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macfrog · 8 months

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ace sex on fire chapter six

this entire chapter is me making up for 1. the golfing line in chapter two, and 2. joel's entire experience of tlou2. naughty dog i'm waiting for ur response. 24 hours to reply

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel takes you on a day trip to go golfing. it turns out to be more fun than you expected

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) golf. idk what else to say. age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalanced power dynamic, more sugardaddy!joel, discussions of pregnancy + reader perhaps not wanting children, sort of possessive!joel?, praise kink, unprotected piv car sex, daddy kink, exhibitionist fantasy, creampie, more teasing + flirting, angst + pining, alcohol consumption, cursing

word count: 9.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Good girl. He there?” The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare. “Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel. “He watching?” “Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily. “Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

The cab squeaks to a halt right outside the office, dropping you at the bottom of the concrete steps leading up to the revolving door. There are already bodies filtering in and out of the building, despite how early it is.

You thank the driver – Mick, you’ve come to learn. He seems to run this route on weekday mornings; it’s always him who shows up at your apartment when you can’t be bothered to walk to work, or miss the damn bus. Mick tosses a thumbs up over his shoulder and you swing out into the brilliant sun.

It’s Thursday. You’ve been home sixty-five hours, by your count. Joel gave you a couple days after landing stateside to catch up on sleep, readjust. He’d gone back to work Tuesday morning, though, 8AM sharp. Martha had text to ask where you were, and had sent six laughing emojis back when you replied with, How the fuck is he back already?

You make the climb up the steps, back to work, back to normality. It drags like a weight at your heels, the thought of returning to that gray office after three days wandering around picture-perfect, painted-pink Paris. After three days of Joel.

That split-open feeling, the cavity between your ribs – it’s sewn itself up since you got back to your own apartment, your own space. Since you showered a couple times, washed your clothes, started smelling like yourself again instead of Joel. Its sutures are made from the sound of the subway squealing to a halt, the smell of Chinese takeout from the place across the street.

But there’s a tiny piece of you, small enough to stay hidden from even yourself sometimes, that you know misses it. Misses…him. It only hurts when you touch it – the sewn-up scar, messy in your frantic attempts to close it up – it aches when you remember his hands on your waist whenever you wanted them there, his lips below your ear whenever you needed him.

As you approach the glass doors, you hear a whistle from behind, and turn to watch Joel slip out of his Rolls and jog up the steps. There’s a sports bag hanging from his left hand.

“Am I a dog?” you ask when he reaches you.

“It was an endearin’ whistle.”

“Very endearing. Don’t do it again.”

He nods once. “Yes, ma’am. Feelin’ awake yet?”

“Almost.” You follow him into the building, clicking along the polished marble floor at his side. “You didn’t waste any time getting back into the swing of things, I hear.”

You both nod good morning to the receptionists, and Joel hits the button to call the elevator.

“I’m an important man, baby,” he says, shrugging. “My job ain’t just answerin’ the phone ‘n making coffee.”

You scoff, slapping his back as he leads you through the sliding doors, which closer over and shut you both into your first moment of privacy in almost seventy hours. Joel immediately turns to face you, words behind his eyes that he can’t seem to sort into a coherent sentence.

In what you hear as an attempt to summarize, he says: “Back to reality.”

You brush the shoulders of his blazer, tug on his tie to straighten it. It’s the most you can bring yourself to do that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at him. There’s a throbbing right below your chest, like a magnet tugging you towards the man stood in front of you. Touching the padded shoulder of his suit will have to do. For now.

You lift your eyebrows, staring at the knot of his tie. “Yep.”

It’s pretty reductive, Back to reality. But then, what else is there to say? What else that wasn’t said between your bodies in Paris? A line was crossed there – you both went somewhere you can’t come back from so easily. And moving forward the way you had been before, seems equally as impossible.

There are eyes on you here. There are people who care to know what might be going on – whether they like it or not doesn’t matter. No more strutting out onto the terrace, running your hands all over one another, connecting skin and tongue in ways you wouldn’t have dreamt up two weeks ago.

No. This stays secret. A secret between you, Joel, and the French skies.

Joel places a hand on the small of your back as the elevator doors whip open. He ushers you out, and then, once in view of Martha’s desk, sidesteps to an appropriate distance.

“Welcome back,” your colleague greets you as you approach her desk. “Missed you, kid.”

You smile coyly. “Thanks,” you mumble. Guilt isn’t the easiest of emotions to hide.

Joel taps your arm gently and then nods towards his office. “Catch-up,” he says, and Martha rounds her desk to follow after him.

You drop your jacket and purse over the back of your chair and slip in behind them, leaning back on one of Joel’s leather couches with your arms crossed.

“Alright,” Martha sighs, “few things needing done this morning. First…”

You take a deep breath and slump down until your ass sits comfortably on the couch cushion, your knees draped over the arm, cradled inside your elbows.

Joel notices, and smirks to himself. He dials into his voicemail, hits a button, and a familiar voice echoes from his desk.

“Hey, Joel,” Drew’s voice says, “hope you enjoyed Paris ‘n aren’t still too hungover. I know what Jean-Marc’s like…”

Martha moves to the next bullet point, tilting her pad and tapping the tip of her pen to some messy scrawling you can’t read. You nod, eyes flitting up to watch Joel.

“Just wanted to check in and make sure you’re still good for later. S’posed to be a good day for it. Let me know if you need any help with directions. Alright. Looking forward to seeing you two soon. Cool.”

The machine cuts. Joel sits back in his chair, rests his heels on the wood in front of him. Black, shiny, ridiculously expensive shoes crossed over on top of a black, shiny, ridiculously expensive desk.

“…now, Ken needs to receive this as soon as possible, alright? I said I’d have it done by end of day yesterday – I did not, so I need you to –”

“Who’s you two?” you ask Joel, peering over Martha’s notepad.

He looks up, tossing a rubber band ball in his hands. “You ‘n me, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Martha declares, “am I talking to myself–?”

You push her notepad out of your view, still staring at Joel. “What do you mean, you ‘n me?”

Martha drops her hands with a sigh. You repeat your question.

“Us,” Joel says, hint of irritation in his voice like you’re supposed to be in on something. “We’re goin’ golfing with him.”

“We’re going golfing?”

Martha, now exasperated, swings the pad under her bicep and crosses her arms over her chest, makes something of a growling noise. “You two are unbeliev…Are you listening to me?” she demands, clicking her fingers in front of you.

“No,” you reply simply, eyes locked on Joel’s.

His lips curve with a soft laugh. “You ain’t read your emails?” he asks.

Your head darts between him and Martha. Bewildered. “I was catching up on sleep, thank you very much,” you assert, nodding with finality at the blonde updo hovering over you.

You know she cares about you – at least enough to water your monstera deliciosa while you were gone – but Martha can be sharp; her outspokenness is something to admire and to fear, in one small five-foot-three frame.

She snorts, glancing over to Joel with a disbelieving shake of her head, but he doesn’t take her up on it. Just looks at her blankly and then turns back to you.

“We’re meeting Drew up at Aspen Heights. Few of his buddies are in town, he wanted to introduce ‘em to me.”

“And I’m coming – why?”

“Because he met you last week, musta liked you, ‘n he invited you.”

Your mouth opens to reply, some retort to bring into question the need for your presence at a fucking round of golf, when Joel and his words cut yours short in your throat.

“And I want you there with me.”

Martha raises her eyebrows when you look up at her. The thing is: this all seems very normal, from her perspective. You did such a good job at keeping Joel right in Paris, didn’t you? He made his flight there on time, he met with Jean-Marc without a hitch, and he was actually an hour early for his flight home.

That last part was because you’d woken up with the sun and couldn’t get back to sleep, so you woke him, too and…well. Kept each other busy until you physically couldn’t anymore. There wasn’t much point hanging around in the hotel suite when your cases were packed and your bodies were…fragile, so you left for the airport.

To her ignorant eyes – and bless her – this is all just networking. It’s you building work relationships, Joel at the helm overseeing everything and setting it all up for you. This is clear – that that’s all she thinks – when she says:

“He’s doin’ you a favor, sweetheart. You should go.”

“I don’t even have any golfing gear. I’m in suit trousers.” Your eyes trail down your black pinstripe pants, legs dangling from the arm of the couch.

“And you look fantastic,” Joel quips, though you know he’s half-serious, “but you do gotta find somethin’ more…” he waves a hand, “…golf.”

“Something more golf. That’s helpful.”

“Here,” he says, stretching into his back pocket. His hips lift from the seat of his chair, and your eyes land on the space just south of his belt buckle. He pulls his credit card from his wallet – the same one you could probably recite the numbers of by heart at this point – and holds it out. “Go grab somethin’ nice. My treat.”

My treat. Like he didn’t treat you all damn weekend.

You pull yourself up and take the card from his fingers.

“’n what about my list?” Martha asks.

Joel shrugs. “Ken can wait one more day. You got two hours,” he tells you, and then sits up straight, rubber band ball placed safely next to his Newton’s cradle. “I’ll have Rand take you.”

You follow Martha out of Joel’s office when his phone starts ringing and his head falls into his hands, letting you both know it’s not a call you want to be around to hear. As he lifts the handset, he lightly calls your name, and you exchange a sly smirk as you slip out the door.

Martha wanders off behind her own desk as you pull your purse over your shoulder. She loads her computer back up, chin lifting as she squints through her glasses at the screen.

“There’s a golf shop downtown,” she tells you, two index fingers tapping away on the keys. “Alan uses ‘em. Don’t think they’re too expensive, either. Wouldn’t know for sure, though, he spends so damn much anytime he’s in there.”

You watch her for a moment, nodding along. “Thanks, Martha.”

She holds up a finger as you walk past her desk toward the elevator. “Remember you still got my to-do list to tackle, so don’t be long!”

----------

Rand drops you on a quiet side street. He gives you his number, tells you to text him once you’re done, and the sleek black car rolls off.

On the corner sits Ace’s Pro Golf, a small, charming store, peeling wooden front painted fern green with golf-themed decals decorating the windows. You set off inside, passing under two transparent putters crossed over one another on the window above the door. An old brass bell rings out from overhead when you enter.

Its exterior is misleading. This store is huge. Overwhelmingly huge. Walls stacked with bags, clubs dangling from pegs. Baskets of balls and tees and other accessories dotted all over the creaky wooden floors, which are lined with racks upon racks of golfing clothes – shirts, trousers, dresses, skirts.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, edging towards the rails.

You slip between them, hand running along the multicolored choices, when your phone starts to ring, vibrating somewhere deep in your purse.

“Hey, Mom,” you mutter, slipping your cell between your cheek and your shoulder as you begin to search through the shirts in front of you.

“Hey, baby,” her voice sings to you. “Wasn’t expecting to catch you, thought you’d already be at work. Where you at?”

You sigh. “I’m shopping. Joel’s taking me golfing later.”

She almost chokes down the line. “Golfing?”

“Yeah. It’s this friend he went to school with, I met him at lunch last week. There’s a few of ‘em going, so he asked me along, too.”

“Nice guy. So, you’re shopping for an outfit?”

“Mhm.”

“Any…dress code?”

“Dress code?” You straighten up, switching the phone to your other ear. “Like, golfing gear? I dunno.”

She laughs. “Alright.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, baby.”

“Meant something, Mom. Tell me.”

“No, I just…” She sighs. “You’re sure this isn’t, like…It sounds an awful lot like a date. Like, you’re going on Joel’s arm.”

You’re silent. You suck in a deep breath, fixing an order of words in reply, when your mom cuts in again.

“I bet I’m way off. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, gross,” you refute, metal hangers squealing against the rail when you unfreeze. “No. Not a date. It’s, like, networking, or whatever.”

Mom snorts. “Right. Exactly.”

“Not – a date,” you repeat.

You’re relieved when she changes the subject. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

You huff, pulling the phone down and switching to FaceTime. In a second, your mom’s bright, swollen cheeks and ringlet curled hair are on the screen, and she flashes you a pearly smile.

“Was thinking maybe this…?” You angle the phone to show her a navy-blue polo shirt. “And then a white skirt?”

“Nah,” she cuts, and you flip your camera back to your face.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Too blue. You look better in neutrals. Try beige or brown. Boring colors, y’know? Blend into the walls.”

You hiss something she doesn’t need to hear under your breath and then follow it up with a slightly more polite, “Screw you.”

Her image on your screen shakes violently with how hard she laughs at herself. “I’m messing with you. You know you’ll look beautiful no matter what you choose. Wait a second, though – can you even golf?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched a golf club in my life.”

“Thought as much. Does Joel know you’re about to embarrass him like this?”

“He’s aware.”

“Please get him to take some videos. I gotta see this.”

“You know what,” you grumble, holding back your own laughter now, “I’m hanging up. You just solidified your place in the nursing home, you know that?”

She’s still laughing, words pushing through her cackles in desperate punches. “Wait, wait! I gotta tell you why I called you.”

“Alright, go. Thirty seconds.”

“Riley’s pregnant.”

Your face screws up. Lips curl upside down into a grimace. “Oof. Good…good for her…?”

Your mom throws her head back with a roar of laughter. “Be more enthusiastic about it. A little niece or nephew for you!”

“’s more like a…second cousin, or whatever. I bet Aunt Rose is over the moon.”

“She called me screaming this morning. I just thought you’d like to hear, being that you’re in a permanent state of baby fever.”

“Ha,” you state, blank expression never changing. It causes her to erupt into another fit of giggles. “That’s nice, I guess. For Riley. Tell her I said congrats.”

“I will. And I’ll leave out the part where you almost threw up. Alright, I’ll let you go. Good luck golfing. Come back with a hot millionaire boyfriend, maybe! Love you!”

“Yep. ‘kay. Love you. Love you, too – ‘kay – bye – bye, Mom.”

You hang up mid-laugh and her caramel cheeks disappear from the screen. You drop your phone back into your purse and slot the navy-blue polo under your arm, spinning to the rail behind you to find a skirt to go with it.

Riley, pregnant. That’s fucking insane. You two used to spend entire summers riding your bikes around your hometown, spending all of your allowance down at the mall. You swear you’re not old enough to have babies yet. Swear you’re not even old enough to be out of Mom’s house, living on your own in the city.

But then here you are, five years in, making a mental note to buy a baby gift for your cousin, on top of the pre-existing ones reminding you to message that girl who lived across the street when you were kids to say, Congrats on your engagement, and pick up a new home card for your two friends who are on their third mortgage.

Your mom finds it funny – always has. The instant repulsion you feel, the way you recoil whenever you’re asked about kids, about a partner, about a three-bed-two-bath in the suburbs with a big yard and good school nearby.

You don't think any of it's for you. And that’s fine, and every time you skate over the topic, your mom tells you it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s –

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh,” you snap out of your daydream, clutching a white skirt in your hands, “sorry. I’m sorry. No, I’m good, thanks. Sorry.”

The assistant smiles kindly and nods. Then he spins on his heel and waltzes off, disappearing behind a cardboard cutout of a golfer mid-swing.

It’s not lost on you, by the way – what your mom said. Sounds an awful lot like a date. You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t also crossed your mind. Joel, wanting you there with him. Giving you his card to buy somethin’ nice, which, after the last week, you translate roughly as: something I’ll like. Something he’ll see, and his second thought will be ripping it off your body.

His first thought will be what you’d look like taking it off for him.

And for that reason, you slip the short skirt under your arm beside the polo, and head across the store to find some more stuff to waste Joel’s money on.

----------

Rand pulls up by the curb a few yards down from Ace’s, where you’re sat on a bench enjoying an ice cream. He rolls the window down and lowers his black sunglasses.

“You bein’ paid for this?” he asks, grinning.

You nod, gleeful. “By the hour. Want an ice cream?”

He snorts when you hold Joel’s black card up between two fingers, tilting it in the sunlight. And then he puts the car in park, climbs out, and jaunts over to the ice cream cart by your bench.

He orders a three-scoop cone, and you nod in approval when he sits down alongside you, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“Respect it,” you say, cheersing your own half-finished cone against his.

----------

When you get back to work, Joel’s already changed into a crisp, clean golfing outfit. It weakens your knees a little when you saunter into his office.

