wanted a family of his own. 

There was an easy route to rid themselves of you: boarding school in the US. You cried, riddled with homesickness, every night for months, while they procreated as though they had no pre-existing child. Soon came twins; a mix of their own, a family of their own. 

So they became four, and, at sixteen, you became one; emancipated and ready to train in the Wolfsburg academy, having progressed quite well through the years at school (earning your call-up to Spain’s youth teams, winning a few medals, showing off what you considered the talent that made your existence worthwhile – the usual). 

“Hi,” you say as the door to the mansion swings open. The marble floors are vaguely familiar, but the two boys peering at you behind the housekeeper are not. “Is, um, dinner ready yet?” 

...

With the alarm still blaring, Alexia runs a warm hand down your bare back, calloused fingers pressing into the divot of your spine. It is always like this with her: one thing said by her actions, another by her mouth. The nature of the message flips and switches as she pleases, but she never seems to be entirely able to make up her mind. 

You sigh into the pillow, burnt by the flames left in the wake of her touch. “I’m tired.” The sound is muffled but clear enough to slowly tick down the seconds until the bomb explodes. “I’m tired from last night, Ale. From the match and, you know…” 

She shuts the alarm off. It’s an hour earlier than what it needs to be, but once upon a time, there was a reason for that. 

You catch a glimpse of the past behind your closed eyes as you feel her weight shift on the bed, legs straddling your hips as the sheets are pulled down to expose more of your bare skin. Her hands traverse your body, pressing into the muscles of your back with too much pressure and none at all. She is a lead weight and she is a ghost. 

She is full of contradictions. 

“You need to come with me today.” She grazes over a purpling bruise, inflicted by her own ravenous mouth. You hiss in pain, but it is forgotten the minute her lips kiss the crime scene with something almost apologetic. 

“Baby, I’m too tired to train.” 

“Your passes were sloppy.” Kisses trail across the backs of your shoulders, the base of your neck, the middle of a canvas she wants nothing more than to wreck over and over again. “And you were lucky to scrape your goal.” Her teeth sink into your flesh experimentally; the sharp pain gone before you begin to process it. “It was a beautiful goal, though. You looked beautiful scoring it.” 

You groan, your body arching involuntarily into her touch, pulled in by something stronger than your will. Alexia is intoxicating; Alexia clouds your mind. “I missed that shot,” she continues, dangerously close to anger. “Your fault.” 

“How was it–” You whimper as she targets the knots in your back. “How was it my… my fault?” 

Her fingers dig into the tightness of your muscles, unaffected by how you tense beneath her. They are sore, but it is more than that. 

Alexia has trapped you, and you are at her mercy. 

It sends shivers down your spine. 

“Because,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, “I was too busy watching you. You’re such a fucking distraction, you know.” 

“Ale…” 

Her laughter is musical but plays a haunting melody that prickles the hairs at the back of your neck. “Don’t be so desperate,” she purrs, her hands roaming lower with a searing heat behind them. “I missed a hattrick because of you, and it was pathetic.” 

You whine. 

“Tell me what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

Your breath hitches, the words caught in your throat. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how to unravel you piece by piece until you’re begging for her. 

She loves it when you beg. 

“I…” You’re not a stranger to demanding things. You’re not pathetic, you’re not. “You. I need you.” 

“Good girl,” she murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that sears your skin. Her hand slips lower, teasing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, making you gasp. “But you have to earn it. You can’t afford to make the mistakes you made yesterday again.” 

You’re no longer listening. It’s not what you want to hear.

...

Unwelcome is the word that first springs to mind.

There is a long, mahogany trench table set, looking unnatural with the five places that throw the balance off. As though to emphasise your differences, you are ushered to the head of the table by the housekeeper, your half-brothers hesitating at the open doorway of the dining room, almost afraid to be alone with you. 

You remember being told your mother had given birth by the housemistress at school. She’d offered to see if you could get on a flight home, but no request for your presence had come; the hint had been received loud and clear. 

If they didn’t want you, you didn’t want them. 

But you don’t miss the shirt one of the boys is wearing. 

“Where’d you get that?” you ask curiously, encouraging them to approach with a tight-lipped smile. The one dressed in a Levante shirt looks at the other. 

“It’s his,” they say at the same time. It’s a little creepy. 

“Papa wouldn’t let us get your name, but that’s what we wanted.” 

“You guys like football?” you ask, forcing a casual tone. 

They nod enthusiastically, thumbs poking into their chests as they state their positions and opinionated ranking on the local team. “We get our teammates to watch your highlights. We’re gonna see you at Barça next season!” 

“How do you know I’m going to Barça next season?” you tease. “Because I didn’t even know that.” 

“Papi’s friends with Sr. Laporta, tonta.” Frowning, you grow less amused of the tidbit. Maybe your stepfather feels guilty. Maybe he wants to give your career an unnecessary helping hand. But you’d rather be sent into the Queen’s League than sign because of your connections.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, you lean back in the chair, trying to ease the stiffness in your shoulders. The eyes of your half-brothers flicker between you and the table. You’re a stranger to them, and their apprehension is understandable. It stings, but it isn’t your fault. 

The housekeeper returns, clearing her throat to interrupt the stilted silence. “Dinner will be served shortly,” she announces, her eyes avoiding yours. You scrutinise her, trying to remember whether she was there when you were first sent away. Is she new? “Boys, why don’t you fetch your father from his study?” 

Emboldened by the prospect of their escape, the one in a Levante shirt steps forward. “Can we play after dinner?” 

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts. "Boys, give your sister some space." They are scurrying away in an instant. 

You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway, her expression stern. There's an awkward pause as she takes a seat at the other end of the table, her eyes never meeting yours.

"Good to see you," she says, her tone clipped. You nod, acknowledging her presence without offering a response. “I was surprised to hear you were coming. Have you run out of money?” 

“I have money.” 

"Then why now?" she presses, her eyes still avoiding yours. The question hangs in the air as you take your time to answer it. Past arguments seep into the room, and, despite the large windows and high ceilings, you feel trapped. 

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to see my family," you say, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. 

Your mother's lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something kind. But instead, she shifts her gaze to the polished surface of the table. "Well, here we are," she says, her tone flat.

...

There is something about the soft way Alexia cares for you that keeps you by her side. She’s not a bad person, and she is sorry when she is mean. You can be worse, so, really whose fault is it? Sometimes you provoke her. 

None of that matters now, though. Not in the airy space after sex and before the world begins to turn again. The sun is beginning to rise now, bathing the room in fresh light that must unsettle your girlfriend. She is trying to calm herself down, lying beside you to regain her strength before she will haul you both up. 

If you hadn’t wanted to train, you should never have spoken this morning. 

Your fingers draw lazy patterns on her stomach, nails grazing up and down tanned skin as you trace out words you cannot bring yourself to say. In this moment, everything feels perfect. You’re not sure whether your mind is still clouded with desire, but you have to close your eyes to stop tears from falling. 

“I love you,” you whisper, voice barely audible. 

“I love you too,” she replies.

It’s easy to say it because it’s true. 

It’s true because Alexia has been there for you like no one else. 

Your whole life has felt like a terminal at an airport. Everyone around you has their own emotions about their own adventures, and the crowd rushes to various gates – various destinations – with urgency you have never sought, nor found. You often stand in the middle of the bustling, bumbling mass of people, head in your hands, wondering why they seem to know where life is taking them. 

When you signed for Barcelona, it was a surprise. You hadn’t believed your little brothers when they had let it slip, and you were certain your worth was going to be exploited in another league – maybe you’d go back to Wolfsburg, maybe you’d explore abroad. Maybe your mother sending you away was a good thing, because it proved that Spain wasn’t your home. 

Sure, you held the passport and spoke the languages, but… but maybe you didn’t belong. 

Then came Alexia, who told you the opposite of what you were starting to live by. 

Alexia – older, wiser, with a clear head on her shoulders and a drive like no other – wanted you to stay, wished you’d see yourself for what was so clearly in front of her eyes. You knew you were talented, but she knew you could be the best. 

Just like she was. 

Because Alexia was aware of the intricacies of ageing, of how experience was not going to be her saviour in the very end. She was focused on a legacy: her brilliance would live on in you. 

She loved you for it. 

She loves you still. 

You can feel her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Dawn casts shadows across Alexia’s features, hiding the dark circles under her eyes in a bath of dim grey. She smiles, and the tenderness in her gaze is reserved for you, reserved for moments like these. She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek gently. 

“We should get up,” she murmurs. 

You nod, knowing she’s right. Alexia is always right; you’ve learnt that over the years you have been together. “Just a few more minutes,” you mumble back anyway. 

Hands slide over your waist, pulling you into her body. Her laugh is quiet and giggly, full of love and fondness for a sentence she had predicted you’d say. “Okay,” she agrees. “So we’ll do three hours today, not two. Yeah?” 

...

The dinner doesn’t last very long for you, although that may be because you make it painfully clear you want to leave after the first course. Your stepfather catches on – you question if he had been hoping for this – and jumps at the chance to drive you to a high-end restaurant in central Barcelona that he is sure you will enjoy. 

He knows the chef, he says. He’ll wave money in your face and pretend that it makes these things forgivable. 

You’re hardly arguing though, so there’s not much room for complaint. 

The restaurant welcomes you into the cocktail bar, having awaited your arrival after being enticed by the name of the credit card attached to the tab. Your stepfather is well-known around these parts, and although the notion of a fifth member of his perfect family has been obscured for a long time, there is a shared surname between you and your little brothers that offers you half a place in this small shroud of gente rica. 

Sitting alone at the bar, you order a martini. The glass is cold against your fingertips, and a shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of the busy restaurant. It’s loud here, with every table full of happy, wealthy patrons who do both business and pleasure all at once, but you feel distant, disconnected. 

You don’t belong here. 

It’s a struggle of yours. 

You never seem to belong anywhere; always an afterthought, always an add-on. 

There is no space that is moulded to fit your body, no path that has been carved out solely for you. (Or, if there is, it is really fucking hard to find.) 

Football is sort of your thing, but the whole nature of professional sport is to fight hard so you don’t get replaced – therefore implying that no one is inherently one-of-a-kind. 

Sometimes, you convince yourself that that isn’t what you want, but that is a lie. Everyone wants to be unique. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are. 

A tap on your shoulder pulls you out of your self-damning thoughts. 

“Are you alone?” 

You turn to find Alexia Putellas standing beside you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. It seems she is more surprised to see you here than you are to see her, but she swallows her comment to look you up and down. 

Her scrutiny is intimidating. Maybe that is how you are supposed to feel, maybe that is what she wants. After all, the intensity of the match still lingers in your aching muscles, and seeing her now, out of the context of football kits and harsh tackles, is almost surreal. 

“Alexia, hi,” you say, forcing a smile. 

She repeats her question firmly, concern knitting her brows together. She’s wearing makeup, but you decide she doesn’t need it. 

Alexia is really pretty. You get lost on your way to answer her. 

She places a hand on the same shoulder she tapped, unaware of how your skin sizzles because of her touch, fearing you will run away from her. You have a skittish look about you, she’s noticed, and, for some reason, she wants you to stay put. 

“Come, sit.” Her hand waves in the direction of her table, filled with women around her age who must be her friends. A part of you finds it unfair that Alexia appears to have friends because someone once said sacrifices are the bricks that pave the way to success, but you put it out of mind to deal with politely declining her invitation.

Your hesitation only seems to spur her on, however. 

“You remind me of me, you know.” Your martini glass is empty, and her nose wrinkles with disapproval. 

“I do?” you ask, interested in what similarity she is going to draw between you. 

She holds up two fingers to the bartender, mouthing her order with a small smirk, before looking down at you from where she stands and you sit, inspecting your face. Her fingers gently wrap around your chin, and she tilts your head upwards. “You have that look in your eyes.” 

Laughter rings out from her table, followed quickly by calls for her to return to her meal. She ignores the noise, focused entirely on you. 

Alexia tries to suppress her thoughts of how beautiful you look – how ruggedly captivating, how… enticing – and she is sure she is successful. 

Until you lick your lips and ask her to elaborate. 

She is silent for a moment. 

It’s the first time someone has made you feel like nothing and everything all at once; like the brightest star in the galaxy, like an unused lump of clay. Like you are both wondrous and plain. Exceptional and just like everyone else. 

Alexia’s and… not. 

You are completely at her mercy. 

You agree to join her and her friends for dinner. 

As you approach the table, the group welcomes you with warm smiles and a polite interest in who you are. Alexia’s introduction makes you blush as she details your goal and the success attributed to you at such a young age (she emphasises that part for her own conscience), and it is only a moment before you settle into an empty seat beside her, somehow put at ease. 

The conversation resumes its flow, light and lively, but Alexia is distracted from the discussion of their next holiday. She has questions, many of them, and she figures you are detached from the Catalan they speak in and are silently begging for a language you do understand. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Alexia murmurs in Spanish, leaning in a bit closer. “Figured you’d, you know, be licking your wounds in Valencia.” 

Two drinks are delivered to your table; one for you, one for Alexia. She watches your lips as they part to take a sip, pinching her own thigh when she catches herself. 

“I used to play for Levante,” she continues as you stoically nurse your drink. “When I was younger, Barça sent me off to get some experience. They called me back soon enough.” 

“I never played for Barça.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, more so for your assumption of her assumption than anything else. You notice her expression. You laugh and Alexia finds she’s quite a fan of that sound. “I’m from Barcelona, Alexia. I speak Catalan and everything.” 

“You don’t sound–” 

“My stepfather has a house in Sarrià and told me to fuck off to boarding school when I was younger. So I went to America and I had to do Spanish classes, and ‘cause I’d renounced my family, it was like learning Castellano all over again.” 

“Like a madrileña,” Alexia finishes off, amused. “Boarding school, eh?” 

“Lost my parents, lost my accent. Childhood of dreams,” you respond sarcastically. “I’ve just come from a family dinner, actually. I left after the starter because… well, it fucking sucked seeing my mother pretend–” You hold your tongue, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump it all on you. The martini’s loosened my lips.” 

Your laugh this time is self-deprecating and a little painful to hear. Alexia shakes her head and is about to encourage you to carry on, when she catches the heat rising to your cheeks and wonders whether that would be for the best. Instead, she thinks you might prefer to hear something else. “How about another drink after you’re done with that?” 

The rest of the night is a blur. 

Alexia is torn between wanting to impress you and wanting to protect you. She doesn’t know which to follow: the reasonable responsibility drilled into her head, captain of Barcelona, captain of Spain… or the pulse between her legs that grows stronger every time her gaze falls to the low-cut top you’re wearing. It’s this desire that must destroy her judgement, and, after you have insisted on paying for the meal with your stepfather’s credit card, Alexia finds herself having to text the younger girls at Barça to see if any of them can come get you. 

Pina’s busy, Cata’s out with her friends, and Jana claims she’s emetophobic. 

Briefly, Alexia wonders if she imagined you being friends with any of them, but, at the end of the day (or beginning – as it is rapidly approaching tomorrow), she really does have to take you somewhere. She won’t let your half-catatonic body lie on the streets of Barcelona, and so she hauls you into a taxi and waves goodbye to her friends. 

“Interesting recruitment method for the B team,” jokes one of them as they disperse. “Wait, sorry. You waxed lyrical about her tonight enough for me to know that she’d be on the first team with you.” 

“Her contract must be in the works,” Alexia agrees, choosing to ignore the saccharine tone such a compliment was voiced with. “I swear, she’s going to be the best.” 

You’re not paying attention to any of this, of course, too busy pressing your hand against the glass of the taxi’s window, giggling every time you imprint the shape of your palm. “Alexia!” you call out, wanting her to share your enjoyment. “Alexia, look!” 

She turns to look at you, her stern expression softening when she sees how your eyes have lit up. She can’t help but smile at the innocence of your little game, and if the taxi driver raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, Alexia chooses not to notice. 

“Very impressive,” she says, cringing at how she sounds like she is soothing a child. You seem even younger now, especially when your ears perk up as she speaks in Catalan, a picture of something you confessed to have lost years ago. 

It’s a horrible conflict to have brewing inside of her, and she shakes her head, trying to clear it. Her composure becomes harder to maintain with you being pressed up against her in the backseat, but all thoughts she has are thrown into a deep, dark ditch that she decides to deal with at a later date. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice slurred and eyes wide with curiosity.

“My place,” comes the simple reply. It’s the only option left. She knows she can make sure you’re safe, and, besides, the idea of you at her place feels comforting, as though it were not supposed to be any other way.

When the taxi finally pulls up outside her apartment building, Alexia pays the driver and helps you out of the car. You falter like a newborn foal learning to walk, and she encourages you to lean heavily on her so that the journey inside will be quicker. The walk to her door feels longer, and each step is tentative as she continues to debate her decision. 

But she’s going to care for you. That’s all. 

You marvel at her apartment, which shocks her after she has learnt about your childhood, but she takes the compliment and guides you to her bedroom under the guise of giving you a ‘tour’. The spare bedroom is unusable, seeing as the bed has become the latest storage cupboard for her boxes of awards and PR packages, so, again, this is the only option. 

You collapse unceremoniously onto her mattress with a loud sigh. 

Alexia stands there for a moment, watching as you settle into her bed. As much as responsibility and protectiveness hangs over her head, she also feels something much deeper inside of her beginning to swirl into a storm. She’s not ready to acknowledge it yet. 

Taking a deep breath, she glances at you once more. “You need to rest.” Her voice carries the authority of the woman she is; a woman who is much older and wiser and who has more power than ethical to be feeling any kind of attraction towards you. Her hand hovers over you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. The warmth of your skin under her fingertips sends a jolt through her, but she quickly pulls her hand back, focusing on her current task.

“Thanks, Alexia,” you mumble, already half-asleep. 

After that close-call, she rights herself, looking around her room for a moment before heading to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. She places it on the bedside table, knowing you'll need it in the morning, not wanting to wake you up to drink it now. She then finds a spare blanket and a pillow, setting up a makeshift bed for herself on the sofa in the living room.

Exhausted from the day, she expects to fall asleep quickly, but she is tortured by the same question, over and over again. 

How the fuck did she get here? 

#this one might be build up #it may get worse #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?��� Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

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#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel x you

[chunghasweetie]

𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x dealer!jjk

— summary | always giving out free shit to his favorite customer

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

smut, bickering, cussing, drugs🍃, plug jk, dirty talk, belittling, pussy eating, protected sex, porn making, friends with benefits(?), etc

— word count | 2.09k words

— song suggestion | everyday — ariana grande

“I can’t believe this man is really out here waiting outside like this.” Y/n groaned to herself.

She was meeting him once again for pre rolls, some dispos, and enough weed for her and her best friend.

Usually for anyone else it would be a bit strange for a plug to show up at their front door but Jungkook seemed very comfortable doing so.

Unluckily for her, she was very close to the plug.

He had been pulling up to her place everytime she wanted something. And he was more than happy to do it.

She was wearing a pink low cut top with a matching mini skirt. Her makeup was done up nice and her hair was curled to perfection.

She didn’t have much plans for the day. However, knowing that she was ordering from Jungkook, she knew she had to look somewhat presentable.

It’s not like she had to try too hard, she was gorgeous naturally. She had a body people would kill for and a face many would pay to even resemble.

“Hey mama.” The man bit his lip, checking her out at the doorstep.