A long-sleeved, dark polo shirt that shows off every curve and flex of his toned arms, paired with gray, just-tight-enough trousers. And pristine white shoes so sharp and clean you’d swear he’d had them polished just for the occasion.

You ignore the way your head lightens at the sight of him and throw yourself into the chair to his right, white back from Ace’s falling between your ankles.

“Alright, Tom, thanks for lettin’ me know,” he says, arms folded, sat back against his desk. He leans back, places the phone back in its cradle, and looks you up and down. “Have fun?”

You shrug, leaning forward to pick a piece of lint from his thigh. “Didn’t know what to get for the most part, so there’s probably stuff I don’t need in there.”

He squints down at his cell phone. “Like, uh…Duke’s Scoops?”

You stare back at him, mirroring his cheeky smirk. Your leg swings, arms cross over your chest, covering the way your breath falters. He’s seen the transactions.

“You gonna grudge me three dollars on an ice cream, Miller?”

“Six fifty,” he mutters, glancing down at his phone again to double check. His tongue runs across his top lip. You want to replace it with yours. “So…that’s at least two ice creams, pretty girl.”

“It’s a hot day. Rand deserved something to cool down. We sat on a bench in the shade ‘n had a nice chat. He taught me how to swing. Verbally,” you add, when Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“Taught you how to swing,” he echoes, and you nod.

“Did you know he used to compete? Junior league?”

He pouts his bottom lip. “Mighta come up in the, what, fifteen years since I met him?”

You beam in reply, standing up and hooking your fingers through the string handles of your shopping bag. “I’m gonna go get changed now.”

“Could just get changed in the car on the way, ‘s a thirty-minute drive.”

You lean in close, eyes flitting over to Martha’s desk to make sure she’s not watching. Your lips brush softly against his ear. “I don’t wanna take any time away from other stuff we could get up to,” you murmur, and Joel’s hand locks around yours, attempting to pull you back as you skip off.

“Be right back,” you call, letting the door fall shut on his suggestive smirk, his tight trousers, and the hard bulge beneath them.

You return five minutes later in your getup. Joel has much the same reaction as you did with him, though he’s not half as good at hiding it. He sits upright in his chair, fingers tight around the armrests.

“Uhuh,” he says, eyes diving to your legs and then resurfacing somewhere around your chest. “Let me just –” he leans over to his phone, “– call Drew, let ‘im know we ain’t comin’…”

“Shut up,” you scoff. “Looks good, though, right?”

Joel’s eyes are still trained on your bare thighs, one crossed over the other. “Looks…better than good.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Still mad about the ice cream?”

“No, ma’am. Not mad at all.”

He stands, slinging both his bag and yours over his shoulder, and walks around his desk to meet you. You give him one final warning.

“You know I’ve never played golf before, right?”

“I know,” he affirms.

“So…bringing me is kinda pointless. I am not gonna bring anything worthwhile.”

“You in that outfit,” Joel mutters – and as he passes by, he makes sure to brush his swollen crotch up against your ass – “makes it worthwhile already.”

----------

Aspen Heights is a hundred and fifty-acre course, vibrant green fairways rolling over hilly land laid out like crinkles in a sheet of green felt. Rand drives slowly up to the clubhouse, gravel crackling under the tires of the Rolls as you and Joel lean over to stare at the landscape – the unkempt, sprawling wild plants guarding the pristine course, the bunkers like giant splotches of white paint on the grass.

You turn back and look to Joel, brows knitting in an expression which could be translated as amazement, could be intrigue, or could simply be: What the fuck are we doing here?

He mirrors it, shaking his head. And it makes you laugh.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You could buy this place, easy. Don’t act like you don’t fit in.”

“If you think I fit in here,” he grunts, getting out of the now parked car, “you think very highly of me, angel.”

He doesn’t deny that he could afford to buy it.

The clubhouse is…much the same. Huge, grand, surrounded by a wide-open porch and fronted by a dome-shaped room, paneled by windows that reflect the scene before them.

You follow Joel’s lead, climbing the steps to the double doors by his side, staying close enough that he can guide you with a bump of his arm against yours, but far enough apart that it doesn’t look like you’re showing up together.

Inside, you follow two smartly-dressed attendants through to a room finished in dark oak, shining wooden floors under bare-bulb light figures, a solid marble bar in the center and six perfectly symmetrical high tables surrounding it.

You glance nervously around the room. Drew’s stood over by the windows with three other men – a tan guy with a white baseball cap on, fluorescent orange polo buttoned up to his neck, a shorter guy with tight black curls, fiddling with the cap of a bottle of water, and finally, a guy with dark hair combed within an inch of its life into perfect place, shoulders almost ripping through his blue polo. He looks like he’s been copy-pasted straight from a magazine called Golf Weekly, or something.

Joel takes one step across a patterned rug and Drew notices you both. He breaks off from the group.

“Hey, man.” He grins at Joel and leans over to shake his hand – well, it’s more of that slap-hand thing. They slap each other’s palms, fingers lock, one quick shake of the wrists together, and then a nod of the head. You know?

Then he leans over to you, kisses your cheek. “Sorry it’s just us guys,” he says, hand on your arm. He looks over to the three men by the window, now looking out over the course and pointing. “My girlfriend was supposed to be joining us, but she got called in to work. You two woulda gotten along, you ‘n Rach.”

You smile warmly. “That’s okay. Thanks for asking me.”

“You play much?” Drew asks, leading you both over to the windows.

You shake your head and Joel breathes a laugh.

“Total beginner,” you admit.

Drew bats a hand. “We’ll show you the ropes. This is, uh, this is Steve,” he points to Fluorescent Orange, “Caleb,” Water Bottle holds his hand out to shake yours, “and that’s Daniel.”

Up close, Daniel’s handsome. Sharp jawline, shadowed by the beginnings of stubble, a dimple in the center of his chin. He steps forward, holding a hand out, and you take it. His palm engulfs yours and squeezes – soft but sure. And then you pull away.

The men all nod to Joel, who probably nods back from behind you, and then catches you gently in his arm, cradling it around your back out of view of the others.

“We’ll be getting started soon,” Drew says, “they’re just fixing up a few buggies for us.”

Joel nods, lets go of you, and crosses his arms. You knot your hands awkwardly at your waist. He stays right by your side, though, which you’re grateful for. The last thing you need is another Jean-Marc, some cloaked assistant swooping you off away from the comfort of Joel.

“How’s business, Joel? Drew was tellin’ us about some deal you’re tryna nail.”

Daniel’s eyes are sharp, cerulean blue drilling deep into the warm brown of Joel’s, which calmly stare back. He looks a little younger than Joel, maybe on the cusp of forty, only a few light strands of grey through his deep brown fringe. There’s no wedding ring on his finger. You don’t know why you’re even looking at that.

Joel doesn’t reveal much in the way of answers. Typical of him – or typical of the Joel he is to the rest of the world. “Yeah, ‘s good. Just takin’ my time, we’re workin’ on it.”

Daniel nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He crosses his arms, biceps bulging, and then rounds on you.

“You gotta be run off your feet, chasing after him all day, huh?”

You tilt your head toward Joel. “He keeps me busy, yeah.”

Daniel leans into you, laughter crooning from his lips. It wobbles you a little, forces you one step nearer Joel’s side. You smile back, as pleasant as you can muster the courage, and he eventually leans away.

Before he can ask another question, Drew’s calling you all over to the sliding patio doors. Daniel hops back a step, nods to you, and says, “After you.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Joel cuts, stepping into the space the blue-eyed man had left specifically for you, sweeping you off as he goes.

----------

There isn’t anything about golf that intrigues you. Not even remotely. You’ve never watched it, never wanted to play it – the most you’ve dabbled in it is minigolf, and even that became a fucking bore after two anniversary dates in a row there with Blake.

Still, you watch patiently and politely as the men take their shots one by one, starting with Drew, all the way through to Daniel, who gives his driver a quick shine with a gloved hand before stepping up. On your left, Joel scoffs quietly to himself.

Daniel swings back, and his biceps swell under the tight sleeves of his shirt. You watch as his arms follow through, sending the ball hurtling through the air and well past its three predecessors.

Joel nudges your elbow.

“Ow,” you mumble, running a hand over the skin.

He gives you a perplexed look. “I said, you can use my clubs. You in there?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too defensively. “Just…paying attention.”

“Hm.”

The men on your right groan as Daniel strides back over to join them, a satisfied grin across his face. Your eyes trace him as he leans on his driver, one white pant leg crossing over the other.

When you turn back to the tee box, Joel’s lifting his own club from his bag. His broad, muscled shoulders flex under the dark material of his shirt; his tall figure walks over to the tee, delicate fingers dancing along the handle of the club, and he clears his throat.

And suddenly, the memory of Daniel and his stupid biceps is dust in the wind.

Joel takes, like, half a practice swing. Doesn’t even have to aim, not really. Just pulls his arms back, sucks his waist in, and goes for it.

His ball lands a couple meters ahead of Daniel’s. And you wonder when the fuck golf became this sexy.

He turns back and runs his tongue over his top lip, breathing a little heavy. The sight drives you fucking insane for the second time today. And then he’s smiling at you, jerking his head in a gesture for you to join him.

You step forward, a little shy, a little hot, and wander mutely over to him.

“I got you,” he says, and reaches for your wrist.

You move to take the driver from his hand and Joel clicks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Said I got you,” he utters, and pulls your body into his, shelling around you. His beard scratches lightly against your ear.

“Joel,” you whisper, laughing nervously and tossing a quick glance back over to the men standing just feet away. Drew just said something apparently hilarious. Caleb gives him a solid whack on the shoulder and doubles over laughing. Steve’s watching a butterfly float by.

“They ain’t watchin’,” Joel says, curving his arms around yours and fixing your hands on the handle of the club. “s just you ‘n me.”

You wriggle under his grasp and feel the hum of laughter from his chest between your shoulders, the weight of his belt riding on your ass. Your cheeks heat when his chin rests on your collarbone.

“Alright,” he says, hands tightening around your own. “You’re gonna line it up, stand with your legs a little apart, little more…”

The toe of his shoe taps your heel and you widen your stance.

“Good girl,” he whispers. A pulse shakes through your body. “Now, on your backswing, you’re gonna want your left shoulder under your chin, ‘n your hands above your right shoulder. Yeah?”

“Got it,” you mumble, so unconvincing that it makes you laugh after you’ve said it.

He gives your waist a tiny squeeze and steps back, watching as you carefully lift the club and curve it around your shoulders. You hear him from behind.

“’attagirl. Keep your knees bent, you got it.”

You take one good swing, and hit the ball on your first try, but it’s…it’s bad, for sure. It’s pretty terrible. The ball lands on this side of the fairway, muddled in amongst the longer grass of the rough. But it’s your first ever shot – least not with colored balls and spinning windmills in the way – and so when you turn back to Joel with a huge beam across your lips, your expression is reflected in his.

“Good job!” he chuckles, stalking back over to you.

“Good job,” you echo with a laugh, handing him the club. You twist and hold your hand up to shield your eyes, staring down the course. “Look where it is, ‘n look where yours are.”

He glances back over to where your sad little ball sits. “We’ll get a few drinks down those guys,” he whispers, hand on your back. “See how good they are in a few holes’ time.”

----------

You’re back in the clubhouse after finishing the eighteenth hole on something of a high. Joel managed to worsen the accuracy of your competitors only so much – your end of the deal was to improve as the round went on, which you try to argue you technically did, given that you began to land your shots on the fairway around hole seven, but your argument is let down by Joel’s reminder that, on hole thirteen, he had to dig your ball out of the bunker for you.

“And I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to never fucking talk about it again,” you say through gritted teeth, and he laughs.

“Last time, promise.”

Drew joins the pair of you at your table and slaps an arm down on Joel’s shoulder.

“Your round, asshole.”

Joel grumbles, gives your elbow a cursory tap, and slides off to the bar. Drew takes his seat, nudges your arm.

“I am impressed,” he tells you, slurring his words a little.

“Yeah?” you ask, and he nods. “I didn’t think I was so good.”

“Oh,” he shakes his head, “you weren’t. I meant I’m impressed you stuck it out.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you hiss.

He snorts, head bobbing with the alcohol bubbling in his blood. “I’m kidding. You were great, for your first time. I’m really glad you came.”

“Me, too,” you admit.

Drew opens his mouth to say something else when a clatter from across the clubhouse interrupts him. You turn at the same time to see a waiter on his ass at the other side of the room. His metal tray rattles against the wooden floor, flutes smashed in a pool of champagne by his side.

“Oh, shoot,” Drew mumbles, setting his glass down on the table.

You push off your stool, sliding your drink alongside his, but he motions for you to stay.

“I got it,” he says, palm lightly tapping your wrist. “I got it.”

He shuffles off to the waiter, now being helped to his feet by Caleb. The last you see is Drew bending to grab the silver tray, before he’s swept out of your view by –

“Poor guy,” Daniel muses, fist locked tight around a lager. He pulls Joel’s stool out and slips onto the cushion, elbow brushing against yours.

You readjust awkwardly in your own chair and pull on the hem of your skirt.

“So,” Daniel clears his throat, the bottom of his glass scraping along the wooden tabletop, “how’d you find your first round of golf?”

You smile politely. “Uh, good. Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to be much, but it wasn’t too scary.”

He chuckles. “Yeah? Think you’ll be back?”

Your shoulders jerk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

He nods and dives headfirst into some long ramble about golf – something about the time he brought his sister and her kids here and how much worse they were than you, so you should really be proud of yourself, and he’d love to see you around here again sometime – but you’re only half listening. You’re stealing glances over at the bar, hunting for a chiseled jawline and monochrome beard.

You spot him locked between Steve and some other guy in all black, waiting for the bartender to draw up his order of drinks. He’s nodding, saying words back to the pair, but keeping his eyes locked on you.

You give him half a smile, half a, There you are, what the hell’s taking you so long? Can you come the fuck back? and hope he reads the words across your face.

“…so, as long as you stick with what you know, it’s actually a really enjoyable game.”

Daniel stares at you blankly, waiting for a response.

“Sure, sure,” you answer, after too long a pause to convince him that you were listening. “Sorry,” you close your eyes and give your head a shake, “was just checking on that waiter.”

Daniel nods. Follows the trail of your eyeline across the room, and looks back to you. “So, uh,” he clears his throat nervously, “I know this place downtown – Italian, has this big open rooftop seating area. If you’re interested, I’d, uh…I’d love to take you, sometime.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, frozen. Like, actually convinced the air in your lungs has turned to ice, frozen. Your eyes probably look like they’re about to burst out of your head, your mouth stuck in a dumb O-shape as you search frantically for the words to form a reply.

He smiles awkwardly. Watches as you blink straight back at him.

“I…” you manage, after what feels like fucking hours. “…That’s – so nice, Daniel, I – really – I’m flattered. Um…”

He interrupts, and it’s like a cold flannel on an acid burn. “Oh, Jesus. I – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I’m sorry.”

“No,” you shake your head, suddenly animated, “no, listen. It’s – you’re –”

Daniel’s still apologizing. “Are you – sorry, I don’t mean to assume – are you and – you and Joel…?”

His head jerks. One eyebrow cocked. His fingers press into the table, making counter-rotating circles across the gleaming surface.

You stare from his hands to his face, open-mouthed. “N-no,” you tell him, with a single shake of your head. And then you realize he’s being serious. “No, no, we’re not – no, absolutely not. We’re just – friends.”

“Right,” he says, brows knitting. “It’s just – the guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time I’ve been sat here, so I just figured…maybe…”

You follow Daniel’s gaze across to the bar again, where Joel’s still standing, this time with Drew at his side. He’s mouthing Yeah, in reply to whatever Steve’s gabbing about, but not fucking listening to a word of it.

“No,” you say again, looking Joel dead in the eye. “We’re just friends.”

You turn to look back at the slick-haired man by your side, and he nods.

“But, uh,” you look into your glass, the ice suddenly more interesting than Daniel’s hopeful expression, “you’re a really nice guy, and I appreciate you asking, but I’m…not…exactly looking for anything right now. I’m – yeah.”

“Right – no, absolutely,” he says again, flustered. His fingers wrap tight around his glass and he shifts as if to stand. “That’s absolutely fine. I just thought I’d ask, y’know?”

He laughs nervously. You feel kinda guilty. He’s being so decent about it, and he means well, but you really just wish he would…fuck off.

He isn’t given the option.

Drew comes bounding over like a golden retriever and leans in to Daniel, another freshly poured pint swinging in his fist. “You’ve improved your game, Gilbert,” he sings in your suitor’s ear. “Must be years since the last time you scored an eagle!”

Daniel copies Drew’s guffawing, nodding along. He opens his mouth to say something, but Drew jumps ahead, offering to buy him a drink to celebrate.

“C’mon, my treat,” the blond tells him, and swaggers off towards the bar, a vice grip on the blue polo shirt.

The shadow of Joel slips around your back as soon as the two figures are out of view. He brushes against your shoulders and nudges his stool nearer to yours with his foot, before sitting back into it with a sigh.

You stare at him, smirking behind your hand, elbow resting on the arm of your chair. He catches your eye and watches you for a few seconds.

Sorry, he mouths eventually, and sneaks a hand onto your thigh.

You lean into him, feeling the weight of Daniel and his proposal and his fucking Italian restaurant fall like insignificant grains off sand off your shoulders. You trace a finger along the shape of Joel’s knuckles. “I feel bad,” you whisper.

“The hell for?” his voice asks, a deep rumble by your temple.

You shrug, looking up at him. “He’s a nice guy. He asked me on a date.”

“And did you want to go?”

Your face pulls into a wince, lips flinching. “Not really.”

“Then what’d I tell you about doin’ stuff you don’t want to?”

You don’t reply. Your mind sails back to that boat ride in Paris, when he basically told you off for feeling guilty about rejecting a fucking marriage proposal, never mind a downtown dinner. It doesn’t bear thinking about what fantastic rant he’s currently bottling up where Daniel’s feelings are concerned.

Joel’s a no-nonsense guy, you know this. Known it for as long as you’ve known him. He’s rational, he’s pragmatic. He says what he thinks, and you deal with however you feel about it. He doesn’t waste time making anyone feel better with lies or cushion-soft landings. His yes is yes and his no is no. And sure, maybe there’s something in there that you’d do well to adopt, too.

But there are inconsistencies to him that you can’t work out – yet. Something that makes him break his rules. He still hasn’t shared whatever the hell Jean-Marc said to him that made him sweep you off of that terrace minutes later. He won’t admit why he keeps dragging you along to these so-called ‘work’ events.

Part of you wants to break him open, chip away at him like the sculptures in the Louvre until his beating heart is in your hands, the rhythmic pulses sharing secrets like it’s speaking in Morse code.

And part of you – bigger, stronger, wiser – hopes you never get close.

When you come back to the room, sound of glasses clinking and men’s roaring laughter washing away any thoughts of jilted boyfriends or lonely golfers, Joel lowers his head to look you in the eye.

“You wanna go?”

You nod, scrunching your nose. “That okay?”

He leans in close, as close as he reckons he can get without drawing attention, and smiles softly. “You coulda asked to go home the minute we pulled up ‘n it woulda been okay. Let’s go.” And he takes your hand.

Drew’s slung over the shoulders of some argyle-patterned men who you’re sure have spent more time drinking than they have actually on the course. He’s lifting his glass, about to toast to life, or love, or fucking golf, when Joel sneaks by behind him, never letting go of your hand.

The Rolls Royce is sat in park at the bottom of the stone steps, hazard lights blinking. Joel holds the door open as you hop in under the twinkling ceiling.

“Well?” Rand asks, looking in the mirror. You respond with a toss of your head, squinting. “Did you keep your feet straight like I taught you?” he demands.

“Honestly, I was more focused on making sure I hit the ball, Rand.”

He snorts. “Office, Joel?”

“Office, Rand.”

As the partition closes, Joel’s hand comes up to cup the back of your head. You lean into it, tilting to look at him properly through eyes glazed with tiredness, alcohol, relief to be back in only his company.

And he’s staring back, eyes flitting from yours down to your mouth when you speak.

“Did you…did you send Drew over to get Daniel away from me?”

Joel’s eyes stay fixed on your lips. “You didn’t want me to do that?”

You ignore him. You want him to answer your question. “Did you?”

And then he looks up. Searches your eyes for a second, and then says, “Yeah.”

Your stare falls down into his lap. To his closed fist, resting on his thigh. His fingers are stroking the back of your head in lulling movements. You focus on the shine of his watch. And horror sets in.

“You wanted him to stay?” Joel asks, bringing you up for air for half a second.

You’re quiet when you reply. “…No. I didn’t want him anywhere near me.”

And that’s somehow scarier. That you didn’t want this decent, attractive-enough man around you. That the entire time he sat nipping your ear, your eyes, your hands, your heart was searching all over the room for Joel. Listening for the twang of his voice, looking for him out of your peripheral. Counting every second until he sauntered back to your side.

It’s rolling. The feeling. Like a snowball gaining speed down a mountain. Starts off a twinge, a plucking somewhere buried deep in your heart, and turns and turns and turns until it’s a weight behind your ribcage. Unable to burst free.

You take Joel’s wrist and move his hand to the curve of your thigh, then lock your fingers between his. He lets you. You lift your free hand to the cut of his jawline, training your fingers down his bristled beard, and he lets you do that, too. And when you pull his face down to meet yours, lips warm and wet and starving, he opens his mouth and slips his tongue past your teeth.

Your hands are knotting in his hair. You’re leaning back, trying to pull him down on top of you, but he’s stronger. His hands take a strong grip of your waist and hoist you over the center console and into his lap, your knees pressing into the soft leather either side of his hips.

“You gonna tell me what you’re up to, pretty girl?” he asks, tipping his head back. His shirt smells like his cologne. Fresh, sharp, clean. It sends your head spinning.

Your lips find his jawline and nip kisses and bites along the sharp ridge. He tastes like whiskey, tastes like the sun, tastes like he did four days ago. Sweet and smoky and laced with something intoxicating.

Joel sighs. His hands knead into your hips, and he pushes you down, grinding you into his body.

He’s hard. Already.

“Feels like you already know,” you mutter, still peppering his neck with kisses.

He laughs the cocky way he always does when you’re on this road, heading this way. His hands find your hair again and he pulls your head back, drawing a whine from your lips.

“You gonna take it like a good girl? Take daddy’s cock?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, rubbing your damp panties over the bulge in his pants.

Joel unzips his trousers and shifts the waistband loose. You move his hands and peel back the top of his boxers yourself, and he watches from under heavy lids as you take him in both hands.

“That’s – my girl,” he chokes, eyes following your pumping fists. His head tips back with a quiet groan.

You push yourself up, shuffle nearer to him until your cunt hovers over his cock, and pull your panties to the side. You’re fucking soaked, already wet enough that Joel’s thick head catches on the cusp of your entrance as you line him up, stealing a gasp from your lips.

You sink, slowly, letting him push through into your sex inch by inch, feeling yourself pull open around him. Your brows furrow, jaw falls wide at the white-hot feeling between your legs, and you look up to see your expression reflected in Joel’s.

His hands clutch at your hips. “So – fucking – tight,” he hums, eyes rolling.

You lock your knees and begin bouncing, resting your hands on top of Joel’s. You’re steadily picking up pace, each nudge of his tip against the edge of your pussy sending another spasm of stars across your quickly-blinding vision.

“Off,” Joel mumbles against your lips, fingers pinching the fabric of your shirt.

“Huh?” you ask back, looking down to where he’s already peeling it up your torso.

“Just the skirt,” he pants, desperate, “nothin’ else.”

You lift your arms and let him pull the polo from your body, tossing it onto the carpeted floor. Joel unhooks your bra and pulls the lace down, before he’s angling his hips up again, hitting you somewhere deep enough inside to steal the breath from your lungs.

And then his lips are on your naked chest, sinking into the valley between your breasts, kissing over to your nipple. His tongue flicks over and over until the bud is pointed, enough to take it between his lips and graze over it with his teeth.

Your thighs are burning. Your skirt sits bunched up on your hips, only just covering your ass as Joel’s hands press into the supple skin, lifting you effortlessly up and down. You melt into his touch, let him do the work for a few seconds as he sits back in his seat to watch your body on his.

“My good – girl,” he groans, voice thick with arousal. “You know how pretty you look right now?”

You hook your hand around his neck, draw him in a little nearer. Shake your head with a filthy smile on your lips. “Tell me.”

Joel laughs shakily. “Wanna – fuckin’ – show you off to everyone, babygirl.”

He’s kissing you slowly, his tongue pressed to yours, when you pull back and separate your lips. He’s planted a seed in your mind.

Joel’s hips stop moving immediately. “Y’okay?” he asks, light hand on the side of your head, keeping your eyes on him.

You nod, breathing heavy. “Mhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, “just…”

You look down to your skirt, your bare thighs spread over Joel’s lap. The thought flips over and over in your head, unsure if it’s brave enough to trot down to your lips and show itself to Joel.

“Baby?”

It’s Joel, though. Same guy who bent you over his desk, same guy who fucked you senseless feet away from his flight attendants. Same guy who, a few days ago, you were in this exact position with: writhing in next to nothing on his lap.

Fuck it. Right?

“…want him to watch,” you say, in a small voice.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change, save for the way his eyes narrow. “Want who to watch?”

You look at him a beat longer, and it sinks in. He gets it.

“Yeah, babygirl? That what you want?”

“Mhm,” you reply, shifting with him when he starts moving his hips again. The car moves forward, pushing you closer into him. “Want him to – watch you fuck me.”

“Dirty girl. You want him to watch you cum for daddy, pretty girl?”

“Ye-ah,” you moan, Joel’s hands now pushing your waist down, the stretch of his cock deep inside you almost burning with pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispers, watching as your face pulls and your brows knit together.

“Only cum for you, daddy,” you whimper.

“I know, darlin’, I know. Close your eyes.”

By this point, Joel’s assured tone, his strong hands on your hips, his fucking length buried inside you, are enough to convince you. You just do as you’re fucking told – as soon as you’re fucking told.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean forward, hooking your chin over his shoulder and feeling him turn, his lips pressed close to your ear.

“Good girl. He there?”

The image of Daniel flits across your vision, bright blue eyes trained on you. He looks…intrigued, and stunned. He’s not breaking his stare.

“Mhm,” you say again, and start to lift off of Joel.

“He watching?”

“Y-eah,” you choke out, bouncing steadily.

“Put on a show for ‘im, pretty girl. Show him what you do for me.”

You focus on the feeling of Joel, cock fucking deep into you, nuzzling against your walls and splitting you open; the sound of his voice in your ear, gently encouraging, sweetly reassuring; the smell of him, the taste of him, the heat from his skin, and…the sight of the steel-blue stare behind your eyes. The tight polo shirt. The round biceps. Watching you.

Watching you be fucked by someone else. Watching you come undone for someone else. For the same guy whose stare he couldn’t shake while he so much as talked to you. Watching your face as it twists in filthy pleasure; listening to you make sounds, whisper words, whisper daddy in the ear of your fucking boss; have him whisper words back that make your cunt tighten around him and push the image of Daniel two steps back with shock.

“Tell me again, angel.” Joel’s voice starts to swipe Daniel away.

Your eyes peel open, the backseat of the Rolls a blur as you roll your head back. “What, daddy?” you whimper.

His hand takes your jaw, holds you in line with his own. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You breathe a laugh. It pulls across your mouth two seconds later. “M-me.”

Joel mirrors your grin. His hips buck once. You cry out. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh,” you yelp, getting louder as he snaps up into you deeper, faster, harder.

You’re drawing around him, warm and wet, feeling him deep in your stomach as your movements become sloppy and staggered. Pleasure swirls like a whirlpool between your legs, tightening, tightening, tightening.

Joel’s face sharpens into your vision. His eyes are fixed on yours. You watch his lips shape the words good girl, before he pulls your foreheads together, noses flush against one another.

“’n who fucks it like this?” he asks into your mouth.

You take a deep breath, inhaling his question, and let a satisfied exhale carry your answer back out.

“Just y-you, daddy.”

And you both fall.

You rock back and forth as the feeling drowns you both; open-mouthed, silently screaming, eyes trained on one another as you ride out your high together.

You throw your head back, eyes losing focus just inches under the stars until they blur into little white halos. Your arms lift up to lean against the tiny dotted lights, steadying yourself.

Joel’s hands clamp around your waist, holding you down on his cock as he shoots hot ropes of cum deep inside you, mixing with your own and filling you up. Your name escapes his lips hand in hand with a deep, throaty moan.

You body aches. Your cunt throbs around him, still humming with pleasure as your body curls again, falling forward until your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands run up and down your spine, lips press featherlight kisses to your ear, shhing, whispering praise, bringing you slowly back into the car with him.

“Daddy…” you whisper into the soft cotton of his shirt, and you feel the weight of his cheek on your head.

His hands cup your cheeks and he lifts your face until you’re staring at one another. Your eyes are tired, you can hardly keep them open, but Joel holds you upright.

“We gotta stop this,” he whispers, and your foreheads fall together again as you laugh. “I’m gettin’ too old for it, baby.”

He’s still buried deep inside, slowly softening, but you don’t want him to go. Not yet. He reaches for your bra, helps you slip it back on, and you bend back to take your shirt in two fingers.

When you’re dressed, you sink back into him.

Joel laughs, brushing the wisps of your hair disturbed by pulling your shirt over your head. “That what you were thinkin’ about? While he was talkin’ to you?”

You smile lazily. Shake your head no. “Was thinking…about you taking me to the Italian he was talking about.”

Joel’s smile grows bigger. Biggest you think you’ve ever seen him smile before. It breaks into a laugh, a toothy chuckle, and then he kisses you.

You melt into him, tongue and teeth crashing against one another. Joel’s open palms surf along your thighs, molding around your skin. He squeezes the dimpled skin on your hips between his fingers.

“Tonight work for you?” he asks, and you giggle.

“No,” you tell him, “I got Martha’s to-do list to work through.”

He nods knowingly, eyes closing. “You want a hand with it?”

You smirk. “Can we fool around in your office between items?”

His head tips back against the headrest with an obvious expression. “What do you think?”

The car slows to a stop and Rand’s knuckles rap against the glass of the partition. You slip off of Joel’s lap, fix yourselves quickly, and then amble off back to the top floor, still a little weak in the knees.

“Home time, Martha,” Joel calls almost as soon as the elevator doors pull open.

“Excuse me?” she yells back.

He laughs. “I’m lettin’ you go early. It ain’t fair that we get to go have our fun ‘n you’re stuck here ‘til five. Let us know what needs done, ‘n then you can get goin’.”

“Ain’t that chivalrous?” Martha beams, blinking at you.

You saunter by her with a smile and toss your bag under your desk. You spin around, brace yourself against the arms of your chair, and throw yourself back against the comfortable leather.

“So,” she announces, almost fucking skipping over to you with her trusty notepad back in her clutches. “I whittled it down to just six things, so it shouldn’t keep you much longer than five o’clock…”

You lift your brows and nod along.

“…as long as you don’t find anything to distract yourselves with, that is.”

----------

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712 notes · View notes

cosmicmunsonwrites · 9 months

Note

can you do hickeys smut with jj maybank and after all their friends see it and take the mick out of jj

i love you so

pairing(s): bf!jj maybank x gf!fem!reader , the pogues x reader

warnings: a little smut, unprotected sex, p in v, pet names, creampie, overstimulation, use of y/n once

summary: jj marks you up for everyone to see, including your friends.

authors note: thank you for the request! sorry this took so long but i hope you enjoy :)

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

his lips trailed across your neck, sucking and biting at the skin there, his body planked over yours.

your hands tangled in his hair as you bit your lip to suppress the moans threatening to slip out when his hips pressed into yours. “oh, fuck.”

he kissed down your chest and continued to lick and suck at your breasts, leaving pretty little bruises across your skin. some in places only he’d ever see, and others in places for everyone else to know who you belonged to.