“I don’t see anything.” Y/n looked at both of his hands and his front pockets. “Jungkook I swear if—“

“You’re already bugging.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. “I have it. A ‘hey’ would’ve been nice.” He stepped into her home.

“And it would’ve been nice to ask to come in.” She shut the door behind him.

“You’re so so pretty but your mouth—“ He exhaled. “You’re annoying.”

“Yet I’m your favoriteee customer.” She teased.

“Hell no. You’re not my favorite.” He shook his head, walking over to her counter, tossing everything he brought on there.

“Oh really?” She cocked her eyebrow. “You’re such a liar.”

“Psh- Why would I lie?” He looked over at her. “You’re honestly my least favorite.”

She could laugh. “Least favorite?”

“You heard me mama.” He shook his head. “You’re so annoying, rude, and you don’t even pay me.”

“I don’t pay you because you’re always tryna fuck.” She rolled her eyes at his insults.

“Trying to?” He laughed. “You act like I’m not successful every time.”

Wasn’t a lie. He was even laying it down when she didn’t order from him.

“You’re so annoying.” She groaned.

“I’m annoying? You texted me to drop off your shit and gave me attitude the second I came in!” He argued.

Also true.

That was their dynamic. Always having petty arguments as their way of flirting with each other. It was annoying but also very entertaining for the both of them.

“Oh my gosh. You’re already starting something.” She shook her head. “Go fucking change so we can watch a movie.”

“No way.” Jungkook fake gasped, touching his heart. “You’re letting me spend the night again mama? I’m so honored!”

“I hate you.”

༊—

“No way.” Jungkook’s jaw dropped at the sight of the scene on TV.

Jungkook and Y/n had been sharing a blunt on her couch and were heavily tuned into That 70s Show.

They had been watching the show together since the beginning of him coming over.

The two were cuddled up, Y/n stroking his hair as they watched the show.

It was the scene in which Jackie and Hyde had been secretly hooking up over the summer, and no one was as shocked as Jungkook.

Y/n had watched the series more than once, and seeing Jungkook’s reaction had her weak with laughter.

“That was so unexpected.” He announced. “But honestly, I’ve been thinking they looked good together.”

“Told you.” She shook her head.

“You didn’t tell me shit!” He turned over to her.

“Whatever.” She took another hit of the shared blunt.

“Pass it to me.”

“No.”

“Damnit woman.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re so fucking irritating but you’re so hot.”

“Awe. You’re such a sweetheart.” She answered sarcastically.

“Keep fucking playing with me.” He stared her down. “Been giving me attitude all night. I’ll straighten that out so fast.”

“The fuck you will.” She replied with an attitude once again.

“Oh wow.” Jungkook turned his attention to the TV, chuckling to himself.

“Okay.” He rubbed behind his neck. “Put the blunt down.”

“But—“

“I said put it down. You got your high. Just being greedy.”

She obeyed him after noticing his demanding tone of voice. He grabbed her remote, turning up the TV.

“Kiss me baby” He leaned in, easily earning a kiss from her.

“Pretty lips.” He pulled away before grabbing the back of her neck with his tattooed hand, crashing her lips back onto his.

She kissed him back willfully, smacking her lips repeatedly against his.

“So pretty.” He mumbled against them. “But that mouth is disgusting. Gotta fix that.”

He spit in her mouth, going back in and kissing her more aggressively.

Moving the couch pillow behind her head, he laid her down on the furniture.

He slid up her skirt, moving her panties to the side with his teeth.

“Not even apologizing,” He made a ‘tsk’ sound with his mouth. “I got some for you.”

He used his left hand to grab onto her breast, and used his right hand to hold her hips down.

His face was immediately hovering her cunt. His mouth was already watering at the sight, spitting and drooling on it.

Although it made her feel good, eating pussy was one of Jungkook’s main sources of pleasure.

Especially hers.

He’s never craved something so badly.

They weren’t dating. They never discussed anything of the sort. They were young and didn’t want to waste time with the labels.

But he would be damned if he had to share this woman.

The two did have their rocky and dysfunctional relationship but he was very happy to be around her.

Always smirking to himself whenever she texted. Hoping she’d ask him to stay longer. Following her on his damn plug account.

He had some other customers that were attractive women, but from the beginning she’s been his favorite. No one else got all the perks like she did.

She was a whiny moaning mess. Jungkook hadn’t even tasted her yet.

“Jungkook, please.” She begged. “Can’t wait like this.”

"I know, baby, I know. It's been too long." He leans in, his breath ghosting over her skin for just a moment before his lips press against her clit.

Her legs immediately squirmed at the feel of his mouth. She could hardly move due to him holding her down.

Grinning, he moves his tongue around her clit, sucking and nibbling at it.

He moves one of his arms to keep her leg in place, while the other one moves upwards, slipping two fingers inside her.

"All that attitude for what?" He asks through muffled groans.

He smirks against her skin, moving his fingers in and out slowly. He starts flicking his tongue over her clit faster, adding a third finger as he matches the rhythm with his tongue.

“You’re bitching at me the moment I get through the damn door. Now look at you.” He chuckled against her clit. “Apologize.”

“I— mm— Fu— I’m”

“Can’t speak?” Jungkook suddenly stopped, pulling out his fingers and moving from her heat since he knew she was close.

“Jungkook!” She groaned. “You can’t do me like this right now.”

“I can’t?” He laughed. “Oh I can. You can give me attitude all damn day but you want me to reward you by letting you cum already?” He scoffed.

“Ugh!” She groaned in frustration.

“Turn around.” Jungkook was already tearing a condom open with his mouth. “Ass up face down.”

She got into position like ordered. Jungkook moved the hair from her face so he could have a better view of her.

“Oh fuck yes.” Jungkook had the sight of her ass all to himself. “Don’t even know how you made it fit in that tight little skirt.”

He was checking her out. He did this everytime. Her body was perfection and way better than any of the models he had seen on Instagram.

“Can you do me a favor mama?” He leaned forward, “I wanna to do something with you.”

“What is it?” She asked, desperate to get fucked already.

“Lemme record.” He tapped her ass, almost fainting at the recoil. “Please?”

“Yeah.” She reached over, grabbing her phone and handing it to him.

“My dirty girl.” He chuckled. “Knew you’d be down.” He took a hit of the dispo the two had on the couch.

He doesn't hesitate as he opens the camera app on her phone and starts recording. He positions himself behind her, lining his cock up with her entrance.

“Oh fuck.” He cussed as he slid in, the camera flash capturing their synchronized gasps as he slid inside her.

“Fuck, you have to watch this video later.” His mouth hung open at the sight.

“Mm— Jungkook” She hummed, “Fuck baby”

“Come on mama.” He slapped her ass. “Make this video good yeah? Bounce on this dick for me.”

She fucked herself on his cock, making her eyes rolled back with each bounce.

He grips her hips as he starts thrusting in and out of her, picking up the pace as he fucks her hard.

“Always so fucking tight” He groaned. “But you’re so fucking wet. How does that work?”

“Mm” She whined. “Jungkook you’re too fucking big.”

“You take it don’t you?” He slapped her ass. “So fucking pretty. Especially when you’re high.”

Her ass clapped against him, the sounds of her moans and her ass driving him off the edge.

They were panting, equally putting in the work to get each other off.

“Been dying to fuck you since you texted me this morning mama.” He spoke to her. “Huge tits, fat ass, and pretty face is just what I needed.”

She could cum with his words alone. She loved how he smoke to her and how vocal he was.

“Fuck” He groaned, pulling out with a loud ‘pop’ sound.

“Jungkook!” Y/n whined in irritation.

He stopped filming, shutting off the phone and tossing it to the side.

“Sorry mama. Gotta fuck you missionary.” He apologized, smacking her ass before flipping her over on her back. “Wanna cum while I look at your face.”

“Can I take it off mama?” Jungkook pouted cutely, pecking her cheek. “Pleaseee”

“No. I still don’t trust you.” Y/n shook her head. “Over here tryna bend the rules.”

She was very strict on Jungkook wearing a condom. She heard all sorts of rumors about the women he had been with and she was not taking any chances.

“I don’t know why. You know rumors aren’t always true.” He shook his head.

“Do you want pussy or not?” She threatened.

“Fine fine” He gave in.

He wanted her to know she was the only girl he was with but, it was too soon to deal with the sappy shit when all they were doing was fucking.

He slipped back in her, stretching her out once again.

He went back to his pace, snapping his hips inside of her while she arched her back at the impact.

Jungkook couldn’t stop staring at her breasts bouncing up and down as he fucked her.

His shaft throbs as he watches her come undone on his cock, tits bouncing wildly. He's almost there just from the sight.

“Mm fuck Jungkook.” She moaned out his name repeatedly.

Their energy was lower because of the weed but their sexual urges were at an all time high.

Jungkook reached over, circling over her clit with his thumb. “Feels good huh mama? You take it so good.”

He was growing closer to his edge.

The double stimulation with the weed still highly active in her system made her go insane.

“Look so fucking pretty like that baby.” He cooed. “My prettiest and favorite customer for sure.”

His thrusts become more frantic, his balls slapping against her ass with each one.

“Jungkook I’m— I need to cum” She whined desperately, barely able to let out a single sentence.

He rubbed her clit more intensely before she came all over his cock, panting at the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Jungkook came shortly after, pulling out pumping himself until he came all over her stomach.

The two panted together, staying still for a moment to catch their breaths.

“F-Fuck. I’ll clean us up.” He said, still trying to get to his breath.

“Let’s just run a shower.” She replied. “P-Please”

He agreed. He cleaned up what he could before the two stood up of her couch.

“So…” She trailed off. “You admitted I was your favorite customer.”

“Goddamnit Y/n.”

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fic recs #jungkook fiction #jjk x reader #jjk fanart #jjk smut #jjk x you #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk smut #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #junkook x reader #jimin and jungkook #jungkook drug smut #jungkook #jeon jungkoooook #jeongguk fic #bts jeongguk #bts jimin #jimin bangtan #jeon jungguk #jeon jk

[justaaveragereader]

In Charge

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Dom!Yunho, Sub!Reader, Light Smacking, Choking, Squirting, Manhandling, Name Calling (Daddy, Princess, Baby), Possesive Yunho, Slight Dumbification, Unprotected Sex (Wrap It Upppp!), Clit Play, If I Missed Anything…Lemme Know👀!

A/N: Well, well, welllllll…who has missed me😁? I’ve been gone for a couple months but it feels like FOREVAAAA, honestly I will be in and out constantly til about the beginning of November. But I will try to play catch up with the messages and the ask box👏🏼. Or just be more active on here in the mean time even if it isn’t writing. Ya girl is DROWNING in wedding planning, but come November, I will be back active way more than I am now🙃, I’ve missed you all and with some small downtime quickly scratched a lil some some down👀, big daddy Yunho will forever be etched into my heart, while I wish he was etched into my guts..😀, anywaysssss hope all my lovelies enjoy this, and I’m making my way just very slowly to the ask box and DMs🫡, just BARE with me please🖤

✍️Masterlist✍️

Your knees are pressed to your chest, heaving with each breath you take. Your skin glistens underneath him, his button down shirt wide open, sticking to your dewy skin. The constant slapping of skin on skin fills the room. The musk of sex filled your nose, his eyes are as dark as midnight, determination with each thrust he delivers you. Your eyes grow hooded watching him lock eye contact with you. Just as you squeak out his name his thick cock pushes right against that spongy spot causing you to cry out, back arching off the couch.

“O-Oh! Yunho, pleaseee!”

A smirk graces his face, tossing his head back at the squelching of your wet cunt wrapped around him, bubbling with the essence of pleasure.

“What was that baby?”

He pants through a battered breath. Bringing his head back down to catch a glimpse of your fucked out state, your body feels like it’s in a endless pit of pleasure anytime you fuck the Jeong Yunho.

His large hand comes down to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your damp cheek, letting out a deep chuckle. He pulls his hand back slightly smacking your face, before smushing it between his hand, your lips crush against each other, drool gathering in the corner.

“I need words princess, talk to daddy.”

As tears gather threatening to spill from your eyes, they continuously flutter as he never lets up his speed continuing to push against your spongy spot. Your fucked out expression fueling his ego. Your soft and pathetic whines make his hips stutter. Looking down to see how he’s plunging into your cunt, trying his best to hold back his own orgasm.

His hand taps the side of your face again pulling you out of your daze slightly.

“You with me princess? Talk to daddy, I won’t ask again.”

Biting your crushed lips you let out a small whine, grabbing his hand that is on your face, bringing it down to your lower stomach.

“I can feel you here, daddy.”

You whine pathetically, trying to muster up as much strength as possible you bring your head off the couch looking to see where you and Yunho are connected. His cock with a thick layer of cream around it, your arousal drenching him leaving a trail of stickiness down his balls. A trickle of sweat hits your stomach, you can slightly make out the outline of his cock bullying it’s way in and out of you. The sight swallowing you whole, you can feel a heat to your skin, almost like tiny flames licking all over you. Bringing your knees to your chest once more, folding you in on yourself so he can hit deeper inside of you. His hips pick up speed, letting out a barely audible growl.

“Sl-slow down, pleaseee.” You cried out, feeling that knot in your stomach about to snap. He slows down his thrusting, opting to stroke into you even deeper than before. He effortlessly grunts into your ear, his chest pressing against the front of your shins adding even more pressure to your lower stomach. Clutching his thigh, you try to shove him back slightly, your throat is dry for words, gaping like you are a fish fresh out of water, your back begins to arch as your orgasm starts to take over. Your juices begin to squirt rapidly, sitting up right he pushes your knees together, holding them in one hand. Your intense orgasm pushes his cock out of you. His eyes twinkle with a new found lust, clearly enticed he wraps his hand around his moist cock, slapping it onto your squirting cunt. Letting your juices soak him. Rubbing his cock in between your sopping wet lips, cooing at you. Eyes fluttering with pleasure, your grip on his thigh never letting up. Your mouth is agape, jaw unhinged as you’ve never felt such a pleasure like this. As your body spends out from squirting you try to lower your legs that are locked in one of Yunhos hands. His grip stops your movements letting out a small groan you whine his name. Your drenched, and swollen cunt on display for his dark eyes. You could feel the room shift, the aura that was radiating off him could cut diamonds. He was taking your breath away.

Letting out a whistle you feel his hand snake to your cunt. Fingers collecting all the sticky fluids left upon your skin before parting your pussy lips and smearing it all over. His thumb rubs small circles around your hole, feeling the heat radiate off your spent cunt had his body aching, he wanted you in every way he could have you. His thumb comes up to pinch your swollen, and sensitive clit. Your body jerks at the sudden feeling, hands coming up to try and weakly push him off, juices dripping down to your ass nesting in the previous wet spot beneath you.

“Believe me princess..” he says while getting closer to you, his lips lining up with your ear.

“We aren’t done until I say we are finished.”

You swallow loudly, you know he can feel your cunt ooze with arousal. He wasn’t a man of many words, but when he spoke he could gather moths to him like he was a light. The power that radiated off of him was not too far from addicting. His body shadowing over yours once more. In one simple movement, just by hovering over you he was letting you know who was in charge, who called the shots, who was going to make sure he got his along with making sure that he got yours. Before you can even finish nodding your head he grabs your face, startling you slightly, your cunt clenches around nothing, your eyes immediately dart to his, drinking him in for all that he’s got. His looming presence makes you hungry for him.

“So I’m going to take my time with you, okay? Be a good doll and take it.”

GIF by @justaaveragereader

DO NOT REPOST.

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez imagines #jeong yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #yunho x reader #yunho smut #dom! ateez smut #dom!ateez smut #dom!yunho smut #Kpop smut #ateez fic #ateez hard thoughts

[42internetgirl]

Hooking up in the library with frat!rafe after a long study session (let’s be real, he ain’t studying)

warnings: fingering, hint of sweet rafe ! idk how to write smut i just be typing fr … hope yall like <333

“are you sure, right here?” you managed to get out in between rafe’s sloppy kisses. he had you pinned against a book shelf in the back corner of the library. how horny you were made you slighty forget that you were literally in the library. non-horny you would never let this slide.

“yeah, you don’t want to?” rafe questioned you and slowed down his rough kisses all along your lips and neck.

“i do,” you roll your head up, giving him more space to kiss your neck. “it’s just-”

“just what? you deserve it. been helping me study all day, wanna make it up to you.” his hot breath against your neck gave you goosebumps.

you wondered if rafe even came to study at all. was this his plan all along? either way you weren’t too upset about it, you’d always liked rafe a little more than a friend.

you could feel rafe’s bulge on your stomach through his jeans, he was so much taller than you. “you’re so pretty, y’know that?” rafe pulled away and looked down at you, your doe eyes staring up at him, you looked so pretty he just wished he could cum all over your pretty face. you felt your cheeks turn red from rafe’s compliment, you didn’t know he had a sweeter side.

rafe’s hand made his way up your inner thigh. you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t wear a skirt for rafe. everytime you were going to see rafe, you always found yourself second guessing your outfit and spending hours finding something to wear. you could show up in a onesie and rafe would still think you look good, there wasn’t anything about you that he didn’t like.

“gonna let me make you feel good pretty girl?” rafe kept his eyes on you, waiting for your approval. you nodded up at him, it was dark but he could still see your red cheeks, he thought it was cute how flustered you’d get over a simple compliment.

rafe took no time putting your panties to the side and shoving two fingers in your pussy. the way he didn’t show any nervousness or tenseness like you did made you think that he’d done this plenty of times before. for a second you felt stupid, letting rafe use you like this, but it felt so good. if this is how it felt being used by rafe; you’d let him use whenever he wanted.

“so wet,” rafe giggled to himself, like how wet you were just fed some weird fantasy of his. “all for me?” rafe picked up his speed as he felt you adjusted to his fingers.

“don’t stop,” you moaned out, partly forgetting that you were literally in the corner of a library.

“shhh baby,” rafe took his other hand and shoved his thumb in your mouth, trying to shut you up.

you sucked on his thumb and looked up at him with your glossy eyes, you knew he loved it. “gonna cum,”

“cum baby, all on my fingers.”

#library #frat!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron headcanons

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 13 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Confronting Kevin in California should have made Anna feel like she had the advantage, but nothing with him ever went to plan. As soon as Bob encounters Anna's husband for himself, he knows something isn't quite right.

Warnings: Angst, Kevin is a dick, bruises on Anna's arm, adult language, 18+

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

"Did you delete her number yet?" Nat asked as she lifted her helmet and Bob's off of the shelf in the hangar where their gear was stored when they weren't flying. "Or are you trying to prolong the pain like some sort of sadistic artist?"

Bob flinched at her words, because she hit a little too close to home for his liking. It wasn't that he wanted to be missing Anna like this, but he had been writing a lot of poetry about her. He couldn't help himself. He hadn't posted any since the one about his bookshelf, but that didn't mean his computer wasn't full of it.

"I'm not trying to prolong the pain," he told his friend with a grimace. "I don't know what I'm doing."

She shoved his helmet down onto his head and told him, "I know she threw you for a loop, but either delete her number or give her another chance. Don't sit in this annoying gray area. I don't know why you guys insist on doing that shit. I tried for ten years to get Bradley to contact his wife, but he just flounced around in the gray area like an idiot instead. Don't be like him," she said firmly, pointing to where Bradley was looking down at his phone with a dopey smile on his face. He was almost definitely texting his wife if he looked like that.

Bob sighed. "Nat, I don't know if she wants me to give her another chance right now. She said she's going to deal with her husband, but I think she needs time."

Nat rolled her eyes and held her hands up in the air. "Why don't you," she said, waving her fingers like she was performing magic, "talk to her again?!"

Bob pulled his helmet off again, saying, "What would you suggest I say? She already knows I've had feelings for her for months. There's just a point where it becomes too much."

"You could tell her that even though it blew up in your face, she's the best lay of your life." Bob immediately wished he hadn't told her that. "Or that you'll still be around after she figures her shit out. I think the ball is in your court."

He was still blushing furiously and nowhere closer to knowing what he should be doing when they all got called to the tower, but he did smile when Nat snapped at Bradley to put his phone away. She probably needed to get laid more than Bob ever did.

---------------------------

The bus ride from San Diego to Carlsbad shouldn't take an hour and a half when it would take barely forty minutes to drive yourself. Not for the first time, Anna wished she had a car in California. That way she could get to Kevin faster. Kevin. Fucking Kevin. The man who was the reason she didn't have a car in California.

She needed to stay calm. If she could catch him while his guard was down and convince him to just sign the paperwork, she would be golden. But every time she thought about seeing his face, she started to panic. She had seen nothing except kind faces for months. The faces of her friends. The faces of her students. Bob's beautiful blue eyes always seemed to look at her with a smile behind them. Even now, after she met up with him for a little bit at the bookstore, his eyes were kind.

Her hands shook slightly. She needed to deal with Kevin so she could move on and never have to see him again. Then she could work on getting back to the people who didn't look at her like she was worthless. When the bus finally fought its way through traffic and made a stop near the hotel where the conference was being held, she sprinted down the steps and up the block. She had already memorized the map and knew she needed to find the grand ballroom, but when she got to the upscale hotel, she was sweaty and panting for breath, and even the doorman was looking at her skeptically as she slipped inside.

The lobby was crowded enough that she padded her way across the marble floor in her beat up sneakers, blending in well enough with the others. Signs for the National Neurological Physicians Association conference were plastered all over the place, and she had to keep from rolling her eyes. It was laughable that physicians from all over would come here to listen to Kevin blathering on and on about his specialty area of study. But when Anna paused to really think about it for a second, something close to cold fury started flowing through her veins, because she was the one who paid for that for him. She was the reason he was a speaker at this massive conference in the first place.

With renewed purpose, she picked up her pace and turned right past the elevator bank, following the signs that led her toward several people in monogrammed lab coats. The ballroom was in sight, and she was ready to push through the double doors when one of the men in a lab coat popped up in front of her. 

"Not so fast," he said, a forced smile plastered on his face. "You're late for the introductory speakers, and you haven't signed in yet."

"Oh," she said, scrambling to push her bag up on her shoulder. "Right." When he gestured toward a long table with some unclaimed name badges and information booklets, Anna's heart skipped a beat. She took a step closer, praying nobody would ask her for any sort of identification, and reached for the badge that said Dr. Angela Harmon, MD. She clipped it onto her shirt, realizing she was terribly under dressed to even try to pull this off, and then she picked up the booklet with Dr. Harmon's name on it as well. "Is this all I need?" she asked, tapping the name badge and praying this random woman didn't decide to show up right now.

With a nod, the man said, "Please try to find a seat at the back to keep disruption to a minimum. I believe Dr. Webber is still speaking, and you know how excited we all are to have him here."

Anna had to bite down on the inside of her cheek and take a deep breath before she could say, "So excited," through clenched teeth. "I wouldn't dream of being disruptive."

"Of course not," he agreed, finally smiling kindly. "Enjoy the conference, Dr. Harmon."

Carefully and as quietly as she could, Anna entered the ballroom to find hundreds of people sitting in rows of chairs listening to her worthless husband giving a presentation in a three piece suit. 

"But we already know recent attempts to update computational axial tomography are largely like someone trying to reinvent the wheel," he said with a charming smile, and the room hummed with amused laughter like everyone was in on some sort of inside joke. Anna's skin crawled as she carefully took a seat in the last row, praying Kevin hadn't seen her yet. If he was this well known and well regarded in his field, then he didn't need money from her manuscript. He was simply holding onto it to be an ass.

She had to listen to him for twenty more minutes after that. Nineteen too long in her book. His voice sounded light and carefree, and his smile was handsome and unassuming. Frankly he was putting on some sort of persona, and it was nothing like she was used to. But it wasn't until he started on a short presentation that Anna's attention was piqued, because it was then that she saw he was using the laptop that they used to share. The one she used to type up her book.

A soft sound escaped her as she stared longingly at it, wondering if her work was still there. He slammed the computer shut, and she was jolted back to reality as he said, "Once again, thank you all for being here for the next week. We have so many groundbreaking topics to learn about and some of the most renowned research physicians in the country sharing their expertise with us. Let's take a quick break and then dive right into new MRI techniques with Dr. Nunez."

There was an immediate round of applause, and Anna jumped to her feet, heart pounding so hard, it was making her nauseous. When she headed toward his cocky, smiling face, she realized Kevin was already surrounded by colleagues, shaking hands and laughing. And that was when he spotted her. They'd been on the phone just a handful of hours ago, but he looked shocked to see her here. She watched his sharp, gray eyes narrow in on her with a spiteful glare before he smoothed out his features into something neutral. And that's when she came to terms with the fact that he would know she was living in southern California. That's when she knew she needed to make this work.

"Anna," he said with absolutely no emotion as she cut in front of the person he was talking to. "What are you doing here?"

She swallowed hard, imagining Bob and her two friends were with her, urging her on, cheering for her to fix this. "I have something for you to sign," she told him as her voice shook. She took a step closer as she reached into her bag to pull out the folded paperwork and a pen.

"No," he practically growled under his breath, trying not to draw more attention to himself. "Why are you doing this here? I'm a little busy."

Anna wanted to laugh in his face. She was a little busy trying to get on with her stupid life, but that didn't stop him from disrupting her mission every day. "Just sign the divorce papers, Kevin," she demanded, but she sounded like a child even to her own ears. His eyes flashed with so much anger, she could barely breathe with him this close to her. He was built similarly to Bob, which was a frightening realization. Where Kevin always used his size as an intimidation tactic, Bob had never done that to her. She always felt safe around him. Right now she felt very unsafe around Kevin, even though they were literally in the midst of a crowd of people.

"Just sign it," she whispered, trying to push the document into his solid chest. It was unbelievable that at one time, she was in love with this man. It was crazy to think about how he used to tell her he loved her too. "Please, Kevin." He looked so angry right now, and Anna felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in fear as the people behind her started whispering.

"Who is this woman? That's not Alyssa."

"Did she say divorce? Isn't he married to that other physician? The pregnant one?"

So Alyssa was pregnant. And nobody here even knew about Anna. It was like she didn't even exist. Like she had never existed to her husband. A mortifying little sob bubbled free from the back of her throat, and she looked up at Kevin as he said, "Let's take a little walk."

His hand closed around her bicep, and Anna wanted to yelp as he pulled her up onto the stage, past the podium, where nobody else would be able to hear them. The laptop was right there, and she considered trying to take it, but she'd never make it out of the hotel let alone back to her apartment with it. Instead she tripped along next to him until he had her where he wanted her.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he snarled. "Were you always this stupid? Or have you gotten worse?"

"Come on, Kevin," she pleaded, and he finally released her throbbing arm. "You don't need it. Look how well you're doing. You don't need my book."

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair as if he was trying his hardest to keep his composure. "You think you can come here and embarrass me in front of my peers? Mentioning our marriage like we still have one when you moved away?"

Her fist clenched at her side. "Our marriage didn't fall apart because I left," she hissed under her breath. "It fell apart because of you. And now your mistress is pregnant?"

Kevin sighed. "I understand that you're jealous, Anna. I really do, but I'm not signing anything for you."

She clenched and unclenched her fist. The desire to punch him in the face was so strong as her other hand shook with the papers grasped between her fingers. She was far from jealous, and he knew it. He wanted to get a rise out of her because he felt cornered. "I don't care what these people think about me," she whispered. "But you do. So just sign it."

He stood before her, tall and broad with his jaw set as he said, "There is no way in hell you have what it takes to intimidate me. Now get the fuck out of here, or I will have security remove you from the hotel for disrupting the conference."

She knew she didn't have any other choice. If she somehow got herself in trouble for being here, she didn't have the money to spend on more legal help. So she took a step backwards just as Kevin's hand flew up to pull the name badge from her shirt. "And you're obviously not Dr. Harmon. She has enormous tits, and I fucked her last year in Toronto. Now go." 

Twenty minutes later, Anna was back on the bus heading south toward San Diego, empty handed with tears in her eyes and a bruised arm.

-----------------------------

"What happened to your pretty girlfriend?"

Bob looked up from his phone as he walked up his porch steps after a long run on Monday evening. He hadn't been sleeping well, debating reaching out to Anna again, and he was hoping the run would tire him out. But he should have known Suzanne would have her door open and her game shows blaring at this hour.

"Hi, Suzanne," he said, wishing he could just duck inside his own place without having to chat with her.

"I haven't seen her again in weeks."

Bob sighed and tipped his head back. "She's not my girlfriend. She never was."

"Not with that attitude," his neighbor mused under her breath.

"You have a good night, Suzanne." Bob swatted Sylvester away from his front door before heading inside and up to take a shower. He thought about Anna as he ran his soapy hands along his body. He tried not to, but she was on his mind a lot. When he climbed into bed, his skin felt too hot. He opened the window to let the late fall air in, but it did nothing to help him. He wanted to see her, even just to make sure she was still okay.

He reached for his phone, typed up a text, and then deleted it. "You sound so desperate for her," he groaned, trying again. But again he had to delete it rather than send it. Finally he settled on something simple.

Hey, I've been craving some peanuts from Chippy's. Feel like joining me for a bit tomorrow?

It sounded neutral enough. If she said no, he'd ask Jessica to make sure the ladies were checking in on her. If she said yes, then Bob could see with his own eyes if she was okay. He would also get to see with his own eyes how fucking beautiful she was, but that didn't matter as much, honestly.

He was just slipping into a daydream where Anna's husband divorced her tomorrow and never left the state of New Jersey again when his phone vibrated on his nightstand.

Anna Webber: Peanuts from Chippy's sound heavenly right now. I would love to join you for a little bit.

He exhaled as the cooler air finally met his skin, and he pulled his sheet over himself after he promised to meet her there.

----------------------------

Before she went down to the quad with her lunch bag, Anna adjusted her cardigan. She knew her sleeve was covering his bruised arm, but she felt naked all morning during her lectures anyway. She felt like her skin and the inside of her brain were on full display for everyone. She wondered when Alyssa was due. She wondered if Kevin slept with Dr. Harmon when he was in Toronto last June or last October. Perhaps both. She wondered how someone who was so full of shit could keep coming out ahead of her.

"Anna!"

At least her friends were still faithfully waiting for her at the weird looking tree. And at least Bob was making it a point to let her know she was welcome around him. She could hardly wait to go to Chippy's later. 

"Hi," she said, plopping down in between them on the bench, adjusting her sleeve one more time before pulling her sad sandwich out. "What's new in the world of science and mathematics?"

Almost immediately, she had a container of veggies and a homemade ranch dip in her hand while her friend told her about a fascinating math conference she wanted to go to next year in Philadelphia. Apparently the dates were just announced, and you had to be someone important to even get an invitation. Anna loved that her friend already knew she was going to go, but it made her dwell on Kevin and his conference which was still going on in Carlsbad.

"Oh!" Jessica said as she poured some potato chips on her already delectable looking sandwich. "Jake and I are going to Cabo next month! A much needed break after the term ends."

"I love that for you," Anna told her, feeling jealous in spite of herself. And that made her feel even sadder. She almost winced when her other friend wrapped her arm around her, inadvertently mashing her hand against the bruise from Kevin.

"Don't worry. Bradley and I aren't going anywhere for term break. I wanted to, but his favorite Grateful Dead cover band is playing right here in San Diego on New Year's Eve, and he absolutely can't miss it. That would be a crime." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm which made Anna laugh. "How's your week going?" she asked cautiously. 

Anna wanted to tell them all about going to the conference at the hotel. She wanted to tell them that she saw Kevin and left with less than nothing. She would tell them, but not right now when she only had a little bit of time before she had to give her Classics lecture. She didn't want to run the risk of arriving to the lecture hall with tears in her eyes. 

Instead she softly said, "I'm going to see Bob later. Just a quick visit to Chippy's for some peanuts."

Jessica was instantly vibrating with excitement. "That's great. I think you and he will have fun!"

"We will," Anna confirmed. Even though it was a little awkward, she'd had a nice time with him at the bookstore. She always did. Because he was kind and sweet and literally the opposite of everything that Kevin turned out to be. She just wished there was some reality in which she could feel his arms around her again. "We will."

The end of lunch came way more quickly than she wanted it to, and Anna found herself mentally regrouping to try to find another way to get her manuscript. She taught her last two lectures and graded a handful of essays, counting down the minutes until she could see Bob again. His blue eyes would be soft when he looked at her, and his words would be enough to make her feel better even if they only engaged in some small talk.

When she only had thirty minutes until she was supposed to meet him, she printed off sixty copies of the quiz she would need for tomorrow afternoon. Anna locked her office door behind her as she headed down to the teacher's lounge to retrieve the quizzes before someone moved them, never to be seen again. She learned her lesson after last time that if you didn't grab them right away, there was a good chance they'd end up in the trash. Then she would drop them off before going to meet Bob.

----------------------------

Since he was running early, Bob decided to just head to Anna's office and meet her there. He'd been so antsy to see her, he showered and dressed in his favorite jeans and tee shirt in record time after work. Even though he'd only been in this one academic building one time, he remembered exactly how to get to her office. Having an outstanding sense of direction just came with the territory for a WSO, but her hallway also smelled like fresh baked bread.

When he rounded the last corner, Bob skidded to a halt and ducked back behind the wall. There was a man about his age who was vigorously jiggling Anna's doorknob. "Anna. Open the door so we can talk," he said calmly even as he pushed his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Bob didn't know who he was, but he had a bad feeling, and that's when the man turned his head and spotted him.

Bob squared his shoulders to try to match the other man's height as he rounded the corner completely and asked, "Are you looking for Dr. Webber?"

The other man appraised him with cool gray eyes and smirked. "Let me guess. You're sleeping with her?"

Bob's heart lurched into his stomach as the color drained from his face. He knew this had to be Kevin. He knew it without confirmation, and now he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to respond. So he simply kept his mouth shut while the other man took a step in his direction.

"She really likes to act so high and mighty. Very hypocritical in this scenario," he muttered, making Bob's skin crawl. "I can't believe her."

Bob swallowed hard, trying to figure out why Anna agreed to go to Chippy's today if she knew Kevin was in San Diego. All he knew about was what she'd told him when she came to his house. Bob didn't think he should divulge too much to this man, so he simply asked, "What do you want from her?"

The answer was swift and felt like a punch to the gut. "She's my wife, and she's coming back to New Jersey with me where I can keep track of her. She doesn't belong here, and she needs to stop lying. So why don't you tell me what you want from her?"

His nostrils flared as his fingers curled into fists, and Bob had to take a few deep breaths before he said, "I just wanted to make sure she's okay."

Kevin crossed his arms over his chest and said, "She's nothing you need to be concerned about."

The uneasy feeling that started to fill him up spread through his whole body now, and Bob took a step backwards. Maybe Anna was already at Chippy's. Maybe she didn't know Kevin was here at all. He backtracked his way through the building as he started to panic. What if she did know he was here? What if she had played Bob and everyone else the whole time?

He would check for her at Chippy's. He made it all the way across the quad to a weird looking tree that was growing sideways when he froze again. It just didn't make sense. Anna said she hated Kevin and never wanted to go back to New Jersey, and Bob had no reason to believe someone else over her.

He started calling her phone, torn as to which direction he should head. Back up to her office? To Chippy's where they were supposed to meet up? She didn't answer. He started toward the bar, covering the few blocks at a brisk pace as he tried to call her again. He walked back and forth across that sticky floor through the clusters of students enjoying an after class drink before he was satisfied that she wasn't there. 

"Damn it, Anna. Answer your phone," he muttered as he ran back to her building and up to her office. The building was virtually empty at this hour, and now there was nobody in the hallway at all. He knocked on her door and called out her name, but he was met with silence. The kind of silence that just didn't feel right.

He felt like he was going crazy, running in circles both metaphorically and physically for this woman, and when he finally reached his truck, he had to wipe the sweat from his brow. Her apartment wasn't far from campus, and he didn't know where else to even look at this point. When he got there, he parked and tried to call her one more time before someone else who lived in the building simply held the door open for him.

"Thanks," he muttered, heading for the stairwell and taking the steps two at a time until he reached Anna's floor. And then her apartment. What he heard coming from inside made him want to rip the door from the hinges.

--------------------------

I hate Kevin. Hate. Him. I'm sorry, but he's still going to get worse. Just remember that Bob is a sweet cinnamon bun. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[ao3commentoftheday]

how can i start writing more often?

That's going to depend what's stopping you from doing so. I'll tackle some of the common ones and see if that helps you out.

You're working or going to school full time or otherwise have a lot of responsibilities that fill your days

Writing doesn't have to be done in large chunks of time. You can write for ten minutes and still get something onto the page. You can also write by dictating a voice note into your phone and using speech-to-text to transcribe it. When you have a day off or a larger amount of downtime, try to block off some of it for writing or for editing those speech-to-text transcripts into a more polished story.

You don't have any ideas

Seek you writing prompt blogs. Make a post on your tumblr asking for requests. Expand the type of idea you're willing to write - not everything needs to be a 100K multichap, so think of a oneshot idea and write that instead.

Every time you think about posting a fic, you get so anxious you just stop writing

Write something that you're not planning to post. Write something by hand so that you can't post it without making the decision to transcribe it and post it later. Focus on the writing instead of the possible audience reactions to the writing.

You have an idea you love, but writing all of the backstory to get you to that point is so demotivating you can't even start

Make a bulleted list of all of the backstory components that need to be in place before you can get to the part of the story you want to write. Now write the part you're actually interested in. After you write that, check in with that bulleted list and see if any of those parts are more interesting now. If they are, write those too. If they're not, you're done and can move onto the next story. You can post those criteria as your summary or author's note or tags.

You have an idea you love, but all of the research you have to do first is so demotivating you can't even start

Do you actually need to do the research? Can you write the story in a way that hand-waves things (bring in some pseudo-science or a Fantasy Costco or something to get around what you're trying to figure out). Is there someone else who has done this research already? Do you know someone who loves researching that you could get to help you out? Is the research just an excuse for procrastination because the idea isn't fully baked yet?

You spend so much time researching that by the time you're ready to start writing you don't have any time left

Do you enjoy researching more than writing? Is there someone you can partner with to write the story based on your idea and research? Do you tend to research and write in the same block of time? In that case, separate those activities out. Research until you get to a good stopping point and then write until you run out of research and need to learn more.

Every time you start writing, someone interrupts you

If the interruptions come via social media or other online means, mute your notifications while you're writing. Change your status from online to do not disturb. If the interruptions are IRL, have a conversation with your family or roommates and work out an agreement where you can get blocks of time without interruptions or where you can put up a signal that you're writing and can't be disturbed. Get a whiteboard or sticky notes or something so that people can write down what they need from you and you can check it when you're done.