“jj, ‘m so close,” you mumbled, your hips rolling up into his to match his rhythm before his lips were back onto yours.

“you gonna come for me, sweet girl?” he mumbled against your lips. “hm?”

you simply nodded, too tired to do much of anything else right now. your nails sunk into his back when your orgasm approached like a tidal wave, crashing over you and triggering his own.

you felt the warmth fill you up, making your legs shake with the slight overwhelming stimulation.

he pressed a few gently kisses to your cheeks then forehead before leaning up.

“wait,” you stopped, hands searching for him. “can we just lay here for a minute?” you asked softly.

“‘course, sweetheart,” he said, laying down by your side and looping his arm around you so you could cuddle in close.

—

the chateau, for once, was actually not burning hot inside. so here you all were, you and jj cuddled up on a couch, john b and sarah the same on the other one with kie and pope to their left against the arm.

due to the heavy rain outside, you guys decided it was best to stay inside and just chill for a little until mother nature decided to move on.

everything was fine, everyone having fun and enjoying time together. that was until your best friend, sarah, glanced at you when you turned your head a little too much, causing the neckline of your shirt to drift down slightly. “holy shit, jj,” she exclaimed. “you’re like a vampire or something, dude.”

then john b had noticed it. “jesus, man. take it easy, will you? poor y/n.”

“oh my god,” kie jumped in. “did that hurt?”

“there’s absolutely no way that it didn’t,” pope added.

a blush began to settle over your cheeks as jj laughed and you buried your head into the crook of his neck.

“i call it art,” your boyfriend said. “i like to think i’m an arti—“

he was cut off when you slapped his stomach and mentally cursed at the embarrassment.

#gracie writes jj maybank 🌸#gracies asks and requests 💌#jj maybank #jj maybank angst #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank obx #jj maybank x you #jj maybank one shot #obx jj maybank #obx jj #jj obx #obx

918 notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 10 months

Note

Fluffy Mick as a clingy boyfriend in private headcanon please? He’s so composed in public but in private I feel like he’s kinda clingy (and kinky) lol

Mick doesn’t bring you to races often due to the fact the moment he sees you

He’s wanting to be all up next to you and hanging off of you

When he used to race for Haas he had to be careful due to all the cameras

People liked to nitpick him, due to who his father is

So when you started to date, Mick told you that he might be cold

You weren’t sure what he meant as Mick was your fluffy

Blue-eyed golden retriever boyfriend how could he be cold

The moment you both stepped through the gates

He whispers that he loves you and let’s go of your hand acting like you weren’t there

People when they first saw the photos said you’re friends

They all knew Mick was a clinger so if you two were dating he’d be clinging to you

Except he wanted to keep everything private, after his fathers accident

Mick wanted everything he held dear to him private that included you

Mick kept this wall between you two in public, sometimes it hurt

Other times you respected his wishes

He wouldn’t even hold hands with you

But the moment that you two get home, you best believe he’s all over you

The moment you step through your doors and they’re closed and locked

He’s right on top of you size kink king fight me

Mick isn’t that tall, but he’s built pretty good so he engulfs you in a hug

He sags against you, weight and all

You giggle letting the wall support you

Mick has to hug you for a little bit before he always you to move

Finally cleaning off the day, you lay down

Mick is right there, either laying ontop of you or vice versa

When you’re cooking he’s hugging you back, grabbing the things you can’t reach

If he’s had a bad day, you just need to hold open your arms and he’s right there

If you’ve had a bad day, Mick picks you holding you close as he moves to the bedroom

NSFW from here out

Mick is a huge size kink vibe and cockwarming

If he’s holding you, he groans and complains how he wants to be closer

So when he finds out about cockwarming he’s 100% for it

When you’re cuddling one day he’s got your back to his chest

Teases you slightly getting you worked up, but stops

Whispering what he wants to try you bite your lip

Nodding you agree to it, curious to what it’s like

Mick was on the thicker side, he was average size, but damn that girth on him

He slides in slowly, both of you adjusting to this

When you both relax, Mick moves closer sighing

You’re the one that’ll stay awake

But mick is the one who’d get tired and fall asleep

You giggle petting his hair as you whisper soft things

You both don’t do it often, but when Mick has a terrible day

He just wants to be close to you as possible

Mick loves laying on top of you, just he’s a cuddles and clings to you whenever he can

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 scenario #mick schumacher x reader #mick shumacher imagine #mick schumacher #f1 fluff #f1 smut #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher smut #mick Schumacher headcannons #f1 headcannon #f1 imagines #f1 one shot

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ultram0th · 2 months

Text

Sometimes Mick felt a little bad about what he’d do. He would transform and mess with men every now and then, experimenting with a variety of victims. Guys who were jerks and needed to be taken down a peg, guys who were good Samaritans and deserved a reward, and some who were just minding their own business. It was the latter that was the most difficult to deal with. Still, whenever that urge to have fun rolled around, it was next to impossible to ignore it.

That just so happened to be the case as Mick relaxed in the sauna at the gym that he frequented. He had no idea who the two muscular men were who walked in after him, one in his mid-fifties while the other was in his early thirties. The way they chatted with one another made it sound like they were friends or at least work out buddies — the older one seemed to be more knowledgeable about workout plans and diets than the younger.

Mick smirked and stood up to leave the sauna, snapping his fingers as he exited the door.

— — —

Adam sat on the sauna bench, enjoying how the hot steam relaxed his tense muscles after his strenuous workout. “Damn,” he huffed, rolling his neck to the side to pop it, “that kicked the crap out of me.”

The older man, Vlad, smirked and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I told you I can whip you into shape,” he chuckled. “We’ll have you contest-ready in no time.”

Adam was interested in getting into natural bodybuilding, and after searching online, had managed to find Vlad who was a certified personal trainer. The older guy had years of experience when it came to helping others bulk up to incredible sizes, so Adam was eager to hire him. Lo and behold, it was only his first session with the guy, and he was already feeling as if his muscles were on fire.

The two men talked about workout plans, not really noticing when the other gym patron left the sauna, snapping his fingers behind him. There was an odd electric feel to the thick, steamy air that passed as soon as it had come.

Adam massaged his already sore pectoral, winded from the workout his trainer had put him through. Still, the results were promising and he found himself incredibly excited for tomorrow’s workout. He glanced over at the older man.

“So, like, what’s the workout plan for tomorrow, Daddy?” he asked in a voice that sounded like it’d shot up several octaves, sounding comical coming from his bulky body. He jerked back in confusion and cleared his throat a couple times, wondering if the steam was just messing with it and making it sound weird; but that didn’t explain the odd inflections or why he’d referred to the older man as ‘Daddy’.

Even Vlad scrunched up his face in confusion, eying the younger man up and down. “I’m gonna work those tight glutes of yours, Babe,” he grunted, his voice sounding deeper and rougher than it had earlier. The older man’s eyes widened in shock at what had left his mouth and he scratched at his chest in wonder, wincing when he felt much more hair on it than usual.

Sure enough, when he looked down at himself, his chiseled chest was covered in dense salt-and-pepper colored hair. What shocked him the most was that his nipples had seemingly inflated, sticking out of the hairy forest by at least half and inch.

“Damn, Boy, Daddy’s nips have gotten so big for ya to suck on,” he heard himself playfully growl, blood draining from his face at his words.

Adam shot to his feet in a panic, his heart racing in his chest. “Daddy, like, what is even happening to us?” he twittered, waving his hands effeminately as he began to fret. He had no idea why he or Vlad were speaking so differently and he began to wonder if it was the steam that was affecting their brains. “Like, maybe this steam is fucking with our heads?”

The two men rushed out of the steam room and stood out in the vacant locker room, both of them panting from a mixture of the heat from the sauna and from the trepidation that filled their worried bodies.

It took them both a second to realize that in their hurry to get out of the sauna and catch their breath, they didn’t notice that they were standing uncomfortably close to one another: Vlad had his buff arm wrapped around Adam’s waist, the latter resting one of his hands on the the former’s hairier chest.

Both men took a quick step away from one another, blushing furiously. Neither of them wanted to admit that they wanted to step closer though, opting to look anywhere but at the other.

Adam took a nervous breath and readied himself to see if all the weirdness really was just due to the steam. “So, like, that was suuuuper weird,” he said, his heart falling at the words that left his mouth.

At the worried look that crossed over Adam’s features, Vlad felt an unknown protective surge inside of him, and he stepped forward and enveloped the smaller man in his arms. He was shocked by his actions, having never held another man so intimately before, but he couldn’t deny that he liked it. “Relax, Baby,” he said. “Let’s go home and figure this out.”

Adam was so focused on how much he loved to have his face shoved in the older man’s hairy chest that he didn’t register that, somehow, the two men knew that they lived together. He nodded and reluctantly pulled himself away from the older man. “Like, that sounds like a great idea, Daddy,” he muttered, pausing when he looked at the other man, staring straight ahead to only see Vlad’s clavicles. “Oh em gee! I, like, totally shrunk!”

When they’d started their workout this morning, Adam had actually been taller than Vlad by at least two inches, but now that he looked at the older man, he realized that he was now the shorter of the two. In his panic, he let his towel fall to the ground.

Vlad winced and fought the lust that ran throughout his hairy body as he stared at the naked man before him. He felt himself lick his lips hungrily as he looked at his younger companion’s bulging pecs and chiseled abs, running his gaze downward to the the two-inch nub that poked out above a set of balls that resembled cherry tomatoes.

“Oh shit,” he grunted. “Babe, please don’t panic, but I think I’m gonna have a lot more fun with your ass than your cock.”

“Like, what are you talking about?” Adam asked, cocking his eyebrow. He looked down at himself in confusion. When he saw his shrunken equipment, he let out a loud shriek of terror. “Like, what happened to my nub?!” He stomped his foot in frustration. “My nub! No, my nub! Fuck me! I don’t have a nub, I have a c-c- NUB!”

“Relax, Babe, you’re gettin’ all worked up,” Vlad said in a calm voice. “Daddy will take care of everything.”

“That’s, like, totally easy for you to say!” Adam spat, putting both of his hands on his hips as he talked. “I, like, get stuck with this puny nub, while you get a big, juicy cock!” He gestured forward at the older man.

Vlad glanced down and nearly fainted when he saw the large tent in his towel. He quickly tossed the cloth to the floor and stared wide-eyed at the foot long cock that was as large as a beer can and balls that were as big as oranges. It waved wildly in front of him and leaked precum the more he looked at the smaller (in both senses of the word) man.

“Daddy, like what happened to us?” Adam panicked, his pathetic nub throbbing with want the more he stared at the older man. “Like, why am I sooooo horny right now?”

Vlad wanted nothing more than to figure out what was wrong too so that they could fix it and return to their normal relationship as trainer and client. However, deep down, the new feelings inside of him made it so that a part of him really didn’t want to go back. “Daddy will take care of that for ya, Babe,” he cooed, walking forward and wrapping his arms around the younger stud affectionately. He bent down and began to kiss up the panicked man’s jawline.

Adam was overcome with such a surge of lust and love for the older man who he called ‘Daddy’, and before he could register what was happening, the two of them were making out in the locker room. The two men felt one another up and it wasn’t long before Vlad was on his back and Adam was bouncing on his cock, grasping both of the older man’s inflated nipples. The two of them heatedly made love in the locker room, being known as the gym’s cutest couple from then on.

#muscle #musclegrowth #bodybuilder #pecs #butt #butt growth #straight-to-gay #cockshrink #daddification #daddy tf #boi toy #himbo #himboification

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demxters · 1 year

Text

—LOVING YOU IS THE ANTIDOTE

frat!jake seresin x f!reader

dagger squad college!au

summary: you didn’t like jake seresin. you tolerated him. if you hadn’t befriended bradley bradshaw, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day. he was everything you weren’t. delta chi’s golden boy, popular, desirable, and a charmer. you did not like jake seresin. so why did it hurt when he didn’t want you?

wc: a monstrous 8.6k

warning(s): 18+, fem!reader, no y/n (reader goes by nickname ace), mentions of sex/hookups, alcohol and drinking, weed (briefly mentioned), self deprecating thoughts, jake is lowkey an asshole, and language

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!

Whoever said group projects got easier in college don’t know what they’re talking about. If anything, group projects were the bane of your existence—the reason why you considered dropping out every semester. Being in your third year, you were just barely surviving the group project epidemic. This semester, however, had you at your wits end. All because of a stupid assigned group project.

You had an affinity for being a perfectionist. You were all work and no play. While many of your peers thought it was infuriating, you saw it as your best feature. You got things done. You couldn’t say the same for everyone else. A stick in the mud, a hardass, whatever they chose to call you didn’t matter at the end of the day.

“I’m telling you Nat, they’re imbeciles. The entire time we were exchanging contact information, I thought my head was going to explode from the idiocy spewing from their mouths.” Sitting in the busy dining hall, you rant to your best friend Natasha Trace of the absolute horrors of group mates you’ve been given for this assignment.

You met Natasha at a student mixer in your first year of university. The two of you hit it off immediately from bonding over your tastes for cheesy romance novels and an overly concerning obsession for Dr. Pepper and Smarties. Since then, you two became thick as thieves and haven’t looked back since.

“Maybe you’re being a little too quick to judge,” Nat counters, playing on the remaining peas on her plate with her fork. “You haven’t even given ‘em a chance yet.” That was Natasha for you, ever the voice of reason for your dislike of any person who wasn’t the three you were friends with.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms across your chest with a pout. “If you met them, I bet you would be saying the exact same thing. Besides, they’re frat guys. Isn’t that reason to hate them enough?”

“Why didn’t you lead with that? What’re their names? We can get Mickey to stalk them on Instagram or something.” Her eyes light up at the idea. She doesn’t even give you the chance to answer as she pulls out her phone, no doubt to text Mickey if he could do her a favor.

Mickey Garcia was another one of those close friends of yours. You met him at a Halloween Party where he showed up dressed as Poe Dameron from the later Star Wars movies. Your affinity for Star Wars and a love for Oscar Isaac drew you to him, eventually earning him the affectionate nickname of Fanboy. You introduced him to Natasha and the rest was history.

You swat at her hand, silently telling her to drop her phone. “No. We are not stalking them on Instagram.”

The sound of her text tone going off makes you groan. “Too late. Mick already said he’d do it. So, what are their names?”

You shovel another spoonful of mashed potatoes into your mouth before begrudgingly responding. “Bradley and Jake.” Their names taste like acid in your mouth. So what if you were being a little too quick to judge? You’ve done enough group projects to know this would end up being yet another you would be doing all by yourself.

Natasha’s quiet as she types up their names and sends them back to Mickey. Barely five minutes passes when she receives a response back. “Is this them?” She shows you her screen and at this point, you’ve learned not to question how Mickey could have possibly found them in the sea of Jake and Bradleys that go to your university–let alone pick out the right ones. You nod and she laughs, scrolling through her phone before moving to the seat next to you. “What did I tell you? He found their Instagram, Twitter, and Tinder profiles! God bless, Mickey Garcia.”

You push your head against hers, curiosity killing all resolve you had of not caring. The two of you go through their Instagrams and tagged posts like you were reading the morning paper. There wasn’t anything too surprising about them. It was everything you would expect from a twenty something year old guy in a college fraternity. You hated to admit, however, that they were attractive. You were probably too irritated in class to pay attention to how good looking they are. But that doesn’t dismiss the fact that you were still dreading to work with the two.

“See?” You tell Natasha, motioning to the photo she has pulled up of Bradley on one of his fishing trips. “They are grade-A assholes. Everything about them screams douchebag.”

“You gotta admit, they’re hot,” she breathes and you smack her on the shoulder.

“Natasha Monica Trace!”

Nat shoves you back before shrugging. “What? Don’t you agree?”

“Of course I do, but may I remind you that looks do not equal brains.” You snatch the phone from her grasp and exit out of Instagram.

Nat places a gentle hand on the crook of your elbow, noticing the tension in your body. “Just give them a chance, babe. What’s the worst that could happen?”