Every time you try to write, you get distracted by a bunch of other things and can't actually get much writing done

If you write on a device that connects to the internet, you can get really distracted by the internet. There are lots of tools out there to block out those kinds of distractions to help you right (example). You can also try writing by hand on paper so that the internet is further away from the task.

Writing is really intimidating. The blank page taunts you.

Start by writing out your idea at the top of the page. It doesn't have to be in-depth, it can just be something like "A and B are stuck in different locations for a long period of time and they discover they're in love with each other while writing letters back and forth." By doing this, the page is no longer blank so you can fool yourself into thinking you've already started writing and just need to continue.

When I sit down to write, I don't know where you start.

If you're in the process of writing a story, try not to end a writing session on the end of a scene. Either write the start of the next scene or stop writing before you hit the end of the current scene. Then the next time you write, you have a place to pick up from and don't need to make a choice of where to go next. If you're starting a new idea, start at the point where it's interesting. You can go back and write the boring part later if you decide you really want or need to.

There are lots more things that stop people from writing, but I'll let people in the notes add more examples. If you're a writer, how do you make time for writing?

#asks and answers #long post

[lxndonorris]

home race - Oscar Piastri

Y/N x Oscar Piastri Theme: Smut (you've been warned) you're in a long-distance relationship with Oscar and surprise him at his "home race" x word count: 3250+ taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests :) EN: Another big piece and I hope you'll like it. My first time writing Oscar.

You sat in your living room, staring at your phone. The screen displayed a countdown timer you set months ago when you and Oscar, your boyfriend, decided you could handle a long-distance relationship.

Living in the United States while dating a Formula 1 driver based in Europe wasn't easy, but the two of you made it work. You spoke every day, sent each other thoughtful gifts, and cherished the moments you could spend together in person.

The countdown finally hit zero. It is time for your big surprise.

Oscar is in Monaco for the Grand Prix, and you planned to surprise him for months since the season started. You told him you wouldn't be able to make it due to work commitments, but in reality, you managed to arrange everything perfectly, with a little help from the Mclaren Team.

You had your flights booked, your accommodation sorted, and a special pass that would allow you into the Mclaren motorhome, where Oscar would eventually be.

When you boarded your flight, you felt a mixture of excitement and nerves. You knew how much this surprise would mean to Oscar. The past few months have been challenging for him, dealing with the pressures of being a professional F! driver while missing you. You wanted to make this moment unforgettable.

After a long flight and a quick check-in at your hotel in Monaco, you head straight to the racetrack. You are wearing a Mclaren team hoodie, jeans, and a fitting cap, blending in with the team. You find your way to the motorhome and, with the help of a team member who is in on the surprise, get inside and wait for Oscar.

The atmosphere in Monaco is electric. The sun shines brightly over the azure waters of the Mediterranean, and the roar of engines echoes through the narrow streets of the city. The Monaco Grand Prix is one of the most prestigious races on the calendar, and the excitement is palpable.

The qualifying session just ends, and he pushes his car to the limit and secures second place on the grid. The team is ecstatic, and Oscar feels a rush of adrenaline as he climbs out of the car, waving to the cheering fans. 

Inside the motorhome, your heart races as you finally hear footsteps approaching. The door opens, and you turn around to see Oscar standing there, a look of shock and disbelief on his face.

"Y/N? Is that really you?" Oscar's voice trembles with emotion.

You smile, your eyes filling with tears.

"Surprise!"

Oscar closes the distance between you in an instant, wrapping you in a tight embrace. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling your familiar scent, and holds you as if he never wants to let go.

At the same time, the faint scent of him swirls around you, and with a deep breath, you take it in, closing your eyes for a second to relish in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" He murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. "I can't believe you're here."

"I wanted to be here for you, at your home race." You say softly. "I've missed you so much, Oscar Piastri Leclerc."

Both of you pull back slightly to look at each other, your eyes meeting with an intensity that speaks volumes. Oscar cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that escape down your cheeks.

"I've missed you too, Y/N. More than you can imagine."

You kiss—a tender and passionate kiss that seems to make up for all the time you spent apart. 

When you finally break apart, Oscar can't stop smiling.

"You look amazing in that Mclaren gear," he says, his eyes roaming all over you as they sparkle with admiration.

You chuckle, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I have to show my support for my favorite driver."

As you stand facing each other, the air between you seems to be charged with electricity. You feel the tension and excitement from qualifying still radiating off Oscar. 

Tentatively, you reach out, letting your hand run across his firm chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heaving chest beneath your fingertips. His whole body is slightly tensed, still buzzing from the adrenaline rush.

Oscar's eyes soften as he looks at you, a smile spreading across his lips.

"It's so good to see you," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

You smile back, your gaze drifting over his racing suit. "You look so good in that green and yellow racing suit, Oscar. Really, you do. It suits you perfectly."

The special suit, designed to honor Senna, clings to his frame in all the right ways, accentuating his athletic build. The vibrant colors contrast beautifully with his complexion, making him look every bit the star he is.

Oscar chuckles, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Thanks. I didn't think I could pull off these colors, but hearing it from you makes me believe it."

Your fingers linger on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. "I missed you so much," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. 

As your hand continues to stroke his chest, you feel Oscar's hands move to your waist, his fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your jeans. He pulls you slightly closer; your bodies now mere inches apart. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter.

"Do you have some free time?" You ask, your voice soft and teasing, eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Oscar smirks, a playful glint in his eyes. "For you? Always."

The corner of your mouth lifts in a smile, your hand moving up to his shoulder. "Good." You breathe deeply, feeling the tension between you increase even more. "Because I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

Unable to resist any longer, you lean in and kiss him passionately. The moment your lips meet, Oscar melts into the kiss, his arms tightening around your waist. The warmth and familiarity of the embrace make everything else disappear, leaving just the two of you in your own private world.

As the kiss deepens, you steady yourself against his firm chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. His hum of approval sends a thrill through you, and you take your time, savoring the moment, relishing the closeness you missed for far too long.

With a teasing glint in your eye, you reach for the zipper of his racing suit. Slowly, you begin to unzip it, feeling the resistance of the fabric give way. Oscar's breath hitches as you draw the zipper down to his tummy, exposing his tight black fireproofs beneath.

You let your hands slip inside, and stroke his chest. "You look so good," you murmur, your hands resting on the exposed fabric. The smooth, taut material hugs his body, accentuating his toned muscles.

Oscar's eyes darken with desire as he looks at your hands running across his chest, a mixture of amusement and longing playing on his features. "You're making it very hard to concentrate," he says, his voice low and husky.

You chuckle softly, your fingers tracing patterns on his fireproofs. "Good," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss. 

This time, it is slower, more deliberate; each touch and caress a reminder of the desire crackling between you.

As your kisses grow more intense, you feel the heat rising between your bodies. Oscar's hands roam over your back, pulling you even closer, as if he can't bear to let you go.

With your hands still roaming over his chest, you draw a line down to his abs, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips. Each touch elicits several low growls from deep inside his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. As you continue your exploration, Oscar leans his head back, his eyes closing as he savors the sensation.

You decide to take things a step further. 

"Let me help you." You breathe deeply, gently pushing the upper half of his suit off his shoulders. 

Oscar obliges, his breath hitching as you peel the fabric away, revealing more of his muscular torso. The sleeves hang down from his waist, the tight fireproofs beneath barely able to contain the immense tension building inside him.

His muscles bulge with each movement, with each breath he takes, the strain and excitement of the day evident in every contour of his body. You can't help but admire him, your hands now tracing the lines of his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin.

Oscar opens his eyes and looks at you, his gaze filled with desire and affection. "You're driving me crazy," he growls, his voice rough with need.

You smile with a playful glint in your eye. "Flex for me." You reply, your fingers continuing their journey across his entire upper body.

With a mischievous grin, Oscar obliges again, flexing his arms and chest, showcasing the impressive muscles that have been honed through countless hours of training. The sight makes your heart skip a beat; a rush of admiration and desire floods through you.

"Like what you see?" he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you let your hands roam over his flexed muscles. "You have no idea," you reply, your voice filled with genuine awe.

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling from deep inside his chest. "I'm just glad you're here to see it."

One of your hands traces the contours of his biceps, feeling the power and strength beneath your fingers, while you let your other hand roam freely across his chest and even further down to his crotch.

You feel his hunger building up inside his pants; the fabric bulges just along his member tenting visibly. With two fingers, you trace the tangible outlines of his lust again and again, eliciting more and more deep growls from his throat.

Oscar is thoroughly enjoying himself, responding to your teasing with a mixture of laughter and passion. You see the gleam in his eyes, the way he savors every touch and caress. 

Then, with a bold move, you slip one of your hands underneath his fireproofs, feeling the intense heat of his skin radiating against your palm.

Oscar's breath hitches at the sensation, his eyes so dark with desire. With a swift motion, he swipes the Mclaren cap from your head and lets it drop to the floor. A playful chuckle escapes his lips as he leans in, capturing your mouth in a deep, fervent kiss.

The kiss is electric, filled with a hunger that threatens to consume you both—the long separation and the yearning that built up between you. Your fingers splay across his warm skin, feeling the hard lines of his muscles beneath your fingertips. 

Oscar's hands roam over your back again, pulling you closer, before he takes the lead, guiding you through the room and across a huge empty wall. Gently, your back meets the wall, steadying the two of you fully. 

You feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, fast and powerful, matching your own. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you locked in your passionate embrace.

His hands are now all over your chest, his touch both soft and possessive. Each caress sends waves of electricity through you, making your pulse race as far as his race car.

Oscar's kisses trail down your neck, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake. His lips are gentle yet insistent, making a path that sets your skin on fire. The sensation is almost overwhelming—a perfect blend of tenderness and desire that makes your heart swell with emotion.

Amidst your intimate moment, you take in Oscar's familiar scent, a comforting aroma that envelopes you in a sense of security and belonging—a mixture of his cologne, mingled with the faint trace of adrenaline from the day's events, and the subtle hint of his natural scent.

Breathing him in, you feel a wave of warmth wash over you, and his scent is like a familiar embrace, making it even harder to concentrate.

Now, his hands slide underneath your hoodie, his fingertips dancing across your skin. You shiver at the sensation, your body responding instinctively to his touch. The contrast of his warm hands against the cool evening air heightens your senses, making every touch feel even more intense.

"You're amazing." Oscar breathes against your neck, his voice rough with emotion. "I need you."

Your breath hitches, your hands grip his shoulders for support as you tilt your head back, giving him better access. "Oscar," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and affection.

His hands roam freely now, exploring every inch of your torso with a reverent touch. You feel the strength and control in his fingers, the way he holds you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You arch into his touch, your own hands exploring the hard planes of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. The fabric of his fireproofs is smooth and cool against your palms, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

"Oscar." You murmur again, your voice barely audible as you revel in the sensations he is creating. "I need you, too."

He lifts his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away.

"I'm right here," he replies, his voice steady yet husky.

Licking your lips in anticipation, you let out a long, exhausted sigh. At the same time, you feel one of his hands make its way down your chest and right to your jeans. In one swift motion, he unbuttons it, just to make way for his hand to slip inside.

Your breath hitches right away as you feel his fingers tracing patterns in all the right places.

Even though it's hard to keep your composure, you manage to return the favor, letting one of your hands run down his back, along his spine, around his waist, and between his legs.

As you touch him, Oscar lets out a low, primal groan, the culmination of all the teasing and desire building up between them. His response sends a thrill through you, igniting a fire that burns hotter with each passing moment.

The tension is palpable; both of you are aching for a release, craving the other's touch.

Together, you help each other undress just enough to make it work. Panting and growling, he tugs at your jeans until they are sliding down to your ankles, so his hands stroke your thighs delicately.

Then, it's your turn to help him. Pulling at the suit clinging to his skin, the two of you manage to pull his length out of his pants, just for you to hold it and play with it.

Exhausted, Oscar leans in, kissing you passionately. You melt into him, offering yourself for what's to come next.

The moment he slides inside your body, it sparks a tingling sensation inside your stomach, and you let out a low grunt. Simultaneously, he moans right into your mouth, making it even harder to keep a straight face.

He is the first to take the lead again.

With your back against the wall, he begins to grind his hips against yours, rhythmically, sensually, and it is easy for you to catch up. The two of you move in sync with one another, letting out low growls, moans, and grunts.

Your hands wander all over his chest, stroking him through his firerpoofs. Oscar's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. 

The sensation of your touch through the fabric sends waves of heat through him, encouraging him to increase the pace and strength of his thrusts. In return, he steadies himself against the wall behind you while his other hand lingers on your breasts.

Your movements are slow and deliberate; you are fully aware of his most sensitive spots, and you encourage him more and more. Pinching his nipples, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, and feeling his muscles bulge harder and hader.

Panting and moaning, Oscar's body grows stiff and rigid; unable to contain himself, he bites his lower lip before he grunts angrily.

"Fuck."

You revel in the power you have over him and the way he responds so intensely to your touch.

With each stroke, you feel him growing even more aroused, his body still tightening instinctively to your touch. His hands grip your breasts tighter, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body.

The two of you move as one; every thrust sends you closer and closer to the edge, and the way he grunts deeply tells you he feels the same.

As you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, you know there is no turning back. Your passion burns bright, consuming you both in a whirlwind of sensation and emotion.

With one final, heavy thrust, both of you let go of all that pressure and tension and scream out in ecstasy.

Several exhausted moans leave Oscar's lips, and he leans forward, grateful for the wall steadying him. At the same time, you lean your head back, moaning deeply.

You rest your head against his shoulder, swallowing hard. His body embraces yours right away; his firm shoulder is the perfect place right now.

Out of breath, the two of you barely regain your composure before you lock eyes again, both of you smiling contently.

"That was so good." He moans, exhausted, before he leans in, kissing you deeply.

"Oscar." You breathe into him, kissing him back.

After your passionate moment, you share another tender smile, your hearts still racing with the intensity of your connection. 

With gentle touches and soft kisses, you help each other get dressed again, your movements slow and deliberate again.

As you adjust the sleeves of his fireproofs, you look up at Oscar, your eyes filled with affection. "You were amazing today," you say, your voice filled with pride. "I am so proud of you."

Oscar smiles back, his expression softening. "I am so glad you are here." He replies, his voice tinged with gratitude.

As he begins to change into fresh clothes, you watch him closely, unable to tear your eyes away. 

Oscar moves with natural grace; every movement is fluid and confident. You can't help but admire the way his muscles shift beneath his skin as he removes his racing suit and tight firerpoofs.

He catches your gaze, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Sensing your admiration, he makes a little show out of changing, exaggerating his movements slightly as he slips out of his fireproofs and into a fresh pair of underwear you hand him.

You laught at his antics, enjoining the playful side of him that he reserves just for you. As you pull on the pair of jeans and the Mclaren shirt, you feel a surge of affection for him, admiring the way he looks in the team gear.

"You look amazing." You say. "But then again, you always do."

Oscar grins, his eyes shining brightly. "I have to look my best, especially with you around." He replies, his tone teasing.

With a final adjustment to his shirt, Oscar turns to you, his expression softening. "Thank you for being here," he says, his voice sincere. 

You reach out and place your hand on his chest again, gently stroking him once more. "I'll always be here for you." You reply. "No matter what."

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #formula 1 smut

[markrosewater]

Elegance

Here’s my original article for Elegance.

 This is a topic I’ve wanted to write about for a long time.  Ironically, the words needed to explain the concept kept the column from being elegant. So I did what all artists do.  I found a way to say a lot in a little space.

 Enjoy,

 Mark Rosewater

 [NOTE: EACH OF THE ABOVE FIFTY WORDS IS HYPERLINKED.  BELOW IS THE FIFTY HYPER LINKS.  THE HEADERS SHOULDN’T BE ON THE LINKED PAGE.  I’M JUST INCLUDING THEM SO YOU KNOW WHAT EACH LINK IS.]

 ELEGANCE

 Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary has five definitions for elegance:

 • refined grace or dignified propriety

• tasteful richness of design or ornamentation

• dignified, gracefulness or restrained beauty of style

• scientific precision, neatness and simplicity

• something that is elegant

 The common elements appear to be dignity, simplicity, and taste.

 THIS

 Elegance requires thinking, but it also requires feeling.  Elegant prose is judged by how it makes the reader feel. It needs to generate a sense of calm that puts the reader at ease.  Everything in your writing should feel as if it was carefully positioned to create the proper effect.

 IS

 Pound for pound, the writer’s greatest writing tool is the verb.  Nouns add substance and adjectives add flourish, but it’s the verb that drives the sentence.  Choose a strong, descriptive verb and the sentence has flair and purpose. Choose a weak one and the sentence lacks any sense of drama.

 A

 Here’s a little game to test an elegance relevant skill (based on an old game called Inklings).  Randomly choose a noun.  Try to convey that noun to the other players using the least number of letters possible. You’ll be surprised how much you can communicate in just a few letters.

 TOPIC

 One of the greatest stumbling blocks to elegance is the inability to choose a single focus.  Elegance requires simplicity.  Simplicity requires a single purpose of thought.  This means that elegance starts before you write a single word.  A good sculptor must know his image before he picks up his chisel.

 I’VE

 One of the common misconceptions of elegance is that it requires a writer to be fancy. Elegance though is more about familiarity than formality. You shouldn’t be afraid of friendlier language such as slang or contractions, assuming that such language adds an element of ease rather than one of laziness.

 WANTED

 An important element of elegance is a sense of passion.  Brevity does not mean pulling away emotionally from words, but rather the opposite.  When you find yourself limited to fewer words, you must pack each individual word with extra emotional punch.  You are not reducing your message, simply your messenger.

 TO

 A good tool in understanding elegance is studying poetry.  Poetry is the most concise of all written art forms.  It strives to maximize impact while minimizing expression.  Each word carries the burden of evoking some essence of the poet’s message. If it cannot carry its own weight, it is excised.

WRITE

 To be an elegant writer, you have to become a student of prose.  You have to study the mechanics of language to understand how it can be shaped.  Once you have learned how to transfer the feeling in your head into meaningful words, you are on the path to elegance.

 ABOUT

 Be careful not to fall in love with ambiguity.  While intoxicating in its beauty, it is the enemy of elegance. Remember, the goal is not to make the reader struggle for comprehension.  Rather it is to lead them to the obvious conclusion. Elegance should be used to illuminate, not confuse.

 FOR

 Elegant prose requires connecting with your reader.  To do this, you have to understand who that reader is.  Nothing should come before this task.  It needs to be done before writing can begin. I like to compare this to planning a trip.  Maps are useless until you know your destination.

 A

 Another major key to elegance is the understanding of the importance of the tiniest detail.  Just as a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, a piece of prose is only as tight as its messiest detail. A good writer doesn’t stop at the nouns, verbs and adjectives.

 LONG

 Don’t confuse elegance with brevity.  Elegant things are short not because they have to be but because the difficulty to craft an elegant piece of prose combined with the limitations of time forces writers to be brief.  Elegant novels, for example, do exist, but they are few and far between.

 TIME

 To quote Roman orator (and letter writer) Marcus T. Cicero, “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.”  

 Simplicity takes more time not less.  Anyone can get a point across with ten thousand words.  But a true artist can do it in ten (or possibly fifty).  

 IRONICALLY

 Irony is a potent tool for commentary.  Its genius lies in the fact that it comments not on what is, but rather on what isn’t.  Like all good humor, irony makes you laugh.  But like the best type of humor, it also makes you think.  It’s both funny and funny.

 THE

 Elegance in writing is about more than words. Equally important is how the words are woven together. Tempo, pacing, rhythm – these are the tools that set the mood for the piece.  Try reading aloud your text.  The natural beat of language is more suited for the ear than the eye.

 WORDS

 To realize the power of words, you must first understand how they work. Art is expressive; words are connotative.  That is, words draw their power from their ability to extract different ideas from different people.  A circle is a circle, but the concept of “scary” varies from person to person.

 NEEDED

 Elegance is not the result of any one attribute.  It is the combination of numerous factors coming together in harmony. This is why it’s such a hard skill to master.  Most people can pat their head or rub their tummy.  But put them together and it’s not quite so easy.

 TO

 An elegant piece of prose needs to hit the reader at a gut level.  Often they won’t know exactly why they like it, but they will recognize that something about the piece moves them.  There are many types of writing where subtlety is lost.  Elegant writing isn’t one of them.

 EXPLAIN

 There are many ways for you to explain an idea.  The most elegant one though is not through definition but by example. By connecting your idea to one already known by the reader, you’re leaving the work of teaching to someone in the past.  Education is hard.  Comparison is easy.

 THE

 If writing is like building a house, the structure is like the foundation. Its design will dictate how the house is built.  If it’s faulty, no amount of fancy brickwork will undo the damage.  So take the time to ensure your structure is building the kind of prose you want.

 CONCEPT

 Never underestimate the power of a concept.  An important part of elegance is condensing big ideas into little words. This is far from an easy task.  It often takes a genius an entire lifetime to create a truly innovative concept.  So take advantage of all their hard work and inspiration.  

 KEPT

 A common barrier to elegance is the belief that only one way will work. Often a writer is unable to abandon a beloved piece of prose even when evidence demonstrates otherwise.  If something doesn’t add to the larger sense of the piece, you have to learn to let it go.

 THE

 Readers notice things at a minute level far beyond their mind’s ability to interpret. This means that although they may not consciously notice many of your tiny details, they will do so unconsciously. Aesthetics teach us that it’s this unconscious structure that will determine whether or not it feels “right”.

 COLUMN

 All communicators, whether through speaking or print, need to find a voice. A voice provides familiarity and it teaches the listener or reader how to more quickly absorb the information. Elegance is all about the conservation of ideas.  Having a pre-learned voice to guide you is a very valuable tool.

 FROM

 I’ve spent some time talking about understanding your reader.  But there is one more person who is even more important to understand – yourself. Writing is about sharing your ideas with others.  If you haven’t spent the time to figure out what you think, how can you possibly communicate it?

 BEING

 “A picture is worth a thousand words.”

 Or so the saying goes.  What the cliché forgets to mention is how many words a single word is worth.  For example, take the word “being”. To capture the essence of what “being” represents is tens of thousands of words if not more.

 ELEGANT

 What is the value of being elegant? Why should you care? Elegance adds aesthetics. It evokes poetry.  It grants beauty.  Elegant prose draws the reader closer because it gives them something to not just learn but to admire.  Good prose stimulates the head, but elegant prose resonates in the heart.

 SO

 Who, what, where, when, how - all important questions.  But for a writer they pale next to why.  If you don’t understand the reasoning beneath the surface, the other details are irrelevant.  The act of elegance is cementing the why.  It’s taking the purpose and engraining it into the piece.

 I

 Elegance is a very personal thing.  If something doesn’t resonate with you, there’s no way for it to resonate with your reader.  Writing is an art, not a science.  There is no rulebook for how things must be done.  If your instincts are telling you that something isn’t working, listen.

 DID

 An important tool in your toolbox is time. Elegance cannot be rushed.  Mental ruts only get deeper the harder you focus on them.  Make sure to work time into your schedule so you are able to walk away from your writing. An hour next week is worth a day today.  

 WHAT

 Don’t let attention to detail pull you away from having a larger sense of what you’re writing.  Take this column as an example.  While I spent a lot of time fine tuning each entry I never lost sight of the effect they created when all the entries were put together.

 ALL

 Elegance requires taking a holistic view of writing.  Every word, every sentence, every paragraph is a piece in a larger puzzle. It’s not enough to understand the impact of a single element. You must understand how any two elements interact if you want to understand the potency of your text.

 ARTISTS

 Elegance and art are very intertwined.  Both seek to achieve a similar goal: to illuminate and inspire with a conservation of expression.  If you’re trying to be elegant, I think it helps to think of yourself as an artist. The instinct for the latter mirrors the needs of the former.

 DO

 An important part of any writing is understanding the feeling you’re trying to evoke.  And then realizing what mechanic tools you have available to evoke that feeling. Diction, verb tense, sentence length, alliteration, word flow, phonetic juxtaposition – each of these will control the mood and tone of your piece.

 I

 A writer’s life is the ultimate fodder.  Don’t be ashamed to plumb your own experiences.  You understand them deeper and more personally than anyone else.  No painter would refuse to use his finest paints. And, as a bonus, by using your own experiences, you will become better educated about yourself.

 FOUND

 Don’t forget that the act of revealing is also an act of exploration.  Don’t be afraid if you learn more than the reader you’re trying to educate.  Writing is not an exact science.  (Or even an exact art.)  Often you will find that the road to salvation has a fork.

 A

 Your future is paved with your past.  If you want to learn how to grow as a writer, you need to look back at what you’ve written. With time and a detached eye, your will find your mistakes become clearer.  Remember that it’s failure, not success, that bests drives education.

 WAY

 The problem with looking for a single solution is that you’ll never find more than one.  And the first one isn’t always the best.  But if you’re open to the possibility that every problem has an infinite number of answers, you’ll have the freedom of choosing the solution you want.  

 TO

 Sentences are filled with freeloaders.  Because writers seem to love overwriting. (I include myself in this camp.)  Make sure to create time for the editor side of you to prune unnecessary words.  If a word can be excised without any harm to the sentence, it has no right being there.

 SAY

 I’m spending my time today talking about elegance in prose, but most of what I’m saying is applicable in speech.  The key difference is that prose has less defining attributes like appearance or tone.  The key to elegant speech is making people focus on the words rather than everything else.

 A

 It’s ironic that something designed to be so simple can be so complex.  But that, my faithful readers, is the joy (and mystery) of elegance. Like an onion, elegance has numerous layers that reveal themselves as you slowly peel them away.  Oh yeah, and it can sometimes make you cry.

 LOT

 An interesting exercise is to look at each word you’re using and think about how much content is loaded in that word.  Then explore what other words exist that fulfill the same role but with added content.  Once you’ve found the word you can’t best, move onto the next word.

 IN

 A good way to get better at understanding elegance is to look for it in every day life. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised where and how often you find it.  Study each example carefully and try to see if you can put your finger on what makes it work.  

 A

 Writing is a shared endeavor.  No one owns the words.  If someone uses a technique that works, there’s no shame in borrowing it.  Like science, writing creates technology that’s brought back to the group to spur further advancements.  Elegance is hard enough to accomplish without refusing to use the toolbox.

 LITTLE

 How big should a piece of text be if you want it to be elegant?  The answer is as big as it needs to be – and not a word more. Just think of it as playing the game Jenga. Keep pulling words out of your prose until it collapses.  

 SPACE

 One of the most important lessons in art is learning the value of negative space, the idea that the eyes are equally drawn to what isn’t there.  Prose has a very similar quality.  When writing pay careful attention to what you aren’t saying. Often it will speak the loudest volume.

 ENJOY

 For some reason people tend to equate dignity with seriousness.  And as such they come to the false conclusion that elegance has no room for humor.  Ironic as humor is one of the most elegant of styles.  A good joke is no longer than is necessary to do its job.

 MARK

 As is always true when I head off the beaten path, I am curious to hear your feedback.  What did you think of this article?  Was it entertaining?  Was it educational? Did you actually read all fifty links?  And if not, why not?

 Tell me.  Inquiring mind wants to know.

 ROSEWATER

 I couldn’t end this week’s column without my trademark closing.  I mean, how inelegant would that be?

 Join me next week when  I go from being a letter man to a Letterman.

 Until then, may you learn to appreciate now just the “what” but the “how” and “why”.

 Mark Rosewater

[emacrow]

So you know the movie Ponyo

What I'm really trying to ask is do you know the mother and the father are like a little thing where the mother looks like an epic Sea Goddess cuz she is and he looks like a sad sickly old man

I'm just imagine that Klarion and Danny

Like Danny looks like an epic beautiful star Death god powerful in the way he moves but it's subtle like he's slowly comforting you to death

And Klarion looks like a crazy witch boy with a cat who look like he's out right feral and about to throw a pipe bomb at you just because he can

I'm just imagining what happens is Young/Dark Justice is worried about Klarion he's been gone for a while and they're wondering what he's planning I imagine they're surprised when they see him with a Lazarus pit

It's a specially surprising when electric entity sticks their head out of the Lazarus pit and starts talking to Klarion as the JLD and YJL hide there waiting for Klarion into demand help our power they watch this being completely start flirting with Klarion

I imagine Klarion and Danny's conversation going like this

Danny: Hello there my amazing chaos what have you came to talk to me about this time

He puts his hands up to pick up Klarion and bring him closer to his face

Klarion: It's that stupid Doctor Fate it's like he doesn't understand too much balance can ruin the order of the world I might love chaos but that would cause a chaos I couldn't even control

Klarion sits down and Danny's hands rubbing his head on one of Danny's fingers as comfort

Danny: Oh my love I could always talk to him and get him to try slow it down a bit if that's what you need

Danny's face turns into one of concern as he says that slowly starting to move around in the bigger than normal Lazarus pit that Klarion found for him

Klarion: No starlight me and Teekl have that old fart handled how about you tell me about your day instead did you find any more stars how is the balance between life and death doing for you

Danny puts him back down as a twinkle goes in to his eyes as he lays down in Lazarus water slowly starting to swim around as he say

Danny: oh Klarion life and death has been amazing and there's a new Star nursery that I found out there it's just wonderful

After Danny says that he pauses for a moment and presents to go underneath the water he comes out looking smaller with white hair and still wearing the same clothing he was wearing when he was larger surprising Klarion by grabbing his hands

Danny: oh Klarion my dear I have an idea how about we let Dr.Fate have what he wants for once in his miserable life let him have order without the balance that he needs that should show him that he needs you should it not

Klarion takes a second to think through It after he does he grabs Danny's hands right back

Klarion: that's an amazing idea Danny I'll stay with you in the infinite realms let's see how Dr Fate work without chaos helping him keep the balance

After that Danny kisses Klarion on the cheek using the the Lazarus pits to take him and Klarion to somewhere called the infinite realms

I'm sorry this is my first time really writing out Klarion I don't know how to write out characters that well I hope it was good that is what I really like is YJ and JLD was just reacting to this conversation since like the plan was listen and find information

You bet damn right that Dr Fate would have trouble keeping the balance, and would probably have the justice league trying to find Klarion because he thinks he up to something but in reality Klarion is in the middle of deep space, playing around with the stars as Danny is molding and feeding the baby star nursery to build a new universe in the making.

Dani is probably with him doing looping loops playing with star dust while Dan beat up any asteroids that had bad bacteria and let some of the good meteorites in that has good bacteria, and frozen water inside of them.

By the the time Justice league figured it out, probably the Green lantern, Hal. He probably gobsmacked and godsmacked straight back where he came form accidentally by Danny's star fueled cape.

#i give answers #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #danny is the ghost king #danny has a space core #klarion

[piastree]

Is It Over Now? | LN4

lando norris x reader (fc: olivia rodrigo)

— Part 5

Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: As Lando's life goes on, so does Kaia's life. But has she finally found someone new? She is always afraid to compare her new relationship with her previous relationship because she knows that she is not completely over him. note: I've decided to give names to each character in this story because I was getting confused while writing. I hope you don't mind with this change<3

f1wagsupdate

Liked by user, user, user and 55,123 others

f1wagsupdate It's been spreading everywhere that a few days ago, Lando was seen partying with his friends. Someone just sent us a DM saying they spotted Kaia there too, and saw them chatting together. Luisa was nowhere too be seen that night because she was out of the town. Just recently, Kaia posted a song cover on her instagram story. Could this be related to her meeting with Lando? Running into each other once or twice could be a coincidence, but three times? Doesn't that mean they're meant to be together?

view comments

user no solid proof y'all just love drama, leave her alone

user Are we even sure it was Kaia? People jump to conclusions so fast

user Seeing Lando with Kaia again makes me think they're not over each other yet

user Stop spreading hate. Whether they're friends or even not be friends anymore, it's their choice

user Lando should focus on Luisa if he’s serious about their relationship

user who are u to judge if he hasn't really moved on?

user Old feelings die hard

user did lando and kaia have an on and off relationship back then?

user as much as i know nope

user Nope, they weren't the on-again, off-again type. Plus, Kaia went off social media for a bit after their split, and after that she never showed anything related to him

f1wagsupdate

Liked by user, user, user and 43,666 others

f1wagsupdate Kaia, Lando's ex-girlfriend, has recently been spotted in London enjoying some quality time with a mystery man. The two were seen together, looking quite cozy and definitely giving off more-than-friends vibes. Eyewitnesses say Kaia and the handsome stranger were deep in conversation, sharing laughs and looking very comfortable in each other's company.

view comments

user I need to know who this mystery man is ASAP

user she deserves to be happy, whether it's with Lando or someone else

user even with just their backs in the photo, they look so cute<3

user the body language says it all, the hand placement is definitely not just friendly

user finally she found someone, all the best for you kaia

luisinhaoliveira99

Liked by user, user, user and 122,120 others

luisinhaoliveira99 a night to remember❤️

view comments

landonorris ❤️

notes: sorry it took a long time for the new post. Hope you enjoy the new chapter :D i'm planning to edit the names from the beginning, hopefully i can finish it as soon as possible

taglist: @c-losur3 @tania2748 @starz4me1 @celestialend @booksandflowrs @xlinxdax0704 @jule239 @amberpanda99 @sanctify-mp3 @alltoomaples @littlehoneyfreak @leclercdream @jehun @d3kstar@lottef1 @m4neaterrrr @sassyheroneckgiant @saachiep81 @evie-119 @nhlfs @hiireadstuff @littlexscarletxwitch @xjval @softtina @loaves4me @e-nonsense @ogfangirl @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ironmaiden1313 @landorris @norwayxo @saachiep81 @val-writes @sunny44 @maplesyrupsainz @moonyzsworld @callsignwidow @scopeiguess @chezmardybum @neodeliightt @imsiriuslyreal @tinyhrry @harrysdimple05 @emyladia @kravitzwhore @theyluvflynn @urfavouriteanon

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris au #f1 smau #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #lando norris smau #lando norris x oc

[3cremepie3]

Malleus with a gn reader (amab) with Malleus constantly peppering kisses while fucking them please?

Wander

Synopsis - Malleus having some lovey-dovey sex with gn (amab) reader!! Fluff, smut!

Warnings - Creampie, stomach bludging, cursing

A/n - this is my first time writing for an amab reader. If I made any mistakes pls let me know I plan on writing more fics like this in the future. Thank you so much for requesting btw!!

“Y/n,” Malleus called trying to get your attention. Your eyes were wandering everywhere but his even though you felt his intense stare. “Why aren’t you looking at me, darling? Are you perhaps embarrassed?” There’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I know it’s just…”. You couldn’t even get the words out of your mouth as a moan interrupted your speech. “It’s okay use your words.” Malleus soothed you as he kissed you up the nape of your neck. This allowed you to lean in further to his body that was already smothering you.

His abs felt so hard against your leaking dick adding to the pleasure your body was feeling. Your eyes locked with him as your new position forced you to. His stare was intense but loving and for the first time, you could see the fae in all his glory.

Thee Malleus was balls deep hammering into your hole while blushing. You felt a sense of relief wash over you knowing that he was enjoying himself. “So tight I hope I don’t break you, child of man,” he groaned.

“I can handle it… I think,” you whispered. “So quiet,” he laughed. “So cute.” He left another kiss along your neck sending shivers up your sweaty spine. He was so gentle in contrast to his rough strokes that would leave you stretched out for days.

“Fuck so deep!” You yelped feeling him bludge himself into your stomach. “Such a vulgar mouth for a beautiful creature. You must need help covering it huh?” Before you could answer Malleus's tounge swallowed yours.

You exchanged a heated kiss that had drool dripping from the sides of your mouths. “Can’t breathe.” You spoke in between exchanges. It felt as though he was stealing your breath away. And for a moment you were oxygen-deprived.

He finally pulled away from not kissing your mouth but every spot he could see on your face. “So good for me,” he cooed. His hand traveled down your stomach and settled on your dick. You were almost at your limit and Malleus could tell since you were gripping him so tightly.

He kept hitting that sweet spot inside of you. With each stroke, someone began to feel better than the last as he rubbed you up and down slowly. The pace of his hips and his hand didn’t match and it sent your body into an early frenzy. “Faster please faster,” you begged. Your hand went over his quicking his pace.

“Making a mess and you haven’t even cum yet how naughty,” he gasped. You were too humiliated to respond all you could do was sit there and take it. Malleus continued his attack of kisses over your body even as you came into his palm. It shot up on top of you hitting his abs like they were a perfect target.

Your body fell limp as all your energy was exuded. So Malleus had to use you like a ragdoll to finish. “I’ll be done soon, my love.” He kissed your lips to make up for it as he followed after you. By the time he was done cumming your insides felt full. He remained inside of you plugging his liquid in.

You watched as he pulled out still keeping eye contact with you. And you were for sure not meeting your eyes wander from this sight.

#disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fandom #twst smut #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland fan fic #twst wonderland #malleus x you #malleus x y/n #malleus x reader smut #malleus smut #twst malleus #malleus x yuu #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleyuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland smut #3creampie3 #twst imagines #twst x reader #twst yuu #twst rp

[charles-leclerc-official]

2024 Monaco Grand Prix Analysis

At the beginning of this season Charles said that his was a dream that writes itself in red, well this weekend that dream wrote itself in red and white on the streets of Monaco. 

In these analyses I like to break down a race, share numbers, graphs, really dig into the technical elements of the sport. But I write these analyses to get my thoughts down about the sport I love.

This is going to be a lot more, let’s say, emotional than my usual style of analysis. Because analysis does go beyond just the numbers, it’s about the people behind the wheel, it’s about understanding the story of a race, and this race has a particularly special story. 

Because for the first time in Formula One history Charles Leclerc won the Monaco Grand Prix.

Table of Contents Race Overview Ferrari - Charles: win, qualifying, data, strategy - Carlos: strategy - Data Analysis Mclaren - Oscar - Lando - Data Analysis Red Bull - Max: qualifying - Sergio: qualifying, crash - Data Analysis Haas Alpine Mercedes Williams Final Thoughts

Race Overview

So, there were other cars on the track this race, and they did in fact do things, so as much as I’d like to write only about Charles, I still have to talk about the race as a whole, because this race was revealing on the data side of things. 

Before we get to Charles’ story this race, let’s set the stage.

This race really had two key components. The first being qualifying, it’s always crucial in Monaco, and that was no different this year. This race was largely decided in qualifying and we will look at the data there to see where it was won and lost. And second the red flag allowing teams to fulfill their mandatory pitstop after lap 1, which made this a race of tyre management and pace calculations. Teams put on hards, planning on them lasting the remaining 77 laps, because strategically not pitting and thus not risking losing track position was strategically optimal for everyone in the points. 