_______

You didn’t think it was possible to be friends, let alone acquaintances with Delta Chi’s favorite heartbreakers. Three months and two parties later, you found yourself tolerating your fellow project partners. Then the impossible happened. Bradley Bradshaw and Jake Seresin proved your first impression of them wrong. Well, Bradley did. Jake was the preppy douchebag you suspected him to be. He sat back while Bradley and you pulled his weight. You hated him and his dimpled, Hollywood smile. You hated those lips that knew exactly what to say to get anyone in a three foot radius on their knees. Not to mention those annoyingly green eyes of his.

Once the project was complete you thought you’d never have to interact with them ever again. Oh, how wrong you were. If only you hadn’t offered up your apartment to complete the assignment. Then they wouldn’t have met Nat, Mickey, and Bob. They wouldn’t have invited them to their stupid frat party. You wouldn’t have been forced to see them outside of scheduled study time and your friends wouldn’t have fallen perfectly in line with theirs.

Though you will admit, they weren’t all bad. Surprisingly, you actually appreciated most of their company. Underneath Bradley’s frat boy personality, was a secretly brainy political science major and one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. His other friends, both from Delta Chi, also became fast additions to your little group. Javy Machado and Reuben Fitch were charmers and they knew it. But they were kind and didn’t have an obnoxiously large ego that most frat boys had.

You loved them all, but you couldn’t stand Jake Seresin. No matter how badly he tried to get on your good side, you wouldn’t have it. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of being another person to fall victim to his charm.

“Well Ace, you’ve somehow managed to ruin the fun. Again,” Jake deadpans from where he sits across from you at the coffee table. He bet that you couldn’t beat him at a round of chess. You took that challenge and beat him in three rounds.

A smug smile overcomes your features as you get up from your criss-crossed position and do a little happy dance at Jake’s obvious disappointment. “Snooze, you lose, Hangman.”

He groans at the appointed nickname you gave him two weeks into knowing him. Jake had been bragging about his latest sexual escapades and Bradley said something along the lines of him leaving his catch of the day hanging, disappearing before morning. The nickname stuck and became universally used within your friend group.

You miss the slight upward tug of his lips when you turn around and head to the kitchen to grab another bottle of water.

Bob, who had been observing each match and quietly serving as referee, broke Jake out of his reverie. “You went easy on her.”

Jake avoids Bob’s inquisitive stare and focuses on the faded chessboard. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” he quips, matter of factly. “I’ve seen you play against Bradley. You’re better than that.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t want her to feel bad for losing,” He shrugs, nonchalantly.

“Or maybe you just like seeing her win.”

Jake chucks the pillow he was sitting on at Bob, quickly shutting him up with a squeak. You make your way back to the table, eyeing the two boys at their strange behavior. “You up for one more round, Seresin?”

He checks his watch. “Can’t. Have a thing with Sarah tonight.”

The information makes your heart drop just a little bit in your chest, but you regain your composure. You clear your throat and harden your features. “Oh. Have fun at your…thing.” He didn’t have to tell you it was a hookup for you to know it was a hookup. He had “things” every week, which is why you didn’t understand why this time hurt you just a little more.

The room is silent after Jake leaves with you washing the dishes while Bob sits and reads on the couch. You anxiously looked to the clock that was incessantly ticking away on the wall, desperate for Natasha to get home. You loved Bob, but right now you needed to have some girl talk.

You exasperatedly sigh, harshly wiping your palms on the dish rag on your shoulder.

Bob hums, silently questioning what the matter was.

“Did Nat say when she was coming home?” You throw the rag on the counter and plop yourself down beside him. “I tried texting her but she hasn’t responded.”

Bob thinks for a minute, then responds, “Nope.”

“Well how long is it gonna take her to run this damn errand?”

One thing about Bob: he was a shit liar. The tips of his ears immediately got red and his blue eyes never had the guts to meet those he was lying to.

“Bob…” You scoot closer to him, noticing the tell tale signs of his dishonesty.

“What?” His voice cracks and so does his last bit of dignity.

“When’s Natasha coming home?”

One look into your narrowed eyes is all it takes to have Bob breaking his resolve. “Alright, fine. She said she was going to be out past dinner.”

“Why?”

The frown on your face almost breaks his heart. “She–well…” He hated lying to you, especially when you looked at him like that. Your little pout and wide eyes had him cursing silently. “She went on a date.”

“Oh.” Your brows screw up in confusion. “Then why didn’t she just tell me?”

Bob cringes. “Don’t tell her I told you, otherwise she will kill me.”

You hold your pinky out to him with a small smile. He links his with yours and the two of you press a soft kiss to your fisted hands before pulling away.

“Alright, fine. She didn’t tell you because she’s going on a date with Javy,” he rushes out.

You blink, processing the information. You and Nat told each other everything. Why did she feel the need to hide this from you? You voice your thoughts out loud and Bob shakes his head.

“She thought you were gonna blow up at her for going out with him. You know, because he’s Jake’s best friend and all.” Bob watches you cautiously. Your temper was unpredictable sometimes. One second you would be fine and the next you would be blowing your top off. He wasn’t sure which side of you he was going to get this time.

A sniffle leaves you and you wipe at your nose with the back of your hand. “Why would I get mad at her for that?”

“Because you haven’t had the kindest of opinions towards women who date frat guys, especially Delta Chi ones.”

You vaguely recall that conversation. You had called those women “airheads who are addicted to sex.” But you didn’t mean it. You were drunk and bitter about the fact that you were in your third year of college and still single. Had you known Nat wanted to go out with Javy, you would’ve kept your big mouth shut. “But I like Javy,” is all you can say.

Bob nods. “Yeah, but you hate Jake.”

Your gaze snaps back to him. “So?”

“So, she thought going out with him was like… I don’t know. Fraternizing with the enemy?”

“But Javy’s my friend. I don’t care about how close he is to Hangman. He isn’t like him,” you huff. Pulling your knees to your chest, you take a deep breath. “If he makes her happy then…she should go out with him. I just wish she told me.”

Bob wraps his arm around you, tugging you so your head could rest on his shoulder. He knew there was more to this than you let on. But he let it slide, choosing to comfort you in your conflicted feelings. “When Nat gets home, you should tell her that.” “I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his sweatshirt.

He presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “Good.”

It’s at that moment that the apartment door swings open, revealing Mickey with Jake in tow. Your head snaps up and you see Jake standing there with his mouth agape.

Mickey nods at you and Bob in quick greeting before pointing a thumb at the man behind him. “Idiot forgot his jacket again. It’s a good thing he caught me in the parking lot.”

You laugh awkwardly, stiffening in Bob’s hold.

You feel his arm drop from around your shoulder as he clears his throat, looking away from Jake.

“Sorry,” Jake’s voice is rough and there’s a look in his eyes that you can’t quite place. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Bob waves him off. “It’s all good. You weren’t interrupting anything. Right, Ace?”

You can only nod dumbly, still not taking your eyes off of Jake’s vibrant green.

Jake clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Alright. Well, thanks again for letting me in, Mick. I’ll um, catch you guys later I guess.” He steals one last look of you snugly wrapped up in Bob before rushing out the door with a small shake of his head.

Jake doesn’t speak to you for a week after that.

_______

The tune of Slow Ride hits your ears and you groan into your cup. Bradley looks at you in amusement from where you sit beside him on the stairs. The boys had decided to unwind from yet another stressful week with yet another Delta Chi party. You were pretty adamant on sitting this one out, mainly because you didn’t want to see Jake or his new conquest of the week. Things have been tense to say the least. The fact that you and Jake didn’t get along wasn’t new to the group, however as the days passed, your nonstop bickering eventually turned to tolerance for one another. Enough to almost say the two of you were even becoming friends.

Jake still annoyed you to your core but his company somehow managed to grow on you. Which is why his sudden radio silence upset you. It got to the point that you couldn’t even look at him without seeing red.

“This is stupid,” you grumble, taking another swig of the cheap beer in your cup. You hated these parties. Normally, your friends wouldn’t mind you opting out to stay home instead. However Nat had noticed how your sour mood progressed throughout the week and concluded that you needed to get out to places that weren’t the lecture halls. She begged you to come with her to the party Delta Chi was throwing this weekend. For me? she pleaded, knowing just how much you hated saying no to her. Now that you were here, you longed to be back in the confines of your apartment, snuggled under your covers with a cup of tea and Emily Henry to keep you company.

Instead, you found yourself crammed in a two story frat house that was filled to the brim with sweaty and intoxicated bodies. The music was too loud and the smell of alcohol and weed was sure to be stuck on your clothes by the night’s end. The only thing keeping you sane was Bradley’s company and you knew that as the night progressed, even he would soon disappear.

“You want me to take you home?” Bradley asks, leaning down to your ear so you can hear him.

You shake your head, pushing at his shoulder. “It’s fine. Besides, I have a feeling you’re gonna get lucky tonight, Bachelor.” You nod towards the blonde in the corner of the room whose eyes haven’t left Bradley since the two of you migrated to the staircase.

He was practically drooling under the dimmed lights as he followed your motions. Bradley sends the girl a smirk before looking at you wordlessly.

“Go,” you urge him with a laugh.

He lets out a breath, downing the rest of his drink and giving your knee a squeeze. “Thanks. I owe you!”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Be safe!”

Bradley winks at you over his shoulder. “Always am!”

The small smile on your lips fades as you watch Bradley go and flirt with the pretty blonde. You were never the center of attention, never the type that anyone gave their time of day to. You were average. Plain boring. The constant reminder of that was there when you hung out with the boys. You loved them, but hearing the way they talked about other girls did take a stab at your self esteem. You used to make fun of them with Natasha but then she started dating Javy, and became one of those girls. And you don’t blame them, your best friend was gorgeous. Anyone with eyes could see that. You convinced yourself that you liked the lack of attention and isolation. But every now and then, you wished someone saw you and thought, Wow. Now that’s someone I want to be with.

You push yourself off the carpeted stairs, deciding to find Reuben or even Nat and Javy. The cup in your hand is empty anyways. Might as well get a refill while you’re at it. You can barely move through the sea of people that are packed into such a small space. People were grinding against each other left and right, making you want to hurl. You push your way through the kitchen, finally making it to the open patio where beer pong tournaments and sloppy make outs occurred. The cold, night air feels nice against your hot and sweaty skin. You close your eyes, leaning up against the wall and drown out the music and laughter around you. Peace. You just needed a moment of peace.

You’re too caught up in your own little bubble to notice the presence that saunters up beside you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?”

The voice startles you from your moment and your eyes snap open. A hand reaches up to your racing heart and you turn to meet the source of your sudden adrenaline rush. The man beside you is familiar, you’ve seen him once or twice on campus and at other Fraternity events the boys had invited you to. Not to mention, incredibly good looking as well.

He holds a hand up, almost like he was trying to calm a rattled horse and sheepishly smiles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

You swallow, sharply exhaling and squeezing your plastic up in your hand to ground yourself. “It’s alright.” You avoid his gaze and nervously pick at the chapped skin of your lower lip.

“Billy Avalone,” he introduces himself with a confident grin. “I think I’ve seen you ‘round with Seresin and Bradshaw.”

You finally look up to meet his gaze and offer him a dry smile. You offer him an introduction of your own. “Nice to meet you.”

Billy ever so smoothly scoops up your free hand in his and places a soft kiss to the upside of your hand. Your cheeks heat up at his delicate touch and your knees almost buckle at the glimmer in his eyes. “Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

His manners make you chortle and you snort, pulling away from him to hide behind your smirk behind your palm.

Rather than drawing away from you, he finds himself intrigued and raises a brow at your amusement. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you say in between laughter. You grasp your cup with both hands before looking at him with a much more genuine smile on your face. “It’s just… You are not what I expected from a Delta Chi.”

He nods knowingly, remembering your association with Jake and Bradley. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

There was that ego you were looking for. But it doesn’t deter you like it normally would, in fact you find yourself leaning into him. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You shut your mouth immediately after that, quite surprised by your sudden burst of confidence.

Billy leans into you just as much, letting his hand brush against your forearm. It sends a shiver down your spine and goosebumps arise on your bare skin. “Nice try, but that’s to be revealed only if you agree to go on a date with me.”

There was no malice in his tone, no laughing idiots around to signify that anything about this was a joke. The look in Billy’s eyes was full of genuine hope and for the first time that night, you find yourself forgetting all about Jake Seresin and immerse yourself in the idea of Billy Avalone. He was charming and attractive. Lean, but broad enough for you to tell that underneath the jacket he wore was all muscle. You found it hard to believe that Billy had any interest in you and yet, here he was, asking you out on a date. Any other day, you would’ve taken a hard pass.You would’ve told him to move along and put his energy into another person who would consider saying yes. But then you think of Nat and Javy and just how utterly lonely you feel, deciding that Billy was worth the chance and the risk.

You open your mouth to respond, but stiffen at the feeling of warmth that encapsulates your back. You don’t need to turn to know exactly who it is. The familiar scent of laundry detergent and cinnamon washes over you and you resist the urge to fall into him.

“Billy,” Jake greets, his voice dropping an octave as he leans in closer to you. His chest just barely brushes against your back sending a new wave of warmth to your neck and cheeks.

“Hey, Jake.” Billy’s gaze flicks to Jake’s before he focuses his attention back on you, still eagerly waiting for your response.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the feeling of Jake’s hand on your lower back and you turn to look at him with furrowed brows. His usually well kept hair was stuffed under his backwards baseball cap and despite the chill of the night air he was in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans.

The air between the three of you is heavy as Billy tries to dismiss Jake’s presence. “So, what do you say about that date?” He smiles at you sweetly, rocking back and forth on his heels.

Before you can utter a response Jake steps in front of you and blocks you completely from Billy’s view. “Let’s get out of here, Ace.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You scoff, balling your hand up in a fist to resist the urge to slap the back of Jake’s perfect head. “Excuse me? Seresin, will you knock it off?”

He ignores you, taking a step closer to Billy. Jake straightens his spine. “She’s off limits. Got it, Avalone?”

“Well, shit, Jake. If that’s your girl, why didn’t you just say so?” Billy gives you an apologetic look from over Jake’s shoulder.

Jake huffs, almost like an angry bull. “Off. Limits.”

You frown, adamantly shaking your head. “Wait, Billy. I am not his girl.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m sorry I even asked. I’ll see you around, I guess.” He knew better than to pick a fight with Jake Seresin. His defeated gaze darts to the floor before he makes his way back into the house.

Your chest is heaving as you watch Billy walk away. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream more. You decide on the latter, not deeming Jake worthy of your tears.

Jake turns to face you, still smiling proudly to himself. His face slightly falls when he meets your eye. He knows well enough that you were not happy. “Ace?”

You push at his shoulders. “What the fuck, Hangman?”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hang on–”

The palm of your hands make contact with his broad shoulders once more. “Are you kidding me?” You shove him again but Jake’s hardened features don’t falter. “Who gave you the right? Someone was finally interested in me and you just had to drive them away. Your ego really couldn’t handle the fact that I was getting attention. Is that it?”

“Ace, wait.” He tries to reach for you but you slap his hand away.

“No, fuck you, Seresin. You can’t…” Your resolve breaks and the tears that sat on your lash line spill over. “You can’t just ignore me for a week only to talk to me after chasing away the one chance of a boyfriend I’ve got. That’s not fair.”

“You don’t understand. Billy isn’t good enough for you.”

“Yeah?” You look at him with tear stained cheeks. “Then humor me. Who is?”

Jake’s words get caught in his throat as he watches you wipe your tears away with the palm of your hand. He wanted to take your face in his hands and brush those tears away. But he knew you wouldn’t let him.

“That’s what I thought.” You brush past him, knocking his shoulder with your own. “I’m not like the other girls you mess around with. I know that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to feel wanted too.”

He calls after you, realizing just how horribly he screwed up. But you continue on back inside, probably trying to find Nat or Reuben to take you home. He knew that you weren’t like the other girls. You were different, you were better. You were everything he wanted and more. From the moment he met you, he was hooked. It scared him at first. You were the complete opposite from the girls he usually set his sights on. You were hard headed, independent, unafraid to call him out on his bullshit. You challenged him and he liked that. You weren’t shallow like everyone else and you made him feel seen.