There were really three races all happening simultaneously. The race at the front that involved Charles, Oscar, Carlos and Lando. The race in the middle involving George, Lewis and Max. And the race behind Yuki, involving the rest of the field. The timing gaps put these drivers all on different strategies, different pace management, with different goals.

While it may not have produced the most thrilling racing on track, there were a lot of moving parts to this race and a lot of skill was shown from all of the top drivers to get their results both in qualifying and in the race. 

First Lap

On the first lap of the race there were 3 separate incidents. And these are all key to the rest of the race.

Kevin hit Checo resulting in a massive crash that took out his teammate Nico as well. This brought out the red flag and required a standing restart of the race. Fortunately all drivers walked away with no major injuries.

Carlos tried to pass Oscar, and in doing so they made slight contact, a bit of the carbon from Oscar's car caused one of Carlos’ tyres to puncture. It appeared as though his race was over, but because this puncture happened after the aforementioned red flag, he was able to keep his position in P3 on the race restart. 

Esteban and Pierre had a collision, when Esteban tried to make a very dangerous pass on Pierre going into the tunnel. This was 100% his fault and resulted in him retiring from the race. 

Fortunately with all of these incidents no drivers were injured. Checo, Nico, Kevin, and Esteban all retired from the race. 

Finally note that Monaco is a very unique track and can produce outlier results. Teams that got good results here may continue to struggle on other tracks, and conversely teams that struggled here will likely fare better on other tracks. Teams that have been strong and were strong here are just continuing a pattern of strong performances from their car and drivers. However there are some things that this track can and did reveal about certain cars, that will carry through to future races.

With all that said, let’s get to the only real race that mattered this weekend. That being Charles in his scarlet SF-24. 

Ferrari

Charles

Are curses real? That may seem a strange thing to ask in a race analysis, but for the past 6 years curses sure felt real. From a failing car, to a failing team strategy Charles’ luck in Monaco became infamous to us all, and at a certain point bad luck starts to feel like a curse. 

Curses aren’t real. 

And if they are, then they are made to be broken.

It started with a red car racing on the streets of Monaco, and a boy watching that red car. It has continued with that same boy, now a man, racing in that red car, winning the streets he’s always called home.

So let’s look at how exactly Charles won this race. 

Charles is the first Monegasque driver in Formula One history to win in Monaco. Louis Chiron was the only other Monegasque driver to win this home race in 1931, before Formula One was officially established. It’s a small country, and the chances one of their own would even make it to Formula One, let alone bring home the win were slim. Charles does like beating the odds. So this isn’t just a meaningful win to one man, it’s special for an entire country, and will now be entered into their history books. 

To say this was a meaningful win would be an understatement. Because this track is one of the crown jewels of Formula One, conquering it is putting your name alongside the greats. Conquering it as your home race is to make history. 

Monaco

I have seen a lot of people not understanding Monaco as a track. And to really put anyone's drive this weekend into proper context, understanding this track is essential.

Put simply, Monaco is the most technical track on the F1 calendar. With tight corners, big speed changes, and the narrowest margins for error this track is one where a driver's skill can really shine. To drive it well is challenging, and it often sorts out the strongest driver between two teammates. This is why qualifying is so exciting, seeing drivers run on a razor's edge trying to get that perfect lap. The reason driver's love this track is because it allows them to really prove their skill to themselves and to their team.

It is also a track that involves unique race strategy.

The main component is that this is the most unforgiving track in the entire calendar. One move that is slightly too far off and you've hit the wall.

To put in a good lap and a good race around Monaco is a testament of a driver's skill. I am impressed with every driver who is able to pull this track off, and do it without error.

Qualifying

Monaco is a race that is usually decided in qualifying. And that is partially true. To win the Monaco grand prix you must put together a flying lap around one of the most challenging tracks in Formula 1, a track that offers next to no margin for error, and then you must complete 78 more laps around this technically demanding track, all without significant error, without losing focus, without letting what few opportunities for overtaking there are be your downfall. 

Starting on pole in Monaco is crucial to having a chance at winning the race. The field this year is closer than it’s been in the last few years. This year Charles’ pole lap most certainly poised him to win the race. 

Here is Charles’ pole lap from qualifying compared to Oscar who qualified P2. And this lap really was a lap of just superior speed and skill on Charles’ part. The little details mattered and that was where Charles brought out the extra pace, putting together a truly masterful pole lap. 

There are quite a few details that set Charles’ lap apart from Oscars’.

Taking those corners at a higher speed, in a higher gear, using that early braking to be able to exit the sector three turns with more speed are what made the difference. It all really did just come together. The reason he could operate in a higher gear was because of his excellent application of the brake and the throttle with millisecond accuracy, as well as the SF-24 being solid on this track in terms of the grip and overall settings. 

Oscar lost pace in areas where these little details that come with experience and skill to get those additional tenths matter.

Charles was ahead in all sectors. There were a few points where Oscar had the edge, but those were very brief. The gap between them really came down to skill on key areas of the track. We know the Mclaren has good top speeds, so it isn’t an issue in that area. 

I think the real story of where exactly the difference between these two laps came is in the throttle and brake application. 

Charles has a signature early braking, followed by a slight jump in throttle application. This allows him to lose less speed in those turns and leverage more control of his grip and exit speed. Rather than braking once for longer, in a few places we see him hit the brake several times quickly, again followed by a short burst of throttle. This is a point of fine control on those turns and allows for a more refined racing line. 

Also because of this he was able to stay in higher gears earlier or for longer. Not only that, his gear management was smoother. Rather than jumping from 3rd gear to 5th like Oscar did on the straight going into turn 12, Charles increased to 4th then 5th, and this actually does give a little more control in terms of grip on the straight as well as the turn. 

A lot of the differences we saw in their laps came down to these little details, where Charles' approach to the entire lap was just more refined and that put him consistently ahead and is the reason he was able to put this all together in a single lap.

Simply put this was a near perfectly refined lap. Pure speed does not put together a fast lap in Monaco, skill does, and Charles was on it in that department this weekend. 

Oscar did put together a good lap as well, do not get me wrong, but it was clearly not as refined as Charles’ and that’s why he qualified P2.

The thing about qualifying at the front was that Charles was not ahead by a fine margin, it wasn’t by a few hundredths, or even just a tenth. It was by a little over 1.5 tenths(0.154s). And compared to the gaps the rest of the top of the field had to each other this lap was impressive, especially with how competitive Mclaren were. The next 6 cars behind Charles all had less than 1 tenth separating them from the car behind(ex Oscar was less than a tenth ahead of Carlos, who was less then a tenth ahead of Lando and so on)

The Race

Qualifying ahead is half of the equation, the other half is managing the following 78 laps with no errors. This race was interesting because it was a battle of pace control and tyre management.

Let’s look at the Charles' race pace graph. No one was driving for fast pace, so this isn’t quite like a lot of previous races we’ve looked at. Those first 10 laps they were feeling each other out, after that it was determined by whatever pace Charles set. And the final ten laps revealed just how well they had managed their tyres.

And as I have been saying all year, if it comes down to a tyre management contest, Charles will win. No one in the top 5 has been better in terms of tyre management all season. And once again Charles gave us another stellar performance in tyre management. This was really clear in those final laps when he was able to push for speed, and Oscar(who tried) wasn’t able to. Oscar managed his tyres well, but he didn’t have enough left to be able to really push for faster laps in the end compared to Charles. I will say I think by the final 3 or so laps Oscar stopped trying to push. Same goes for Charles. At that point the race was decided and everyone’s tyres were spent. 

Here you can see where Charles slowed to artificially keep things at the right pace for the tyres and the time strategy for cars further behind. This wasn’t a race of who has faster pace, it was who can control things and who can keep their tyres in the best shape for the end of the race. So most of these lap times are going to be identical, and that’s just a symptom of the strategy.

But it was lap 66 when Charles started to really pick up the pace where actually being faster came into play. He was able to do this because he’d won in the area of tyre management, and so when he wanted to push he could get way more speed. I think he decided to push here because he wanted to win with a gap to second, mostly to assure there was no doubt about who won this race. He didn’t want it close. I also think he may have been attempting a fastest lap for that grand slam. It wasn’t necessary, it was more just a show of skill, which is what Monaco is for. 

Oscar did push in those later laps as well, I think to see if he could keep up with Charles, not to pass but just to see if he had it. He didn’t. His tyres were worse off than Charles’ and this was reflected by their fastest lap times. Charles' fastest lap of his race was 1:15.162 on lap 70, and Oscar’s fastest was 1:16.281. So a full second off Charles, that second is really reflective of the tyre management from both of them. This was further highlighted by Charles finishing 7 seconds ahead of Oscar. That was a gap that reflected their tyre management over the race. Charles was able to push to get that gap(I think he wanted to win by a pretty good margin) Oscar did push, especially at first to try to keep pace with Charles but he did not have it in his tyres. That final gap is the real reflection of the difference between the two on their tyre management over the race. 

From the start of the weekend to the checkered flag, Charles made it clear that he was the best driver this weekend, in multiple facets of technical skill. He put together a stunning qualifying lap, and followed that up with his superior tyre management and fine control of the SF-24.

Now on to the only real strategy concern of Charles’ race. The possibility of Lando pitting if the gap between George and Lando became great enough that Lando would be able to pit without giving up any places. What was the risk here, and would it have affected the outcome of the race if Lando had pit? The risk was that Lando would get fresh tyres, and with a field of cars all operating on old tyres that’s an advantage, and that he wouldn’t have to give up track position to do it. So he’d come out behind Carlos on fresh mediums. The concern would have been that he’d be able to overtake Carlos and then Charles would have two Mclaren’s behind. But Oscar couldn’t pass Charles. We saw Charles late in the race had the pace to be able to defend if he’d been seriously threatened. And this would have required Lando to pass Carlos, which we saw Max couldn’t overtake George when Max was on much fresher tyres, so I highly doubt Lando was getting past Carlos, and I further doubt that Oscar would have let Lando by to attempt to attack Charles.

I think it’s very likely that the moment Lando pit George would have increased his pace and possibly taken the spot. So it’s possible this would have just compromised Mclaren’s race and there was no real threat to Ferrari at all. The gap was fine so a little pushing from George was all it would take. 

One argument was that both Mclaren’s could have pushed Charles to go faster, and Charles would have had to wear his tyres more, but we saw in the data that Charles was managing best, so he’d likely have been able to respond to this. And again this is all acting on the assumption that Lando would be able to overtake Carlos which I really do not think was going to happen. Carlos has shown he can defend against a Mclaren. 

Also Charles was the one controlling the pace of the entire race. His pace was the one affecting Lando the most, not Carlos’, as Carlos pace was again dictated by Charles. That’s one of the key strategic advantages of getting pole in Monaco is that you get to set the pace of the race. Charles was the one in control of all 4 cars behind him, and the main car controlling both Mclarens. Carlos’ was making the smaller pace adjustments to both Mclarens to further refine the strategy and work off the control Charles was already exerting. Again excellent teamwork from both of them on this. But make no mistake about who was in the greatest amount of control and keeping Mclaren’s pace in check 

The biggest risk Lando posed was to Carlos’ race, not Charles’. And even then that is a big if. 

I fully believe that even if Carlos had been made to retire from the race, or had started further back Charles would have won. Oscar was faster than Lando and he tried putting pressure on Charles in the few places it was possible to do so, Charles defended and made it clear Oscar wasn’t getting by. Lando was not going to fare better than Oscar here, especially since his speed wasn’t as good as Oscar’s on this track. 

Make no mistake, I do believe Carlos played a key role. His work against the Mclaren’s allowed Charles to stay focused on his tyres and getting his pace just right instead of having to worry more about the cars behind him. I think he could have managed anyway, but not having to worry about all of those factors because his teammate was covering him is the kind of teamwork we want to see. But Carlos is not the reason Charles won, Charles won because he was fastest, and also made the fewest mistakes on this highly technical track, and also had the best tyre management. 

Now I will just take a moment to go over a few narratives forming around Charles’ win and performance. 

“Oscar was faster than Charles”(in reference to qualifying): No, if you put together all of Oscar’s fastest mini sectors they add up to a faster lap than Charles’. But that isn’t actually fast, mini sectors don’t mean anything if you can’t string them together into one lap. It takes skill to not only be fast but to be fast over one lap for qualifying in Monaco. Oscar was certainly fast, but he wasn’t the fastest. 

“It was a gifted win”: Monaco is often won in qualifying, the man who qualified the best, by a good margin is the one who won, that’s a win based on skill and speed, far from gifted. Also one’s team helping get a win isn’t gifted, that’s literally what a team is supposed to do. If you don’t understand that qualifying is a big part of winning Monaco I can’t help you. 

“Charles got lucky”: He won Monaco the way it’s usually won, by putting together the best qualifying lap. Luck had nothing to do with it. He didn’t gain any positions based on luck, he wasn’t faster based on luck, he didn’t run the cleanest race of the weekend based on luck, it takes skill to pull that off. 

Carlos

While this was Charles’ best performance all year, this race was also in my opinion one of Carlos’ best drives as well. Yes he’s had better results but the driving itself I think was better here. He really pulled off some great driving and was a key part of the team strategy to bring both Ferraris onto the podium. The only issue was in the first lap he would have been out on that puncture without the red flag, and that was in part his fault(he was the one attempting the pass so I place a little more responsibility for the contact on him) but after that his driving was quite good and he played very well into the team strategy. Not only that he did put together a very solid qualifying lap. 

In terms of team strategy Carlos’ job was to keep Lando behind, and also to put pressure on Oscar so that Oscar couldn’t ever fully try to attack Charles(especially in those early laps) However the key battle for Carlos was against Lando. Keeping Lando back, and at the correct pace was crucial as if it had been too much or too little Lando may have had the opportunity to pit which could have compromised Carlos’ race(unlikely but not impossible).

There are a few key moments I want to highlight where Carlos was really pulling it all together in this strategy. 

First was him holding off Lando in those early laps. The best opportunities for this race to overtake would have been the first 10-15 laps, and the final 10(depending on how a driver managed their tyres) , that is when they could afford to push the most, the middle of the race was all about keeping a certain pace. 

The second was in the final 10 laps when Carlos essentially ping ponged between lap times to keep a little pressure on Oscar while holding Lando back by the correct margin to prevent any chance he’d have to try to sneak a pit stop. The team helped Carlos manage this quite well and he did great here. 

He was mostly holding off Lando. Very rarely was he putting real pressure on Oscar. 

The data reflects this quite clearly.

The swinging lap times in lap 55 -67 are the ones where Carlos’ exerting his control over Lando, and the rest of the pack’s pace is most apparent. Other laps in the middle of the race also reflect this. Faster laps were to be sure to remind Oscar that he could apply pressure, and to prevent things from slowing too much, slower laps were to keep the pace correct, he didn’t want to give Lando the chance to take more control of the pace of the cars behind. Great strategy from Ferrari, and good pace control from Carlos to pull this off. 

I will say I am not sure about that attempt to get past Oscar on lap one that resulted in the puncture. On the one hand I get wanting to take the position, but also that’s so risky. I am not sure if that was a Ferrari strategy or if he made the move himself. I am doubtful Ferrari would risk something like that when both cars were already positioned so well, it was best to hold and manage from there rather than attempt the overtake which yes would have allowed full control of the front, but it also could have resulted in a collision which is more likely here, and that easily could have compromised Charles’ race as well. So I am unsure. I can see both approaches. I prefer the less risky one given Carlos was already in a good spot for himself and the team I don’t think it was worth the risk, and I mean I was right, it didn’t work for him. But fortunately he did get that bit of luck with the timing and his race after was really clean. 

Now let’s just cover a few narratives that have formed around Carlos’ race. 

“Carlos got lucky, he should have been out on that puncture at the restart”: No, the ruling that allowed him to keep P3 is consistent with previous rulings. He got a puncture after the red flag that triggered the race restart. Other teams, including Mclaren who are the main source of this complaint benefitted from being able to work on cars before the race restart as well, but it’s only unfair when Carlos benefits? 

“Carlos keeping the position was unfair”: No, it was consistent with the rules. It can feel unfair all it wants, but I wouldn’t claim it’s unfair, if this were to come up again and benefit a different team I suspect people would be saying something different. It was consistent with the rules, and that’s what we want to see, regardless of who benefits and who loses. 

Mclaren were the main team to claim that Carlos being allowed to start in his original position after the race restart was unfair. They aren’t reliable in this assessment, of course the rival team that stands the most to gain from Carlos being out is going to say this.

“Carlos got lucky”: Getting a tyre puncture at a specific time is a weird type of luck, but if you want to think that’s lucky I can’t stop you. If you are referring to him being allowed to keep his place that just came down to timing, and yes there was some luck with the timing there.

“Carlos should have been penalized for impeding during qualifying”: No, Carlos didn’t impede, Monaco is a narrow track and he got out of the way as soon as it was possible to do so. 

“Carlos should have been penalized for contact with Oscar in lap 1”: The contact wasn’t solely his fault, it was a result of hard racing on both their parts, and since it was lap one this isn’t penalized. 

“Carlos is the reason Charles won”: No. Carlos 100% aided in Charles’ race, as expected, he’s his teammate that’s what he’s supposed to do. But I am extremely confident that Charles still would have won without Carlos in P3. He helped, I detailed that, but to go this far is beyond a reach. 

Carlos' result combined with Charles put Ferrari firmly in P2 for the WCC and only 24 points behind Red Bull, and kept a healthy lead to Mclaren. And this result obviously put Charles even more firmly in P2 in the driver’s standings, 31 points behind Max, and 25 points ahead of Lando who is now in P3. All in all Ferrari is in a strong position in both standings, and with the direction the team and car are going I think this trend will continue. 

Monaco was yet another very strong finish for Ferrari. The fact both our drivers did well on this track is promising for what the SF-24 can do on street circuits. Monaco is a highly specific track but we did get some key takeaways about the strengths of our car this weekend, as well as the consistency of our drivers. 

I want to finish this section with some fun statistics about Charles and Ferrari in relation to this win. Because of the technical achievement and historic importance, Monaco poles and wins are always something teams love to highlight in their legacy. 

Ferrari has been on pole 13 times in Monaco. Of those 13, 3 of those poles were taken by Charles, making him responsible for 23% of Ferrari’s poles at Monaco. 

Charles is the Ferrari driver with the most poles at Monaco with 3, the second most is held by Michael Schumacher with 2 poles with Ferrari at Monaco (Schumacher holds a total of 3 Monaco poles including the one he achieved with Bennetton)

This pole was the 250th pole for Ferrari as a team. 

This was the 11th Monaco win for Ferrari. The last time Ferrari won in Monaco was Sebastian Vettel in 2017

This was Charles’ 6th career win, all of which he has achieved with Ferrari

Forza Ferrari

Data Analysis 

I covered Charles’ race and qualifying versus Oscar in his section, as that was key to understanding the story of his victory. This section is going to cover teammate comparisons as well as Ferrari to Mclaren comparisons. 

Here is a look at Charles compared to Carlos in qualifying.

Charles was ahead in every sector. Carlos was off Charles’ time by 2.5 tenths. The real difference came in the more technical areas in sectors 2 and 3. Carlos’ later braking style was not as suited to this track and it did cost him time on many key turns. He also did not achieve the same speeds on other turns and straights. It’s not a bad lap, again it’s a good showing, but this further highlights how good Charles’ lap was. 

And a full comparison of Mclaren to Ferrari in qualifying. As we all saw this was the real qualifying battle. Mclaren and Ferrari were the clear front runners during qualifying, the order was the only real question. And it seems that Ferrari had a slight edge, and that edge I will attribute in part to the car and in part to the skill of our drivers, because yes I think Charles and Carlos are better at Monaco than Lando and Oscar. And the qualifying results seem to reflect this. 

Carlos and Lando were extremely close. It came down to hundreths. And really Lando was on pace for a faster lap but a slight error into the final turn and lower speed on that final straight was where he lost that time to Carlos. It really came down to very tiny details. It was Lando’s P3 to lose, and well he lost it. Carlos put in a good lap, but Lando was going to get that P3 position if he’d been able to keep up the pace he’d set. 

Looking at them all the thing that stands out is Charles early braking, especially in the medium and low speed corners of sector three. As well as his better top speed on the final turns and straight, and higher speeds in a few key areas throughout the track. 

Mclaren

Another repeat of Mclaren’s best result so far this season with a 2-4. This time with Oscar getting his best result with that P2. 

Oscar

Yes Oscar took some damage due to his contact with Carlos on lap 1(that did get at least partially repaired during the race restart) however, I do not believe he would have been able to make the pass on Charles, or have produced enough pace to keep the pressure on for much longer than he did. The damage didn’t affect his race that much, so I don’t think without this damage his results would have been any different. In fact Mclaren said as much. He didn’t have the pace to be able to pull an overtake in Monaco, that’s a very tall order and wasn’t likely even in the best of conditions. And in spite of the damage he ran a very clean race, and this was a good learning curve for him in tyre management. 

Oscar was really showing that he’s the faster of the two Mclaren’s, or trying to make that point. I will be very interested to see if he can keep that up. Since he was faster on this highly technical track he has my attention(he already had it, but that lap was impressive)

Oscar made one real attempt at overtaking Charles, going into turn 10 around lap 8. He tested the possibility, and Charles responded very quickly. I think after that he didn't seriously consider risking it again.

Lando

Lando's race was mainly to put pressure on Carlos. The main point of interest for him strategy wise was whether or not Mclaren were going to try to pit him at a certain point for fresh tyres if the gap between him and George(who was about 17-18 seconds behind in P5) This pit possibility would have put Lando behind Carlos on fresher tyres.

However I actually do not believe Mclaren were seriously about to try this. It was considered, but given they had two good track positions I think it wasn't worth the risk. Lando wasn't going to be able to overtake Carlos even on newer tyres. The chances of that were slim to none, so it really wasn't worth the pit, which might have risked George upping the pace to try to pass while Lando was in the pits.

Would Lando have been able to put pressure on Carlos if he'd had fresher tyres? Yes. Would he have been able to pass Carlos? Highly unlikely.

"Lando was a threat to Charles' race": Not really. The worst he was going to be able to do was threaten Carlos and even that wasn't a massive concern. He wasn't going to be passing Carlos and Oscar and then catching Charles. This is Monaco, it isn't like other tracks where a much fresher set of tyres would equal being able to pass.

"Lando was going to be able to pass Carlos": Again highly unlikely. We saw something similar with Max on fresh tyres behind George. Max got within less than a second of George and couldn't make the pass. Lando wasn't getting past Carlos, who has been very competent defending against Mclarens.

Data Analysis

Continuing the theme of qualifying being key at Monaco let’s compare Oscar and Lando’s qualifying laps. 

Oscar was faster by a little over a tenth. I think that what this shows is that overall they were very close. The place Oscar was consistently better was sector 3, that’s where Lando wasn’t catching him. On the slows Lando was clearly better. And the rest it came down to little things. Oscar didn’t brake for as long in a few key areas, but on others he was more conservative than Lando on the throttle. There are a few points where Oscar was clearly faster, and the finer points of sector three where his braking and throttle application are what put him ahead. Oscar’s speed and the spots where he was braver on the brakes and got the timing better are what set him apart from Lando. But Lando’s experience also came through in a few areas, especially on how to handle those slows best. Overall a great lap from Oscar. I think in another year he will be even better here. 

I also think this highlights that the two Mclaren drivers are very close, probably the closest teammates on the grid right now as far as pace and speed goes. There are areas where Oscar is stronger and others where Lando has the edge. It’s going to be track and condition dependent that makes the differences between them this year. 

I also want to note that the fact Monaco is a low deg track played to Oscar’s favor. He is still getting mixed results in higher deg conditions, so this weekend was a good show of his skill without having to contend with high deg. 

Solid race for Mclaren. Oscar really showed his skill after several races where luck was not on his side. I think we will be seeing him on the podium quite a few more times this season.

Red Bull

So what happened to Red Bull this weekend? Because this is the first weekend when real weaknesses in their car are becoming a real problem. The most shocking thing was Checo qualifying P18(bumped up to P16 after the Haas DSQ, but to get an idea of the speed issue compared to the other cars the P18 is relevant)

Last year Max talked about one of the few weaknesses of the RB19, he mentioned this quite a lot, on tracks and post season; the issue being the car was not as strong on street circuits, especially when it came to the grip, taking curbs, and overall reliability for him. I think that because Red Bull was so dominant last year most people didn’t think much of this complaint, seeing it more as a nitpick rather than Max giving real serious insight into a problem with the car concept. Well, this year the field have caught up to Red Bull very quickly, and what was a minor problem last year compared to the rest of the field, is now far more significant. I don’t think these results are from the RB20 taking a step backwards, it’s more that Ferrari and Mclaren are catching up, and they don’t have the same problem as Red Bull on these street circuits. So now what was something Red Bull could manage is a genuine weakness that is becoming more highlighted by the rest of the field. 

What shocked me was not just that these are Red Bull’s weakest results for that car all season. It was also the gap between Checo and Max.

I think that the gap between Checo and Max in qualifying is likely the result of a gamble by Red Bull. They probably went with two different setups in qualifying, hoping one would pay off. Because they tried so many setups during all free practice sessions and nothing really worked. And it seems that Checo's was probably the more extreme and thus was either going to pay off for him or fall completely flat. Given the results and his reaction to qualifying we know how that gamble paid off. I think with Max they probably played it to whatever he wanted and also the setup where they got the closest to some good speed. It seems with Max they chose more stability and speed and lower ride height

That many places off indicates an issue in the setup, and not just Checo being that much slower than Max. Max is faster, but that’s the biggest gap there’s been between them I think ever? Especially without any damage. So that many places off is a symptom of something beyond Checo himself. Checo is a solid driver and he has been fast in that car. 

The problem isn’t aerodynamic. It’s mechanical. The relationship between the suspension and the required ride height for the curbs on this track. All weekend they tried different setup to mitigate the issue and nothing worked. The suspension being too stiff prevents it from absorbing the impact of bumps which leads to all that force being directed to the chassis. Which in turn leads to that bouncing. Every time they hit a curb they lost time, and every time they had to run a little wide to avoid a curb they lost time. It was a lose-lose and no amount of setup was mitigating enough. 

This is a track specific problem that upgrades likely will not be able to solve this season. We will probably see this again, likely on more street circuits as well as circuits with higher curbs and curbs that require a certain camber on the tyres. Since it was a problem in Singapore last year chances are we see Red Bull have issues there again. 

Max

During qualifying Max was on pace to actually place closer to Oscar’s time, but he hit a wall and that cost him the attempt. So he actually did have the potential for a top 4 if not a top 3 time. I think at the very least he’d have placed ahead of George. That error cost him, and it was very much due to the instability in the ride of the suspension. So he ended up qualifying P6, and that’s the position he held the entire race. 

The only thing interesting about Max’s actual race was when he pit for medium tyres, and came up behind George who was still on old mediums. There was a chance to maybe attempt an overtake. So why didn’t it happen? Well I think the reason is pretty simple that the reliability of the RB20 on this track wasn’t good enough to be able to attempt an overtake in Monaco. I think Max would have been able to make the pass if he’d had more faith in the car, he very likely had the pace, but being unable to handle corners well, when those are areas overtaking can be done really made it impossible for him.  (edit: originally said George was on old hards, when he was in fact on old mediums)

Sergio

Because the Haas cars were disqualified from qualifying, they started in P19 and P20 from the pit lane. So they started behind Checo who originally qualified P18 and started P16 because of the DSQs. On the first lap Kevin made an attempt to pass Checo on the outside and clipped Checo’s rear, causing him to spin and slide down the track and along the barrier shredding his car and slamming into the barrier. This crash also resulted in both Haas cars being damaged and having to retire. 

Thankfully the safety features on the car protected Checo and he was able to walk away relatively unharmed, no major injuries reported. 

However there was an injury that resulted from this crash. A photographer who was behind the barrier Checo crashed into had to be taken to the hospital after sustaining injuries from debris that was essentially blasted through the barriers. This raises a very serious safety concern. The amount of debris that made it through could have resulted in worse injuries, and the opposite side of the barriers should probably be improved to prevent a bystander from being injured again in the future. The photographer is alright the injuries were minor. But a bystander being injured at all is of serious concern as far as track safety goes. 

Checo had the racing line in this incident. He was not at fault. Kevin was the one attempting to make the pass and the one who made contact. He didn’t have enough room and tried to force his way by on the outside anyway. His front wheel made contact with Checo’s rear wheel and a bit of his suspension and that is what caused him to fully lose the rears and spin across the track.

Checo was on the inside, he moved to the middle, all while ahead of Kevin, and by the time Kevin had put his wheels next to Checo the gap between Checo and the wall was less than a car's width. Additionally with Valtteri directly ahead there was nowhere for Kevin to really go had he made that pass. He didn't have the racing line, he didn't have room, and he didn't have space after Checo. This was all information that he had before attempting that move. It was beyond bold, it was reckless and sloppy.

I think it’s very clearly Kevin’s fault. So why wasn’t he penalized? Well, the stewards felt it wasn’t anything bad enough in terms of the driving to warrant a penalty, and since it was the first lap they attributed it to hard racing. But is this just hard racing? What is the limit of what they will permit before it gets penalized on lap 1. I am usually a proponent of “let them race” in lap one, but this was way too far. I do not want to find out what the limit is if something like this goes without penalty. Checo is very fortunate that he wasn’t injured. It could have been so much worse. 

Data Analysis

The data is pretty clear in reflecting Red Bull’s struggles. Here is Max vs Checo’s qualifying laps.

Max was just able to achieve better top speeds. And had better racing line through the areas where the curbs were an issue. As I stated above I also think this gap is due to a significant setup difference between the two. But it’s still interesting to see where the differences are under that assumption, one setup was clearly better than the other. I also think that Max’s ability to mitigate the issues was much greater than Checo’s.

What really highlights the problems Red Bull were having with the reliability and control around this track is comparing Max to Charles.

Here the control Charles had on the corners really highlights where the problems were with the Red Bull on those same corners. Max was braking much later, and I think that’s a result of him having to go around the curbs more. Also Charles in the Ferrari had better top speeds on most of the straights. But those straights are where the Red Bull made up some time. The car was still fast, it was the corners and the fine control this track demands where the car was struggling. 

Red Bull still have a strong car. But it is far from perfect, and with other teams improving rapidly in key areas, the RB20 is going to become more track specific for performance. Which isn’t good for their reliability in the standings, but highly promising for anyone looking to beat them. 

Haas

This was Haas’ worst result of the season. Worst result in the season for any team period. From getting both their drivers disqualified from qualifying because they didn’t have the proper rear wing measurements and thus were flagged for a technical violation, to both cars DNFing due to the fault of one of their own drivers, this weekend was a failure by the team on multiple fronts.

Haas failed both their drivers for failing the ensure the rear wing was in technical compliance. I don’t even know how they made that mistake. But this was no fault of the drivers. Both Kevin and Nico had to start the race from the pitlane and their qualifying results were deleted. 

Then on the first lap Kevin attempted a pass on Checo and this led to him not only crashing with Checo and ending his own race, the crash was big enough it took out his teammate as well. Kevin was at fault here. Checo had the racing line, there was not enough space on the outside for that pass when Kevin made that attempt. Checo was under no real obligation to move. Kevin went for it anyway and the resulting crash was extremely dangerous for both drivers. 

I explained above why the stewards didn’t give Kevin a penalty for this. His actions fell under “hard racing” which they are far more lenient on in lap one. However I think there is more to this. I think that this incident was too far to be considered “hard racing” especially when the fault is so clearly skewed as well. We had another lap one incident that was clearly one driver’s fault that did result in a penalty with Esteban. So why not Kevin?

I suspect that the stewards were more reluctant to issue the penalty because it would have resulted in a one race ban for Kevin, and they did not want that to be the outcome. That isn’t something that should be considered when looking at individual incidents, but I think that wanting to avoid him getting that ban was a reason for more lenience here, which to me is unacceptable. This is speculation on my part, so take it as conjecture, but to me it makes sense. 

Overall bad weekend for Haas. 

Alpine

There are two things worth noting about Alpine’s weekend, first Pierre got their best qualifying result all year coming in P10 and also secured his first points of the season. Big for this team that was struggling heavily at the beginning of the season. It’s looking like they will be at least challenging for some more points in the future. Great result and driving from Pierre, that qualifying lap he produced was extremely solid.

The other thing of note was the lap one collision between Pierre and Esteban. Esteban qualified P11 right behind Pierre in P10. Right before the tunnel he tried to pass Pierre on the inside and then in doing so pushed Pierre wide, on a track like Monaco the only place for Pierre to go when forced wide was into the wall, so he rammed into the back of Esteban, damaging Esteban’s car and his own. Esteban had to retire from the race, Pierre was able to race upon the restart having take minor damage. 

This collision was 100% Esteban’s fault. Apparently he was told by the team not to attempt a pass on Pierre, and on a track like Monaco risking both cars for an overtake like that was just reckless. 

Now it has come to my attention that while yes this incident was Esteban’s fault there was more leading up to it than him just doing this randomly. There had been more back and forth with him and Pierre earlier in the lap and also Esteban was getting squeezed by other cars before he tried that pass on Pierre. So this was in part from some crowding, it wasn't just he decided to barge past his teammate randomly or purely out of ego, there was a little more there. I do still think that this doesn’t excuse the move. He had room and should have stayed back instead of attempting a pass, and the degree to which he forced Pierre wide was also unacceptable, especially on a track with no runoff. I wanted to be sure to be fair and note that there was more context than the pass and resulting contact that has been making the rounds in coverage of the collision. 

Esteban was given a 10 second penalty that was increased to a 5 place starting grid penalty in the next race since he did not race on the restart, his car had sustained too much damage to be ready in time for the race restart.

So a mixed weekend for Alpine, good results for Pierre, and more than a few issues with Esteban.  

Mercedes

Mercedes actually had one of their best races in terms of results. George started P5 and finished P5, Lewis started P7 and finished P7. That P5 is the highest GP finish they’ve had since George came in P5 back in Bahrain. And Lewis was higher here so overall good result for the team in points. Lewis also set the fastest lap of the race, and this lap was actually significant because it was another record broken by him. With this fastest lap scored Lewis Hamilton now holds the record for the most fastest laps scored for a single team with 54 for Mercedes, just beating Michael Schumacher who scored 53 fastest laps with Ferrari. 

George was solid at controlling the pace of the cars behind, including keeping Max off, even after Max had pit for fresh tyres. Lewis maximized his points given the position.

I think that Lando pitting was something Mercedes were almost hoping for. They also played a role in creating that gap. Because there was a chance that if Lando pit George could speed up and take a place. I suspect this is very likely because it’s one of the few possibilities the entire dynamic of the race would have presented to take a place like this. So this strategy may have been an attempt to tempt Mclaren into pitting. 

All around a good weekend for Mercedes. Their car seemed to be better suited to this track. The upgrades seem to be paying off in some capacity because both drivers were at least competitive in qualifying and free practice. 

There is still something odd going on that Lewis pointed out between the car in free practice vs qualifying, he said it just is almost a guarantee of losing 2 tenths of pace. Which this is likely due to a larger car setup issue. Unsure of what or how they might be able to go about fixing it. But the car does have some more potential than we saw at the beginning of the season. And both drivers do seem to be more comfortable. Yes George noted a lot of bouncing, but he also tied for his best result so clearly something was working. 

Williams

This was Williams' best race. Alex qualified P9 and finished P9 bringing Williams’ first points of the season. And on the Monaco track to boot, that’s a really solid performance from Alex. 

Logan also showed improvement from his Monaco performance last year. Of course the big upset was the fact he did out-qualify Checo in the Red Bull, this was certainly a symptom of something very off about the Red Bull and less to do with Logan's speed, but still that result had to feel good from his perspective. And after the Haas cars were both disqualified he was bumped up to P15 from his original position in P17. He finished in P15. This was his second best grand prix result of the season, after his P14 in Jeddah.

I also want to note that Logan ran with Williams 2023 rear wing, because apparently they didn’t have enough parts. I really don’t know how this keeps happening. He did well in spite of this, and clearly that still was a better setup than whatever Red Bull did with Checo’s car. 

Anyway, the Williams upgrades do seem to have finally yielded them some results.

Final Thoughts

The question everyone had after this race was “Do we have a title fight?” And the answer to me is yes. In the constructor’s Red Bull is in trouble, especially when it comes to Ferrari. Checo having a few mid to bad results, and Max not being on the podium have left the standings much closer. 24 points, that’s all there is, and if Charles and Carlos keep putting in the reliable top performances they have been, that gap will continue to close. 

Okay that was the constructors, but what about the driver’s championship, do we have a title fight there? Well the gap to Max is a bit wider. I think that in a few more races we can make that call. If Red Bull continue to struggle on the car setup and Max doesn’t start pulling in consistent wins like he did at the beginning of the season then we will have a title fight on our hands. I think also with more Ferrari upgrades coming in Silverstone this will also possibly put Ferrari more ahead. If those upgrades add more speed, as they are aimed to do then Charles will have a car that he can consistently challenge Max in. So there’s more at play for the WDC title, but we are close to it being a real possibility. 

This race was a career highlight for Charles. And a privilege to get to watch live.

Monaco never going to forget this grand prix. Ferrari isn’t going to forget this race. And Charles is always going to remember this win. History was made.

That’s all I have, see you all in Canada!

#lucis race analysis #monaco gp 2024 #charles leclerc #scuderia ferrari #Formula 1 #F1 #long post

[velvet-vox]

The guideline to all of the most interesting posts on Doll.

Howdy! I've decided to create this catalogue of Doll's centered content to allow all of the character's fans to reliably find interesting discussions regarding her depth, psychology, role in the story, insights, free time, head canons etc....

As well as various shout-outs to my favourite content creators on this side of the community! (Note for said content creators: if I've inconvenienced you, or made you feel uncomfortable by citing your names on this map, just make me aware in the comments and I won't bother you ever again, as well as erase your names and material from this post)

A quick introduction (skip this part if you are here just for the list)

The reason why I wanted to make this, aside from having a reliable way to look up all of my work, is for the same reason why I started to write articles on Tumblr; you see, I've actually been part of the Murder Drones fandom ever since episode 6 dropped, and Doll quickly rised above the others and became my favourite character of the show.

So naturally, I started to search for some analyses done on my fave, I searched and searched and searched...... and just couldn't find any, aside from one quick @scottmemelordstrashpile (general and usually justified Murder Drones critic, not really focused on a singular aspect of the show) defense comment on a post that God only knows what it was about and where it went.