He never thought a group project would lead him to you. You iced him out at first, and admittedly he knew he deserved that. Then he got to know you and he realized he never wanted to stop. Jake wanted to be the one on the receiving end of your jokes and the affection you gave to those close to you. He dropped his asshole attitude and made the effort to get you to see the real Jake Seresin. And it worked. He was doing so well to finally get you to let your guard down around him. Yet all that work, all that progress, went down the drain because he couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

By the time Jake caught up to you, you were dragging Natasha out the door with Javy on your tails. His heart dropped to his stomach and he wished he could turn back time to one week ago. Before he hurt you and made you cry.

_______

Your goal was to forget Jake Seresin ever existed. You threw yourself into your work, locking yourself in your room and spending more time in the library than your own apartment. Now that Nat was officially with Javy, the boys were around more often and you just weren’t ready to face him yet. It wasn’t fair to everyone else, you knew that. But it was easier for you to push them away. You turned back into that academic machine you were before Bradley and Jake forced you out of your shell. You didn’t party, didn’t go out, didn’t join the gang for movie night. Your new friends were your coursework. And when that ran out, you turned to your favorite show reruns for comfort.

You ignore the series of knocks on your door for the third time tonight. Natasha sighs in defeat, turning back to the group with a shake of her head. “I told you. She’s not coming.”

Reuben frowns. “Did you tell her Jake wasn’t coming with us?”

Everyone was aware of your complicated relationship with Jake. The small dance the two of you did was obvious to everyone but yourselves. It was only recently that Jake finally admitted why you’ve been hiding yourself away. If it weren’t for Javy holding her back, Natasha would’ve tore Jake to shreds.

“I did.” Natasha knew you and she knew you were embarrassed for lashing out at Jake the way you did. Hiding was the safest way to avoid facing yet another humiliating confrontation about your behavior.

You’ve never spoken to Nat directly about your insecurities, but she saw them in the little things you did. Not bothering to wear extravagant makeup or clothing, putting up a hard front, and pretending not to care. Deep down she knew you cared about how you were perceived. You did care whether or not people found you desirable. You wanted the cliche, movie romance. You wanted someone to sweep you off your feet, just like Westley in The Princess Bride.

Never, have you let those insecurities break your spirit. Until now. She has never seen you so small. She didn’t understand how Jake Seresin managed to knock you down with just one hit.

But it has been nearly two weeks since the party and Natasha was done with your groveling and self pity. You were going to get out of your room and you were going to have fun.

“Just give her a second,” Reuben whispers, having just a little bit of faith left in you.

It was as if you felt the little piece of hope Reuben had left for you because suddenly, the door of your room swings open and a breath of relief leaves both of your friends. You had decided to come out and join them after all. Nat had told you it was just a casual hangout amongst your friends, bar Bradley and Jake. You settled on changing into an oversized Naval Academy sweatshirt you had thrifted and an old pair of faded jeans.

Nat hadn’t seen you in anything other than pajama tees and sweatpants so to her, this was a big win.

Reuben smiles widely at your appearance before coming up to you and gathering you into his arms. “There you are.” His words and affection pulls an unexpected giggle out of you, soothing Reuben and Nat’s nerves. “How’ve you been, Ace?”

You shrug, shifting in his hold as he keeps an arm around you. “I could be better. But I guess I could be worse too.”

Natasha hooks your arm with hers, taking you from Reuben’s grasp. “You ready to go? Javy is waiting in the car with Bob and Mickey. I was thinking we could go to The Hard Deck using your car. You know, like old times.”

That brings a ghost of a smile to your face. The Hard Deck was a place of refuge for you and your group of friends, despite it being a Navy bar. You and Mickey found it by accident, stopping over at the nearest institution because he had to use the bathroom really badly on a drive back to campus. The bartender, Penny Benjamin, was sweet and treated you all like her own children. You haven’t seen her in awhile and just knew a visit to your spot was long overdue. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

The drive to the bar brings a bit of your old spark back. Natasha had the windows rolled down while the two of you belted out your favorite songs at the top of your lungs. She filled you in on all the things you missed from the past couple of weeks, strategically leaving out any anecdotes involving Jake. Though, Nat hasn’t seen him much since the party. It seemed as if he was taken over by the spirit of an old Delta Chi member. He was slumming it with the sorority girls and stayed out late partying with the other guys of his Frat. Bradley had tried to snap him out of it, but he reverted to his old ways. Back to before they met you.

Upon arriving at The Hard Deck you exchange a round of pleasantries with the rest of your friends who were glad to see you finally out of, as Mickey had called it, your “Bat Cave.” You volunteered to grab some drinks for the rest of the party while they settled in your usual booth in the back.

You returned to the table with beers for the guys, a club soda for Bob, a Mai Tai for Nat, and a lemonade for yourself. The night was spent full of laughter and warmth as you found yourself slipping back into your natural groove of things. Soon, your once dampened mood started to dissipate.

“I’m telling you, there’s something going on with Professor Mitchell and Penny,” Mickey slurs.

The group erupts into chaos then, one talking over the other and you can’t help but laugh as you lean into Mickey’s side. You missed this. You were so hard headed that in the process of blocking one person out, you put it upon everyone else. But you were here now and he wasn’t. That’s all that mattered to you.

Reuben is the one to calm the group down. “Alright, alright. You’re saying, P. Mitchell and Penny are… romantically involved. Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“DnD club meets here on Tuesdays and coincidentally so does Professor Mitchell,” he shrugs.

“Did you say DnD club?” Javy’s wheezing between breaths and Natasha has to slap him on the chest to get him to stop.

Mickey rolls his eyes. “I have a life outside of you guys, you know.”

“Yeah, but DnD club?”

“What’s wrong with DnD?” Bob chimes in, slightly offended.

Nat slaps him again. “Javy!”

“Right, sorry. Please, continue.”

“Actually, I don’t think I want to,” Mickey narrows his eyes at the man.

“Mick, he was joking. Please finish what you were saying.” You tap him affectionately on the shoulder with a gentle smile.

He attempts to continue his story when a smack to the tabletop catches all of you off guard. You tear your gaze from Mickey to be met with Bradley Bradshaw clad in one of his signature Hawaiian shirts as he leans against the table.

You give him a pained smile, knowing that where Bradley went, Jake wasn’t far behind.

“Good to see ya, Ace,” Bradley nods.

“You too, Brad,” you tell him softly. And you meant it.

The group falls uncharacteristically quiet and you feel Natasha give your knee tight squeeze.

“Didn’t know the gang was getting back together.” The familiar snark of the one person you didn’t want to see rings through your ears. Jake Seresin struts over with that stupidly cocky grin of his and unsurprisingly, another sorority girl on his arm.

No longer caring for pleasantries with the man, you roll your eyes. You hate to admit that it stung to see him with yet another woman. A small part of you hoped that maybe he’d show up empty handed and acknowledge your presence. That didn’t happen and it felt like a knife to the chest. What did you expect? Of course, nothing has changed since the last time you saw him. While you were feeling worse than ever about yourself, Jake had absolutely zero cares in the world. He only cared about himself, he always would.

Javy was the only one who had the stomach to greet him with a simple, “Hey.”

He chuckles, almost mockingly, as the girl on his arm tries to gain his attention and pull him to the bar. “Why weren’t we invited to the party?”

“Because no one wants you here, Bagman,” Natasha spits.

Jake brings a hand to his chest, acting hurt at her insinuation. “You wound me, Natasha.”

She gives him the finger in response.

“Now does everyone not want me here? Or is there a certain someone who doesn’t want me here?” He raises a brow and his bright green eyes land on you.

You avoid his gaze and you hear Bradley hiss Jake’s name.

“What? I’m just saying. It’s pretty obvious someone didn’t want me here and we all know who.” Jake doesn’t care that the girl who had been hanging off of him moments ago found someone else to play with, abandoning her post to flirt with another guy over at the pool tables. He had your attention and to him that was enough.

You feel a familiar sting behind your eyes, knowing damn well he was just toying with you at this point.

“Stop.” This time it’s Javy who speaks up, surprising Jake. “If you only came over here to be a dick then I suggest you leave.”

The light mood from earlier has completely died and you know that once he leaves, nothing can bring it back.

“Ace.”

He calls you out directly this time and you can’t hold it in any longer. All the hurt and anger he caused bubbles up to the surface. Part of you wants to talk to him, clear the air up a bit and give him a chance to apologize. The other part of you, the more rational part, decides to ignore him entirely.

You quietly ask Natasha if you could pass and her and Javy get up to stand to the side to let you through. You purposely angle your body so your back is towards Jake, announcing that you were going to get another drink before heading in the direction of the bar.

Jake moves to follow you, only to be stopped by his best friend.

Javy grabs his wrist with a disapproving frown. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Let go, Javy,” he absent mindedly demands. His eyes never leave your figure as you make your way through the crowd.

“No. You’re being an asshole, man. What happened to the guy who was repeatedly texting me to make sure she was okay? I told you where we were because I thought you were going to apologize. Not do… whatever that was.” Disappointment shines in Javy’s deep brown eyes.

Bradley slides into the space where you once were, watching what was about to unfold with the rest of them.

“Wait a minute, you told him we were going here? Javy!” Natasha looks at her boyfriend in disbelief.

“I’m sorry! This idiot told me he wanted to make it up to her.” He gestures blindly to Jake who was running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

Natasha snorts. “Unbelievable,” she swears under her breath.

“Nat–” Jake starts, but she cuts him off in an instant.

“No. You stay away from her, got it? She’s had enough of your games, Seresin, and quite frankly so have I.”

“I messed up. I know I did. But please, please just give me a chance to explain.”

He takes Natasha’s silence as an unspoken truce. “I care about her. So much that it scares the shit out of me. I was gonna tell her, you know. Then I saw her with Bob and I realized that she could do so much better than me. So I did what I do best. I pushed her away.”

Bob flushes red at the mention of his name.

“What is there to say about myself other than that I’m your typical, college fuckboy? The thing is, I was fine with that reputation. I was good at doing things on my own. Then I met Ace and I realized she’s my antidote. That girl gave me tunnel vision. Suddenly, I’m looking at my future and I want to do more with my life than be known as a college heartbreaker. The one thing I know to be true is that I want to be better with her by my side.”

“Why should I believe you after the way you treated her?” Natasha’s gaze narrows, still not fully convinced.

He swallows harshly. “You have every right not to. I wouldn’t believe me either. But you’ve got to understand that I never realized just how much she really meant to me until I almost lost her.” There’s a look of defeat that crosses his features, and his head falls to his chest.

Nat’s hardened stare falters ever so slightly. “To Billy. But wait, I don’t understand. What about that girl you came in here with?”

“Oh, she’s here for free booze. I needed to get Ace’s attention somehow.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Jake nods, regret shining in his eyes. “I know. Listen, I’m not good at relationships.”

“Trust me, we know,” Bradley mutters under his breath.

Jake shoots him a quick glare before continuing. “I don’t know how to do them. For Ace, I’ll learn. I would do anything for her. Look, I know I’ve made mistakes and I need to fix them before it’s too late.”

Natasha was conflicted. She looks at Javy who meets her gaze with a soft smile. Then to Reuben and Bradley. Finally, her eyes land once more on Jake. She found herself in the same dilemma she was in before she started dating Javy. Their reputation precedes them. You were the one to warn her of Delta Chi’s womanizer ways. Yet she still gave Javy a chance and it was the best decision she ever made. She knew deep down that these guys had good hearts. No matter how much she wanted to deny it, she knew Jake did too. He was kinder with you, softer. You always brushed him off but Nat saw the way he affected you. He made you happy and you deserved to be. If she could give Javy that chance, shouldn’t she extend it to Jake too?

She groans with her head in her hands. “Fine. Fine.”

Jake’s eyes light up, clearly expecting another rejection. “Really?”

“Yes. But I swear if you hurt her again, if you break her heart, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

His stomach churns at the thought, knowing full well that she meant it. “Yes, ma’am,” he salutes.

“Now go get her before it’s too late.” In other words, Natasha had finally given him her blessing.

Jake’s dejected state is replaced with one of determination. He mouths an appreciative thank you, before setting his sights on you.

“Forget DnD club, I need to hang out with you guys more often because that was better than a Netflix drama,” Mickey babbles, making Bob smack him lightly on the back of his head.

With her arms crossed, Natasha stares out the window wistfully. “I just hope he can make things right.”

Wrapping his arms around Nat, Javy gives her a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, he’s got this.”

_________

“Hey Pen, can you just tell Natasha to ride home with the boys? I think I’m going to head out.” You place a wad of cash on the bar top, signaling for her to close your tab.

The woman frowns, noticing the bothersome frown on your face. “You sure, sweetheart?”

Downing the last of your lemonade, you nod. “Thank you, for the advice and everything.”

“Of course. Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

A tight smile pulls at your lips in farewell. You push your way through the rowdy crowd, breathing deeply once you make it outside.

You curse under your breath. You didn’t know it was supposed to rain tonight. You eye your car in the distance, deciding whether to make the trek or go back inside until it stops. The sound of the door opening behind you catches your attention and your heart leaps out of your chest.

“Ace,” Jake Seresin calls out, desperately trying to reach you.

You throw all caution to the wind and run out into the pouring rain, too exhausted to deal with him right now.

His shoes squeak and splash through the puddles on the asphalt. Not caring that he was soaked to the bone, he runs after you. Jake calls out for you again but you continue on. For once, he doesn’t find himself admiring your stubborn attitude.

You throw a quick glance behind you, hoping to see that you’ve lost him, but Jake’s strides are longer than yours and he has closed more of the distance between you two than you thought. A shiver racks your form and your clothes are sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You find yourself regretting your decision but there’s no way you can take it back now. You shove your hand into your pocket, frantically pulling out your car keys once you make it to your car.

Jake sees you shiver as you try to unlock your car. You just barely get the driver’s side to open when he comes up behind you and presses the door shut. Your back is to his front and he pleads for you to turn around.

You hear him before you see him. You don’t want to turn around. You can’t. You know the second you look into his opalescent green eyes, your resolve will shatter. “Get off, Jake,” you demand impatiently.

“Please look at me, please.” The desperation of his voice startles you. Never, have you heard Jake Seresin say the word ‘please,’ and never have you heard him beg.

You’re shaking as you wrap your arms around yourself for warmth. You bite into your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. From the rain or from the tears that have started streaming down your cheeks, you are unsure.

“Ace,” he breathes.

His breath is hot against the skin of your neck soothing you from the cold. But still, you don’t budge.

Jake finds himself getting frustrated and he runs his hand through his damp hair, moving it away from his eyes. He can barely see your reflection in your car window, his vision blurred from the raindrops that cloud his vision. But the pale moonlight and dim streetlamp shows him enough to see that you feel just as hurt as he does, if not more. “Fine. You don’t have to look at me. I just need you to listen.”

You say nothing.

He exhales through his mouth as he recalls what he wants to say. “Remember when we first met and you asked me if I actually had a brain or if I just thought with my dick? That was the moment I knew you were unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. Usually, I’d have girls swooning over me left and right, but not you. You weren’t fazed by me in the slightest and that intrigued me. Everything about you intrigues me. Which is why I was so eager to get more out of you. I poked fun. I made jokes. I made sure that your attention was almost always on me because when it was, it gave me the best view of each and every thing you had to offer. Like the way you bite your bottom lip when you’re trying not to cry.”

Your breath hitches in your throat from his words, heart going faster than that goddamn roadrunner.

“Come on, Ace.”

How could you deny him when he spoke with so much conviction? You spin on your heel to face him. He’s soaked, just as you are, and yet you think he has never looked so beautiful. As you look at him, the ache in your chest doesn’t subside and you sniffle from the cold. “What do you want, Seresin?”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

You look away from him. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Hey, I’m serious. I know I hurt you and I will never forgive myself for it.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that throws you off. “Then why? If you feel so bad about it, why did you do it?”

“Because… Because I…” He’s nervous. Of all the times he has ever spoken to you, this is the one time he has felt this way.