I kept looking at the specific tag over and over for more than a year, and eventually, I got fed up and wanted to leave the community, especially after reading this YouTube comment:

... Yikes. Luckily for me, I've eventually found out about @melissa-titanium , which finally satisfied my need for someone who shares my passion for the russian worker. She had a pretty good view on her character, which came in handy for me, since, despite me loving Doll intensely, I could never quite put my finger on exactly why and was afraid that it was just her cool presentation and that she was actually a shallow character.

Yet I still wanted more, and asked for more. And then, someone instilled an idea in me: to be the one who provides for more. So, I started planning how I wanted this to go, and came up with a couple of ideas....

Then Episode 7 dropped, and..... yeah. It's definitely the most mind bending episode of Murder Drones to date.

After her death, it felt like Doll really exploded in the tag discourse, not as much as the rest of the episode, but Doll was finally treated as someone (past) important.

At least to me; if I joined the fandom at the height of episode 3, I can only imagine that she was more of the talk of the town than my first impressions were.

But now, with all the useless stuff out of the way, here's what I've managed to gather across my research. Feel free to suggest more interesting things and I'll add them to the list.

All that is mine:

The early days

Asks for Doll's defense

Doll is Wakfu's NOX?!?

Masochism

The fun stuff

Failure girl guide

Nori x Yeva against Uzi x Doll

The Murder Drones RPG

Doll's resurrection: pros and cons

The doorman and the russian

Khan and Doll's scene appreciation

The serious analyses

The russian worker drones tragedy

The show's flaws represented through Doll

Different views on her death

Ship parallels

V and Doll; trauma, mental disorder, and low empathy

My masterpiece

The most important piece of Murder Drones content ever made.

And now, with all of my stuff out of the way, it's time to talk about

The big two.

@melissa-titanium and @dreamii-krybaby are the two biggest blogs to go to if you want interesting takes on Doll and her supporting cast; in particular, Mel and Dreamii are almost singlehandedly responsible for the popularization of the Noll ship and the character of Yeva respectively, as well as partially clearing up some of the misconceptions present in the community regarding certain aspects of the show.

Mel is someone who follows his passions whenever they take him, that currently includes Mob Psycho, Dungeon Menshi, and Dragons if you are interested. He has a very charming writing style and is always happy when people send or tag him into any Doll related post.

Dreamii is someone with a very balanced view of the show and its elements, she is not afraid to criticise the aspects that she likes, and she has a love/hate relationship with Doll, unlike the one that she has with her parents.

Stuff from @melissa-titanium (mainly a N x Doll blog)

Introducing Noll

Happy smile

Insides spilling out

They also have a dedicated Discord server, but I don't think I'm allowed to share the link, so just go to their page and you'll find it there.

Stuff from @dreamii-krybaby (mainly a russian roulette blog)

Family theme

The point of her death

Doll's father

Others

Here, in no specific order, I've put the names of other content creators and some of their work.

Stuff from @rad10active-ketchup (artist with a particular taste for Rebecca)

Too sudden

Stuff from @eveledoze (great artist)

Platonic Doolzi

Stuff from @nyaifyz (they describe themselves better than I ever could)

Doll's pain

Stuff from @yakkuo13 (another artist and Doll fan)

Trying to cope

Stuff from @hjansetv (artist)

Short hair Doll

Stuff from @txttabloid

Uzi's foil

Stuff from @sparklesnake23

A cry in the void

Shout-out to Tirkras, who's not among us anymore :'(

I hope it's just a mistake and they come back.

Look up @scottmemelordstrashpile for various MD related things.

@cmicy has been posting Doll's drawings everyday in anticipation of episode 8.

@biscu1ts made this beautiful gallery .

The @crimson-solver is a new Doll RP blog that answers questions through the russian cannibal's mouth.

@thecoolersolver and her alt @russian-with-a-button is also a big Doll enjoyer, they like to get into arguments with @cyn-bot , a Cyn RP blog. Since I'm talking about them, I might as well credit @lizard12323 , @desgn8n-n , @rebecca-babe , @kittydragondraws , @serial-designation-v , @serial-desigation-vee , @serial-designation-en , @scaredk1tty , @electronix-arts , @blahash , @uzibrainrot and @the-iron-general .

🇬🇧 If you are Italian, check out @zarit-not-here , so that we can start to build our side of the community together.

🇮🇹 Se siete Italiani, cercate per @zarit-not-here , così che possiamo iniziare a costruire il nostro lato della comunità insieme.

@solarspinel has made... This thing which I don't know what to tell you about.

Here's a cool post by @lesslie-sass .

Appreciation (this post was originally made by @zehecatl , but I couldn't find the original so I used the Dreamii reblog, sorry anon).

@md-confessions is a user centric blog where people leave their confessions regarding various aspects of the show.

User @miuleen made this little piece of angst over here, which just so happens to go in conjunction pretty well with this analysis over here by @sisterpaw125 .

@robotthing is a troll.

And finally, last but not least:

A brief moment of appreciation for @dragons-hoard-of-fandoms . They don't create anything really, but their sheer dedication to reblog every single piece of Murder Drones Tumblr everywhere at any given time had to finally be congratulated.

#murder drones doll #uzi doorman #serial designation n #md yeva #md confessions #rebecca from murder drones #md nori #khan murder drones #serial designation v murder drones #russian roulette #murder drones cyn #rp blog #murder drones art #doll fanart #character analysis #essay #md fanart #md fandom #italiano #angst #murder drones spoilers #murder drones episode 7 #wakfu nox #theory #mob psycho 100 #dungeon meshi #murder drones doll's dad #dragons #appreciation post #murder drones episode 8

[brainrot-of-a-thot]

quickie.

or, you just really need each other, featuring: jo togame

a/n: okay I swear this started out as ‘caught mid lip-lock’ but uh, I was writing togame’s part first and… let’s just say it turned very quick. in return, I do plan to make similar one-shots for sakura, umemiya, and suo.

c/w: explicit sexual content, fem!reader, reader is wearing a skirt which provoked toga 🤭, unprotected p in v, creampie, quick sex, needy sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, sloppy makeouts, needy!togame, pussydrunk!togame, bigdick!togame, general filth

god, you needed him so bad.

and considering the desperation in which he gripped your hips and devoured your lips, you knew he needed you too… there was just one teensy problem —

“togame,” you murmured between wet lip strokes. “how much time do we have?”

“enough.” togame husked back, using his hold on your hips to guide you backwards until your rear touched the edge of the stage. you knew it was risky to do this kind of thing in the middle of the theatre — ludicrous, even — but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

togame’s hot hands against your clothed flesh and his soft lips against yours were quickly draining all coherency from your brain, and when he prodded the seam of your lips with a slick, insistent tongue, you gave up on the notion of attempting to retain any entirely.

you opened your lips and accepted his skilled tongue easily, initiating it in a fluid, familiar dance — one rehearsed many times.

small mewls and pants were swapped between your mouths, growing in both volume and quantity when togame slipped his large hands beneath the hem of your shirt. long fingers danced up your ribcage and teased the underwire of your bra, shooting anticipation straight to your gut. god, you just wanted his hands on you.

you wanted togame on you. or, more preferably, in you.

“togame,” you interrupted the lip-lock once more, needing to physically draw your head back when togame chased your lips in an attempt to capture them again. “d-do we have time to—?”

“god, yes.” togame cut you off before you could even finish your question and dropped his hands from beneath your shirt in favor of reaching them down to hook behind your thighs. in one fluid motion he hoisted you up until your ass was planted firmly on the stage, your body pulled forward just enough for his large frame to slip in between the plush flesh.

with speed that you hardly got to witness from your laidback boyfriend, he pushed your torso down until your back met the wood of the stage; he placed one quick hand behind your head to cushion it, and the other tapped against your thigh as he commanded, “legs around me.”

your body was quick to obey, slick pooling between your folds as the position allowed togame to press his crotch snug against your clothed cunt; fuck, he was so hard.

“shit, toga,” you whined, pushing your hips against his body in an attempt to garner a better feel of his cock. need rooted deeper into your core at the mere promise of what was to come. “I want it so bad.”

a soft groan followed your statement.

“holy shit, baby, don’t make me bust yet.” togame drawled, leaning down to connect your lips once more. the kiss was far less coordinated this time, sloppy and wet and more open than closed, but the sheer desperation within had you reeling and frothing for more.

there was no time to waste — normally, you’d indulge in each other for far longer, and togame would work you up slowly until you were quite literally crying for his cock; but given your current situation, indulging in that would lead to more complications than your sober mind could handle.

togame’s sweats dropped faster than you’d ever seen them do, and you couldn’t even delight in the sight of his cock springing out of his boxers because of the speed in which he shoved your panties to the side and wedged himself between your legs.

your breath hiccuped in your throat when his hot tip pressed between your folds, and the only warning you received was a breathy “breathe” against your lips before togame was pressing himself inside.

dual sensations of pain and pleasure ripped through your body as togame sunk himself in inch by inch, not giving your body much time to adjust to his size before he was rapidly thrusting inside.

“sorry, baby,” togame murmured in between hot pants. “you’ll have to bear with me for a bit, I can’t — fuck — can’t hold back right now.”

all you could do was nod, thighs tense and ankles locked around his gyrating waist; it felt so unbelievably good, but togame was so large that it stretched you to the point of pain — which was exhilarating in its own right.

each sharp thrust was like a punch to the gut, his tip crushing against your cervix and shooting sparks all the way up to your ribs. one large hand gripped the meat of your thigh while the other held your waist in place by the hip, keeping your body positioned just the way togame wanted it as he ravaged your insides.

slick squelches, slaps, and moans reverberated around the theatre, and if you weren’t currently being fucked stupid you probably would have worried yourself sick by the volume of the sounds; anyone just outside the doors of the theater could no doubt hear the activities taking place within.

“god, yer so fuckin’ tight.” togame slurred, fingers digging crescents into your bare thigh. his eyes were hooded and dark, his fringe a mess and sticking to his head by sweat — he looked about as fucked out as you felt.

“‘s like it won’t lemme go. you love my cock, don’t’ya?” togame growled, hips snapping into yours at a velocity that you were sure would leave bruises behind. you felt as though you couldn’t speak; every time you opened your mouth, all that would come out were mewls and moans — it seemed as though togame didn’t expect you to actually answer, however, as he leaned down capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

it wasn’t so much a kiss as it was a mere meeting of mouths — open and loud, with your tongues only meeting by occasional grazes. it was sloppy and uncoordinated, but when paired with togame’s thick cock stretching you open and touching every sweet spot within your walls, it was a catalyst that pushed you to the brink faster than you could blink.

you couldn’t even warn togame before your orgasm was crashing over you, fluid gushing around the base of togame’s cock as he fucked it back in with every thrust. your walls constricted and fluttered around him, pulling various groans and curses from togame that were broken apart by husky praises.

“tha’s it, baby — fuck, so good. make a mess on my cock…such a good girl…”

you couldn’t even truly come down from your high, not with the way togame continued to ruin you through your high. your sensitive walls could detect the faint throbbing of his cock, and your heart soared at the implication — togame was close too.

“fuck, I’m about to — where do you want it, baby? hurry, tell me, I can’t — can’t hold out much longer.”

you weren’t sure what possessed you, but without explicit permission from your brain your ankles tightened around togame’s waist as if to hold him in place, and your voice was barely stronger than a croak when you whined, “i-inside, toga — wan’ it insiiiide!”

togame cursed deep in his throat and pressed his face into the dip of your neck, his sharp teeth pinching the sensitive skin as he thrusted sharply once, twice — and then his hips were stilling, dick pressed deeply into your soppy cunt, twitching as he groaned against your throat and released himself inside.

warmth filled your chest and cunny as togame rocked his hips slowly, milking his cock with your walls until there was nothing left.

eventually, togame’s hips stilled completely, and with the subtraction of movement that fog in your head began to dissipate; coherency was slowly leaking into your brain once more, but as togame pulled away from your neck to flash you that lazy, content, fucked out smile, you couldn’t bring yourself to do much else but return it with a small, airy giggle.

a haze of contented afterglow settled around your bodies as your highs faded in tandem, bodies still connected, breathing shallow and harsh and skin coated in a sheen of sweat — truthfully, it would have been perfect if it weren’t for the shrill, indignant voice that ripped through it —

“the stage isn’t for that type of brawling, you know!”

tbh needy pussydrunk boys are my kryptonite.

also, this was written in one sitting, so i apologize for any rushed-ness/mistakes. the togame thirst hit reaaaaal bad and my fingers just took off with it

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #jo togame x reader #jo togame #togame jo #togame jo x reader #togame jo smut #jo togame smut

[hsangel64]

bandmates pt. 7 !

pairings: bassist!ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: it’s been a couple of weeks and you and ellie were officially together but ellie has been acting suspicious and it feels like you're together only behind closed doors.

warnings: angst angst angst (sorry !!), cussing, slight smut, use of y/n

a/n: i am trying my best to be back and write, ive been in the process of moving and i just got in the mindset to write!! I had a plan for this and then stopped writing this for a while so this series will have more than just a couple of chapters left, i'm not sure yet!! anyways good to be back hope you enjoy!!

you and ellie were doing fine, great even! but only in your guys' room. you have been so happy the past few weeks, but it was starting to feel a little off. you didn't think much of it but that still didn't stop that small anxious pit in your stomach from forming. you liked ellie so much and was so happy this was finally reality that you didn't see the red flags ahead of time.

"do we really have to go to this stupid get together?" ellie whined and you giggled.

"yes unfortunately we do, speaking of which we need to get up really soon to get ready." ellie groaned and turned away from you and got out of bed. she walked over to her closet while pouting and grabbed some clothes considering we were only in underwear....

you sat up and grabbed an outfit from your closet. ellie came up from behind you and kissed your cheek and made her way down to your neck. you giggled and squished her face in your neck, you tried to push her away, but she fought against your small weak nudges.

"ellie we can't, we have to go dina and jesse really want us there to meet these people."

"we could be late." she said in that sultry voice she puts on. you felt a shiver down your spine and so badly wanted to fall for it but you knew how much this meant to dina and didn't want to let her down.

"no els we gotta go i don't want to let dina down." you laughed as she kept kissing you neck and reaching down you back. she turned you around and kissed your lips, you melted into her mouth and couldn't resist the urge to just go for yet another round of the day, but you fought back and slowly pulled away. you gave her that look a sad puppy dog would give and she groaned and then smiled at you.

"ugh fine, only because you're cute and i love you." you let out a small gasp, ellie hadn't said i love you yet. a small smile made it to your face and she smiled back.

"i love you too." you smiled at each other and kissed again, you both went on and got ready for the get together.

----

you two were sitting on the couch together next to dina and jesse at someone's house you didn't know, you just wanted to be home with ellie. the air felt super awkward and ellie felt a little distant. you didn't think much of that until you all introduced yourselves.

"this is ellie and y/n!" dina introduced us to everyone else and they all collectively said hello.

"how did you all meet?" one of the girls asked and ellie answered.

"y/n and i have been friends since before we could remember and met dina and jesse in high school band class. we all became really good friends and formed our band, coastal."

"that's really cool, you guys all seem so close is it just dina and jesse together? some girl asked while making flirty eyes with ellie.

"yeah it is, me and y/n are best friends and i wouldn't have it any other way." your face shifted and you gently whipped your head towards ellie in a questioning way, she was already looking at the girl with that same flirty look and you turned away and excused yourself to the bathroom. dina noticed your change in behavior and decided to follow after you. you quickly made your way to the bathroom before dina could make it in and you closed the door in front of her face.

"babes are you okay? what happened?" you tuned her questions out and your mind drifted. you could tell something was wrong, you knew it felt weird that you two weren't going on dates or that she acted different outside of the dorm. you saw all the red flags but was too oblivious to see what was going on. your eyes slowly filled with tears and you didn't even realize you were crying until you snapped back into reality and heard dina bang on the door.

"hey, are you okay what's going on??" you turned and opened the door, dina gasped and pushed her way into the room seeing your state.

'what's going on, talk to me." she held your face and wiped your tears, you felt so overwhelmed with emotions and couldn't make out the words so you said.

"ellie is an asshole." she looked at you saddened and nodded her head saying i know, she grabbed you and pulled you into her. you silently cried into the crook of her neck and just felt so angry. you were mad at yourself for thinking this was going to work. you didn't want to cry anymore about it so you gently pulled away and turned to the faucet and wiped your face down of the mascara streaks. dina helped you pull yourself together and you both made your way back into the living room. everyone was preoccupied with mario kart on the tv and didn't even notice you two coming back. you sat down on the couch next to jesse and dina occupied the spot next to ellie. she turned over and looked at you and nodded her head asking if you were okay. you looked away and dina pushed her head towards the tv and diverted her attention away from you.

for the rest of the time you guys were there you sat on the couch with your back against the cushion and your head slouched. dina tried her best to stop ellie from talking to you and left you alone till you guys left.

----

when you guys were getting ready to leave you all said your goodbyes and you saw ellie and that girl exchange numbers, you felt sick to your stomach and didn't want to face her in the car. you turned away and walked out of the house without anyone, you guys weren't to far from the dorm so you just decided to walk on your own.

as you walked you made it to the gas station right by the school so you stopped for a slushy. you walked in and grabbed the biggest size, you needed this. you also grabbed some ice cream and made your way out. you sat on the curb for a little and pulled out your phone to a million notifications.

40 texts from ellie, 20 missed calls from dina, it all felt too much. so you texted dina and said you were fine and just decided to walk home. dina proceeded to cuss you out in your texts and raved about how dangerous that was for you to walk alone by yourself. you rolled your eyes and got up from the curb and walked to rest of the way towards the campus.

you found your way back and checked their locations to see they were home so you just knocked on the door. ellie answered and quickly let you in. you made your way to your shared room and grabbed some clothes.

"hey what happened back there?" she quietly asked and you rolled your eyes. you made your way to the shower but not before ellie squeezed her way through the door.

"bee what's wrong?" she grabbed your arm and you felt sick, you pushed her away and started to take your makeup off before your shower. she put her hand back on you and you pushed her away again getting frustrated now.

"why do you keep pushing me away, what happened back there?" you pushed her away hard and felt that tickle in your throat. you grumbled and said wouldn't you like to know under your breath, but it wasn't very quiet, so she heard.

"what do you mean? i would like to know. what's up with you?"

"i don't know ellie you tell me."

"I don't know y/n that's why i'm asking." you rolled your eyes starting to get more frustrated with her.

"maybe it was the fact that you just called me your friend and not your girlfriend?? i guess i missed something but i thought us having sex all the time and calling each other girlfriends meant just friends."

"i just called you best friend it isn't a big deal i'm sorry." she didn't sound sorry.

"it's a big deal to me ellie."

"well, i'm sorry." she shrugged and you scoffed at her nonchalant movement.

“i really don’t want to deal with this can you please leave i want to shower.” she didn’t pick up a fight and left. you sighed and wiped your face from any left over tears. you made your way into the shower and let the warm water help you forget about your thoughts for just one second.

————

a/n: i’m sorry this was short !! it was more of a filler before we get into some good angst and drama!! chapter 8 and possibly 9 will be out tomorrow!!

taglist:

@gold-dustwomxn @lil-elliesgf @hopelesssheaven @elliestears @cjrights

#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams angst #ellie x y/n #ellie x you #ellie x reader #ellie willams x reader