Your patience is wearing thin so you shake your head and run a hand down your face. You were so tired of him holding out on you. “You know what? All I ever wanted was for you to look at me the same way you look at those other girls. Why wasn’t I good enough for you?” Once the floodgates opened, it was hard to get them locked up again.

You might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest instead of saying that. The effect it had on him would’ve been all the same. “Oh, baby,” he cups your face gently between his calloused hands and strokes his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks. The rain made it hard for him to tell which marks were tears and which were rainwater, but he treated them all the same. “Those girls have nothing on my Ace. You are more than enough. You are everything and I was too blind to see it until now.”

“What?” You whimper.

God, does he want to kiss that pout right off your face. “I don’t look at you the way I look at everyone else because I don’t want them the way I want you.”

“And how is that, Jake?”

That alone gives him a glimmer of hope. His heart skips a beat and his stomach erupts in butterflies.“You called me Jake,” he grins. “You never call me Jake.”

You scoff, not realizing the name slipped. “Answer the question.”

“I want every part of you. I want late nights and study sessions. I want to be the first one you call and the last one you text goodnight. The good, the bad, all of it. As long as it’s you.”

The honesty in his gaze makes you want to believe him. Because that’s all you ever wanted from him. So bad. But he has hurt you one too many times. You don’t think you’d be able to take it if he did one more time. “How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

Jake takes the leap, resting his forehead on yours. When you don’t pull away, he confesses, “You don’t. But I will spend every day proving to you that I’m never going to make that mistake again.” He brushes some of your damp hair away from your face and admires how ethereal you look in this light. “One date, Ace. Let me make it up to you.”

You relish in his warmth, the aching hurt in your chest finally subsiding. The raging storm in your heart is finally calm. “One date. That’s all you’re getting.”

The smile that spreads across his face is the brightest you’ve ever seen. He no longer feels lost now that he has you. “That’s all I need, darling.”

For once, you believe him.

add yourself to my taglist!

tgm taglist (does not include ‘seasons’ tags): @joaquinwhorres @harrycherrylove @smoothdogsgirl

a/n: this was supposed to be short, yet here we are. i hope you enjoy frat!jake as much as i do <3 as usual, huge thanks to @briseisgone love u hun.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman x f!reader #jake seresin oneshot #hangman oneshot #frat!jake seresin x reader #college!au #demxters writing

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thisismeracing · 10 months

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what about mick dating someone with anxiety? i feel like he’d be the perfect person to calm me down lol

Mick dating a girl with anxiety | MS47

warnings: mentions of anxiety, hair/nail picking, and panic attacks; mentions of food; not proofread.

Mick gives me such calm-love energy. The kind of love that will heal you, and make you feel welcomed, embraced, and truly loved.

Since the beginning, he makes sure you feel heard and valued. Mick will always listen attentively, and never judge you or your feelings.

Let's say the first time he sees you anxious is about something that you consider small (or at least most people would, therefore, you started to downplay your own reactions). Mick notices you picking your nails, constantly picking your scalp or the ends of your hair, and he's quick to busy your hands. No questions asked, he just sits beside you and grabs your hands, kissing each finger, drawing random patterns on your palm, and tracing your nails, and that prevents you from hurting yourself unintentionally.

Later that day, he will ask you what happened. You tell him everything, always adding that "it's no big deal" The whole time, you're on the verge of tears, and Mick hugs you and emphasizes that if it is making you upset it is a big deal and you have the right to feel sad/anxious without feeling guilty or downplaying your feelings.

Mick will definitely draw you a bath or order your favorite snack whenever you get anxious.

The first time he saw you having a panic attack, he used all his knowledge to help you. Mick made you count random stuff in the room, he made you match and even your breath with his, he kissed your forehead and kept whispering reassuring words.

He would be attentive to what triggers your anxiety and would try and take it away before it gets to you.

Overall, he's just very supportive and affectionate. He never makes you feel bad about having anxiety/being anxious, and he helps you even when he's away (he'll leave small notes around the house, always message you, call you, and order stuff to your house whenever he feels you're starting to sink into work/study, and leaving Angie with you because she'll be able to sense when you're at your lowest and she'll be able to calm you down).

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you guys liked it! Let me know your thoughts, send this piece to your friends, reblog, screenshot it, like it, reblog again, you know the drill hahahah jk jk but make sure to let me know if you liked it, it means a lot to me <3 *mwah*

taglist: @sachaa-ff @kenanlotus0 @dalsuwaha @mellowpizzapuppy @crimeshowjunkie @mickslover @iloveyou3000morgan @mishaandthebrits @formulakay3 @carojasmin2204 @fdl305 @saintslewis @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @leclercsluv @babyiscrying @balekane_mohafe @uuuseeerr12

#mick schumacher imagines #millies inbox #anon #ms47 #requests #op: headcanons #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fandom #f1 imagines #tw anxiety #f1 headcanons #millie writes

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desert-fern · 1 year

Text

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 2 - Goddamn Pilots

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*Picture is from Pinterest, not mine*

A/N: I was not expecting this to be as popular as it apparently is! Welcome back to AGAD and I hope you enjoy!

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: swearing (this one is consistent throughout) and I think that’s it!

Word Count: 2.0k

Read on Wattpad or AO3

Masterlist >> Part 1 >> Part 3

===

Days after their first meeting, Jake still had the Navy Seal roaming through his mind. What was her name? What did she really think of him? Would she go out with him if he asked? Did anyone else on his team meet her and have any of this information? He was deep in thought, pondering these questions, and yet he hadn’t tried to seek her out. Maybe it was fear keeping him from engaging, or maybe it was because she had revealed herself to be far more dangerous than expected and he was both afraid, not that he’d admit it, and turned on by the way she carried herself.

Which brought him to now. “Jake, come on man. Did you hear a word I just said?” Fanboy grumbled, knocking his elbow and jarring the blond from his thoughts.

“Hate to break it to you, Micks, but no,” he replied, shaking the last of his daydreaming off to tune into the conversation. “Repeat it?”

Fanboy rolled his eyes, slumping further into the rec room couch before answering. “I said, you hear that Nix and Bob met a Seal on base a few days ago? Apparently she stopped and chatted with them for a bit.”

“Says who?” Jake’s head snapped over to Phoenix, who just shook her head at him.

“She swore me to secrecy,” the woman said with a shrug. “Girl code and the like.”

Hangman let out a frustrated groan at her words. “Seriously? Bob, you a part of girl code now too?”

Bob curled in on himself, not liking the sudden attention of the room on him. “I’m staying out of this,” he mumbled.

“Ah ah ah. Nope, you don’t get to hide information from me.”

“Actually he does.” From the doorway of the rec room, a feminine voice spoke up. Its owner leaned against the doorframe, clad in the desert camouflage patterned uniform worn by the Seals. “My ears were burning, and well, I wasn’t liking what I was hearing.” Bear had been standing there for a good five minutes, listening in silently on the conversations held by the pilots. None had noticed her, despite more than half of them facing towards the doorway.

Phoenix and Bob both turned towards the voice, grins widening when they saw it to be Bear. “Hey, I was just about to come find you,” Phoenix said, holding up her phone.

“I know. But I was done first. Perk of being a sniper. It’s usually just one shot and done if all goes well,” Bear replied with a grin, having just glanced around the room at the various emotions on the faces of the pilots sitting before her. “So these are the Daggers then. Good to meet you.”

Coyote, who’s gaze was flicking between the woman in front of him and his best friend, was the first to speak up. “It’s good to meet you too. I’d introduce you to the team, but it sounds like you already know more about us than we’d like.”

“Got it in one, Coyote. Got it in one,” Bear replied with a teasing grin. She stepped into the room, noticing how everyone’s gaze snapped to her approaching form.

The mustached man who she knew to be Rooster was the next to speak. “So you know all about us, but we know nothing about you. How is that fair?”

Bear just smiled. “You’ll know what I allow you to know. My deployments are a tad more elaborate than yours, fly boy, so every detail is precious,” she replied, coming to perch on the arm of the chair Phoenix sat in.

“Do we get a name, or a callsign…?” prompted one of the pilots, which was then echoed by the group all nodding and verbalizing their agreement.

“Call me Bear,” she replied, giving in just a little bit.

“Bear…” Jake repeated to himself, but when he looked around the room, he was faced with the amused looks of his colleagues. “What?”

“Oh nothing,” Bear replied, her own grin teasing. “It’s just funny that you seem so happy with one tiny detail. Almost seems obsessive.”

Jake’s green eyes widened. “I’m not…it’s not like that!” he protested wildly. “It isn’t like that,” he repeated, making eye contact with Bear and watching her eyes twinkle in amusement.

“Oh I know,” she stated. “ It’s just funny to watch you pilots get all flustered. You all lose your composure so quickly, no offense intended. It’s just an observation.” A flurry of indignant squawks were sent up, making her chuckle. “You all just proved my point.” Glancing at Phoenix, Bear asked quietly “Half an hour then we head out?”

Sliding off the arm of the chair, Bear went to leave but Hangman’s voice called out after her. “Why Bear?”

“Why Hangman?” She prompted. “I made the same deal with Phoenix here, show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” She crossed her arms over her chest, intelligent eyes categorizing every micromovement the blond made.

“...I was really good at the game in basic training…” he admitted quietly, the words barely reaching her ears. The room had gone silent as the pilots tried to match up his story with who he was now, their faces contorted in confusion. “I went, it’s your turn now.”

Grinning wickedly, Bear shook her head. “I didn’t say when I’d tell you,” she hummed, shooting him a wink. “Not my fault you jumped the gun.”

The room exploded in shock, indignation, and laughter at her words, and over the noise, Jake yelled out “Jus’ wait, I’ll get it out of you eventually!”

“Is that a promise or a threat, fly boy? Cause don’t forget, us snipers are patient people,” she replied calmly. Deep in the recesses of her mind, Bear was imagining him storming after her and trying to draw the story from her, doing his best to pluck the story from her lips. The heat in his eyes molten as he would look down on her, making her squirm under the gaze. But she quickly shook herself free from the daydream, to watch Hangman get up from the couch and come to stand in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the room.

“I’ll hold you to that, Teddy,” he said quietly, his voice low and near her ear. And when he pulled back, Jake couldn’t help the smirk that broke free as he caught the brief wide-eyed look she gave him. The one she schooled quickly into the mask she usually wore. He sat back down, and watched her wave and leave the rec room quickly.

A glance at his colleagues had him raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“What did you say to her?” Coyote asked suspiciously. “‘Cause I really don’t feel like wakin’ up to your body hanging from the shower head tomorrow.”

“Nothin’ important. Just that I can be far more patient than she thinks,” he said with a shrug.

Rooster burst out laughing at his words. “Bullshit. I watched you switch lines three times in the mess this morning because you thought the others were shorter. She’s got you beat by a mile.”

“That was a one time thing,” Jake grumbled. “I will beat her.”

“Not likely, Bagman. Not likely at all,” Phoenix spoke as she got up. “Well, I’m out. Bear and I have plans, so I’ll see you losers later.”

“What, are we not cool enough for you now?” Payback teased.

“Nope,” Phoenix replied, flipping them off as she left the room.

===

While the pilots teased Hangman about being impatient as hell, Bear had swiftly escaped to the locker room. She slipped inside and leaned back against the door, burying her face in her hands and letting out a groan. Like Jake, all Bear had been able to think about was the cocky man she’d met at the bar. But unlike him, she could keep her thoughts hidden and she already knew everything about him, much to his chagrin. His look of confusion then frustration when she’d refused to tell him about her made her smile as she replayed it in her mind.

A few deep breaths later, Bear pushed off the door and began to grab her things to shower off the grime from the day’s training. Her mind raced as she stood under the spray, and she shook her head to dislodge all thoughts of the blond pilot she’d been messing with.

She wouldn’t think about Jake. Wouldn’t think about how close he’d stood, how she could feel the heat radiating off his body, the smell of jet fuel, sweat, and whatever cologne he’d put on that morning. A frustrated groan left her lips and she rested her head against the cool tile of the shower, willing her thoughts away.

It must have worked because ten minutes later, she was out and dressed in her civilian clothing of a plain black t-shirt and blue jeans, feet tucked into running shoes, with her uniform folded into her bag. She hummed as she waited for Phoenix to make an appearance, logging in to her naval email and checking for any new information about their deployment.

The door banged open, making her jump, standing up quickly to see Phoenix walk in, her hair halfway down from the regulation bun. “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s all good,” Bear replied, sitting back down. “Just be happy that I didn’t have my weapon with me.”

Phoenix made a concerned face. “Would I really be in that much danger?”

“Depends on how emotionally scarring you find a gun being held to your forehead as you’re flat on your back,” the Seal replied almost too casually for the conversation. “But no, it would just be the threat, likely not any action.”

Gulping, Phoenix nodded. “Awesome, good to know. Don’t mess with Bear.” Running her hands through her hair, the brunette gestured to the showers before she said “I’ll be like ten.”

“Got it. I’m in no rush,” Bear replied, looking back down at her phone. “I do have to check in on something before we leave, I’ll meet you by your car?”

Over the running water, Phoenix called back “Sounds good. See you in a bit.”

Stepping quickly from the locker room, Bear made her way back down the hallway towards her CO’s office. On her way there, she ran headlong into someone as she rounded a corner. “Shit! I’m sorry, I should have been paying more attention.”

“No, it’s my fault,” a familiar baritone sounded from just above her. Glancing up, Bear made direct eye contact with the green eyes of Hangman. She barely managed to hide the stutter of her breath, as she found herself watching her reflection in his eyes. “I could have slowed down.”

Mentally shaking herself, Bear couldn’t stop a grin from crossing her face. “I wasn’t sure you pilots knew how to do that,” she teased.

A flash of humor appeared in his eyes, twinkling as he watched her. “I can go at whatever speed you need, Teddy.”

She bristled at the nickname. “Really? Teddy? How original.”

All she got in response was a smirk, before he straightened up and stepped back half a step. “Well,” she said, “I should really be going.”

“So should I.”

It was a few moments before either of them moved, but Bear quickly slipped past Jake and hurried down the hallway. Knocking once on the door of her CO’s office, a gruff “Enter” answered her, and she stepped into the room.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Shut the door, and take a seat,” was his response. Rear Admiral Will “Shark” Harris had been running Seal Team 3 for the better part of a decade, collecting commendations until some high up would hopefully promote him up and out of the position. “We have some new information.”

Bear cursed mentally. She grabbed her phone and typed out a quick message to Phoenix. “Just got called into a meeting. Meet me at the bar, I will get there when I can.”

Pulling up a chair, she sat down. “Of course, Sir.”

===

A/N: So much love to the readers of AGAD, and to my editors/cheerleaders @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s and @dakotakazansky, I wouldn’t be publishing this without you. Mwah 😘

Taglist: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @dakotakazansky @horseshoegirl @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @lavenderbradshaw @roosterforme @bobby-r2d2-floyd @twsssmlmaa @bradleybeachbabe @footprintsinthesxnd @fandomxpreferences @dempy @gizmodear @fighterpilothoe @chaoticassidy @eli2447 @javden @indigomaegrimm @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @djs8891 @rhirhikingston @sisterslytherinog @waywardhunter95 @impossiblebagelcowboyfreak @heli991113 @thegoddessc @sgt-barnesveins @allyxstebo @taytaylala12 @urmom-999

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foreveralbon · 4 months

Text

“remember that night?” - ms47

pairing: mick schumacher x ex!reader

in which they spend one last night together

word count: 2.4k

content warnings: none, lazy writing towards the middle i’m sorry

song: remember that night? by sara kays

masterlist

you don’t know how long it took to get over him the first time, but you remember how hard it was. sleepless nights spent crying and reading old text messages, sad songs made as a soundtrack for each of your memories, endless rants to your friends about how you were so good together and you don’t know what went wrong.

eventually, you found it was easier to just forget about him than to patch up the hole shaped like him in your heart. it worked - you hadn’t thought of him in the weeks since you finally deleted all his photos and messages from your phone.

his contact was the one thing you didn’t delete though, but even then, when your phone starts ringing on a quiet tuesday night, you never would’ve expected it to be him.

you start to reach for your phone to mute the call, then pause, waiting to see if it would keep ringing. then the buzzing stops, and it’s just his name sitting as a missed call in your notifications. you contemplate messaging him to see if everything is okay, but quickly decide against it.

but maybe it’s the sight of the blue heart still next to his name, or the sudden longing you feel at the realisation you were so close to hearing his voice again after so long that it strikes something in your chest and compels you to pick up your phone and dial back his number.

it rings once, twice, and you’re already anticipating his voice after the third ring. he’s never let it ring more than three times when it comes to you.

“liebling?” his voice is raspy, like it how it used to be when he was close to falling asleep or had just woken up. the sound of your old nickname masked in the voice you once so ardently loved makes you grip your phone tighter in both hands as you try to stop yourself from saying something stupid. “y/n? are you there?”

“hi, mick,” you finally breathe out.

“hi. i didn’t think you’d answer.” and you must be imagining it but as his voice starts to clear, you can hear the underlying hints of a smile in his tone.

“is everything okay?”

“yes. i just… i mean you can hang up if you want.” then he falters. “no, actually. can i pick you up?”

“like… now?” it’s almost 11pm, and while you’re nowhere close to sleeping, it’s sure as hell not a time you go out.

“yes.”

“you’re in town?”

“yes,” he repeats.

“why?”

“because why not?”

you’re tempted to say yes, even though seeing him again would just unravel all the effort you put into getting over him. but he’s always had that effect on you, where because of him, you make stupid decisions. the first was falling in love with him. the next?

“yeah,” you say quickly before you can take it back.

there’s rustling on his side of the call as he makes his way around the house. “i’ll be there in thirty minutes. dress warm, it’s going to rain out.”

you’re about to thank him for the tip when he hangs up, leaving you alone to wonder what the fuck you just got yourself into. just then, it starts to pour.

—

his car pulls up in front of your house forty minutes later. the driver’s door slams as he gets out, rounding the car to open your door for you.

“hi.”

“hey,” he grins at you, jacket and beanie engulfing his large frame. he gives you a quick side hug and even through all your layers, every nerve in your body is set off at his touch.

he waits for you to get in the car and you realise that he put on the seat warmer for you, just how you liked it when it was cold out.

the gesture warms your body and face. you hadn’t thought he’d remember that about you, but that was only one thing to add to tonight’s list of surprises.

he’s quiet when he gets in, starts up the car and drives away from the curb, before asking, “how’ve you been?”

“i’m good. i got laid off a while ago, but i start a new job on friday. what about you? i heard you’re a reserve driver for mercedes now?”

he glances over at you, raises a brow. “you still keep up with formula one?”

“i like the drama,” you shrug.

he whistles lowly. “drive to survive fan over here, guys. tell me, what’s drs?”

“no,” you say softly. “someone i used to care about recommended it to me.”

and even though you said used to, he suppresses a smile at the fact that you’ve kept something from your relationship close to you.

you make small talk for a while - how’s his mother, father? is angie doing well? how’s the past seven months fared you? you fire questions back and forth between each other and for a while, there’s a semblance of normality in whatever is going on between you.

soon, he notices the way you shiver slightly despite him having run the heater.

“are you cold? here, take my beanie.” he tugs his beanie off his head before giving it to you to put on. you take it gratefully, slipping it on.

you both fall silent for a second, and just as you open your mouth to ask him what the hell you’re doing here, he’s blurting out, “why did you call me back?”

you freeze. that hadn’t been what you were expecting. but you reckon if there’s a time for honesty, it’s now. “because i missed you.”

you catch the way he throws his head back in relief, a grin spreading across his face. “why did you call in the first place?” you ask.

“because i missed you.” he states simply. truthfully.

it’s like a weight has been taken off your chest at your admission. in that little moment, with him by your side, you feel content. happier than you’ve been in a long time. it’s a brave move when he nudges his hand against yours, but you accept it quickly, placing your palm over his.

you look out the window as he drives, headlights casting shadows over the rainy streets. through the dim lighting you can make out the familiar scenery.

the long winding road brings back memories of singing karaoke in the car, conversations with no meaning and driving around with no place to be and nowhere you wanted to go, so long as you were with each other.

you recognise the path he’s taking - towards the small observation point that overlooks the whole town. you know he’s going to swing by the 24 hour ice cream shop on the way there, and there when you realise he’s taking you out for a night of old traditions.

the car rolls to the stop and then he pats your thigh with an i’ll be back, running out into the rain to the store before you can even remind him of your order. you doubt he’s forgotten. and in his absence, you can’t help but smile to yourself at his kind words and sweeter gestures, despite knowing better. despite knowing that going with him was stupid and risky and chances are, when you leave him in the morning, you’re going to leave with a broken heart.

your thoughts are cut off by mick sliding back into his seat, a cup of chocolate chip ice cream in one hand, a cone of strawberry in the other.

“strawberry, please,” you say and he hands you the cone, watches you take it then wrinkle your nose before grabbing at the choc chip.

his laughter rings through the car, clear through the pounding rain and you’re sure you’ve never heard something more joyful than in that moment. “you’re so predictable.”

mick drives you to the lookout so you can watch the views as you eat. you sit in silence at the top, “strawberries & cigarettes” by troye sivan playing softly from the radio. the town is quiet below you too, lit by the starry night sky, only a few stray lights on in the odd night owls’ home. it’s peaceful and calm, and you’re content with mick and for moment all feels right, despite everything about your night being completely wrong.

and when you’re both done, he turns you, brows furrowing as he realises something.

his hand cups your chin, guiding you to look at him. “you’ve got a little…” he mutters, thumb gently swiping the ice cream from the corner of your mouth.

“thank you,” you whisper. his gaze flicks across your face - from your eyes to your mouth then back again. you find yourself mimicking his actions and there’s an intense panging in your chest when your eyes meet his again.

“i want you back.”

your heart plummets - those were the words you’d been dreading to hear. “mick, don’t say that. don’t do that to me.”

he rears back at the sudden sharpness of your tone, and you see the exact moment he begins to disassociate, his composure breaking and demeanour falling. “but i do, i’ve always-”

“mick, can you please not?” you beg. you reach up to hold his face so that his gaze is focused solely on you. “what we had, mick, it was good. but when we ended, it hurt me, because losing you felt like losing air. yes, i miss you but missing you is different to still wanting you. i can’t afford to want you again because it might just kill me this time.”

“liebling-”

“this, right now, is good. so can we please keep it just like this? nothing more.”

it’s as though the light in his eyes dim at your words and he just nods, before turning away and turning the ignition on. his voice is hoarse when he says, “it’s way too late. let me take you back home.”

an apology is at the tip of your tongue - if you take back what you said, what would change between you two? you didn’t want to go back to what you used to be, you just wanted him. but wanting him again is impossible. you don’t know what to do; you just want him to stop frowning. so you reach out for his hand, and he lets your fingers find home in his palm before closing his fist around yours.

“mick, we’re okay,” you reassure. “but we can’t do this again.”

he nods again, swallowing deeply. “i understand.”

and you leave it at that.

the ride home is silent and tense but not awkward. things are never awkward with mick. he parks in your driveway before getting out of the car to open your door. you step out of the car with a thank you and stop in front of him. it’s still raining heavily, so he goes to pull the beanie he gave you further down your head, but stops halfway to rest his palms on your cheeks.

“can i have a hug?”

and with mick’s hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, deep blue eyes staring into yours, you have no choice but to nod, and he practically falls into your hold, arms dropping to wrap around your waist and keep himself steady. “nothing more.”

“then i just need this,” he mumbles into your neck. but you know it’s more than that, so you just hold him. you feel his body loosen as he relaxes, breaths evening out. he emanates warmth and goodness and-

“it’s getting late,” he groans, tearing himself off you. “i have to go.”

you don’t want him to, you’d much rather stay wrapped up in this moment forever. wrapped up in him forever. but you know better so you just nod. “okay. okay.”

he leans forward as though to kiss you, but you flatten a hand to his chest. “mick…” you warn lowly.

his eyes soften before he whispers an apology and presses a light, barely there kiss to your cheek. he moves to reach behind you and get your things, then hesitates for a second.

and then his lips are crashing to yours in a desperate kiss, and he’s telling you every i’m sorry, i love you, it’s okay through it. it’s frantic and passionate and everything you’ve loved about him since you first met him. so you grip onto his jacket, pressing into his body as much as you possibly can, savouring the moment because you know you’re never going to have another like it.

he pulls away first, resting his forehead on yours, before handing you your things, even going so far as to tugging your jacket tighter around your body. so my girl doesn’t get sick.

even though you’re just in your driveway, two steps away from warmth, you’d stay standing in the pouring rain just to keep his hands on you longer.

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” his hand is warm in yours when he holds it for the last time, tightening his fingers as though it would meld your bodies together and you’d never have to be separated again. and then mick is pulling away from you one last time, his face unreadable, and his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

the rain starts to come down harder, soaking you cold to the bone, and you turn around, making a beeline for your front door. you’d never say it out loud but you’re glad it rained - it’s the only thing that keeps you from running right back into his arms.

it’s harder to move on from him this time.

months later, no matter how hard you try, that night never slips from your memory. you can recall every brush of his fingertips against yours, the calloused pad of his thumb on your skin, and the heavy weight of his hand on your thigh when you two finally became comfortable again in each other’s presence. the way his voice changed and his laughter erupted whenever you smiled at him is engraved into your brain, and you’re sure the way he kissed you became your lifeline.

most of all, you remember the way his face fell when you pushed him away again, his dejected sigh as he accepted your decision, blue eyes electric with so many words left unspoken as you turned away one last time.

but the one thing you desperately try to forget is the way he lingered in the driveway, waiting for you to come back.

—

author’s note: thank youuuu @disneyprincemuke i don’t know how i feel about this but i hope i didnt disappoint

#liyah writes #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fanfic #mick schumacher imagine #f1 x reader

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

mr. nice guy ✴︎ ms47

genre: 18+, pwp (very little plot), very very filthy, fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (of smut. you’ve been warned)

Mick Schumacher is the paddock’s golden boy. He likes upholding this reputation, but there’s something nagging at him lately that makes it... difficult.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… penetrative sex, anal sex; like descriptive anal, dirty talk (praise central!!), crying, breeding, rough sex, size kink, some squirting?, requires suspension of belief regarding the inner workings of anal lol

hope you like it everyone! :) i finished it early so revising can kiss my butt ahhaaha.

Mick has a secret.

It’s more of a problem than a secret (to him at least), and it concerns you. But it’s not that he feels the spark is gone, and it’s definitely not that he feels like breaking things off with you. Between you both, everything’s been good and steady despite how demanding his career is. Sometimes, if time permits, you’ll go out to dinner during a race weekend, or even spend more than a few days with each other.

Point is—he’s more than happy with your relationship. Even the sex is good, and like everything else, you two are just compatible in that department. Up until last month, actually, Mick had been okay. And then Lando just had to open his loud mouth during a game of poker in Charles’ hotel room, during a conversation about a girl he’d slept with the night before.

“I didn’t know girls were into that,” George had said, curious. Nobody was really paying attention to the poker anymore, everyone turned toward Lando. He’d smiled, a smug, cheeky little git.

“Oh, some are. But if you want to try, chances are you’ll be the one asking.”

“Really?” Mick had interjected. He’d been quiet for the duration of the discussion, so it comes as a bit of a surprise. George and Lando had shared a smirk, a look. Then Lando’d said passively: “Yeah, Mick. Didn’t pin you as a guy who’d be into that, though.”

“Hmm,” Mick mused. He didn’t pin himself as that kind of guy either. Sex with you isn’t necessarily vanilla—it can get rough—but for some reason, Mick just isn’t that guy. But with Lando, being into that had made sense. His sexcapades always have a thrill to them, an edge.

“Yeah,” Charles had quipped, smirking now, too. “Because… well, you’re a nice guy, Mick.”

He is a nice guy. A sweet guy. Fans call him cute all the time. So he figures this new pressing dilemma won’t press. Except it does press—thoughts of being able to play with you, possess you that way irk him well into the night.

So, now, Mick’s faced with the resulting problem-and/or-secret, and it won’t be solved unless he tells you. Because, really: how does any sane guy respectfully tell his girlfriend he wants to fuck her ass?

He’ll try. Anyway, he figures the timing is perfect: you’ve taken time off work to come and visit him for a week at the Las Vegas launch. As soon as you’d arrived at his room, he had you on his bed being fucked within an inch of your life—an instance that repeated itself many times over the course of the last few days.

Mick tries to trace the reasons why he feels a bit shy about telling you. Maybe because everyone thinks he’s a sweet guy, and sweet guys aren’t into things like these. Even if you know he gets a little less sweet in bed, he thinks this is still uncharted territory for the both of you.

“Babe?” He calls, snapping out of his reverie.

“Still changing,” you yell, muffled by the door to the bathroom.

He gets up, stretches, and knocks twice anyway; the sight of you unclothed isn’t novel to him. You open it and stare up. “Yeah?”

“I need to get my AirPods, I think I left them on the vanity.”

“Oh, fuck. Sure. Come in.” You let the door open all the way and he enters, pressing a kiss to your hair as he searches for his earphones. You’re half-dressed, in a tiny tee and lace panties, hair disheveled and thrown over one shoulder. You bend over to rifle through your luggage and he gulps. He’s a sweet guy.

You huff, yanking a pair of jeans out of your suitcase. “I have no good clothes anymore.”

“Nonsense. Everything looks great on you,” your boyfriend replies, taking his AirPods from where they rest on the dresser.

You smile and scoff playfully, placing the jeans back inside before pulling out a dress. “The Mick Schumacher complimenting me? God, what’d I ever do to deserve this?” You turn to the large mirror, holding the dress in front of your body to envision how it might look. From this angle, your back is to him, ergo, he can see your pert ass clearly, flexing with every pose you make for the dress. He blinks hard.

You even lift your hair into a makeshift bun to try and see how the dress looks, but still you seem frustrated. “It looks great, babe,” he cuts in. “I promise.”

“Does it?” You turn back around to show him the dress, pouting. “I dunno. Something’s a bit off. Or maybe the shirt’s just ruining the look.” You toss him the dress, which lands on his face—it’s satin and smells like you. When it slides off his face and into his grip, you’re already halfway through tugging your shirt off.

Underneath you’re wearing a bra that matches the underwear—pretty, white lace—and Mick feels his heart thrum heavily. He’s a sweet guy, though. So he tosses you your dress when you reach out for it and watches you pull it on for real this time. “Huh,” you muse. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” he says with a laugh, coming up behind you. His height advantage lets his chin rest comfortably on your head. “You look very pretty.”

“Mmm?” You ask with a light giggle, leaning backwards. “Danke, Mickie. What time do you need to be on the paddock?”

“In two hours. Minimum,” he says, his big hand resting on your waist. He lets it slide downward, until he’s at the top of your thigh, where the dress sits. He pinches the hem, traces it until he’s touching the back of your dress. “Don’t worry. No rush.”

“No rush…” You repeat, nodding, letting him feel you up, encouraging it.

You shudder, feeling his hand venture underneath your dress, in the process raking it up. Everything happens in the mirror, like you’re watching it in real-time—Mick’s teasing, his slight smile, the way his eyes have totally darkened.

Already growing wet, you reach your hand behind you and it wraps around Mick’s bicep for leverage. It’s solid, defined under your grip, and it makes you even more aroused.

His hand rakes your dress up to your waist, so he gets a clear view of your panties. You meet his gaze, lidded and impossibly aroused, in the mirror. “This the pair I bought you?” You bite a smile back and nod. You remember the day he gifted this particular set to you; it’d come to your apartment in a pink box. You’d written him a thank you text and a This is so unnecessarily pricey Mickie, to which he’d replied with Nonsense, send me a picture. “I like it,” you say hoarsely.

“Ah, believe me, so do I,” he groans, his head coming down to press against your neck. “More than like. I love how good you look. All for me, yeah? You’re my pretty girl.”

You shiver at the show of possession, and your grip tightens as you nod. You’ve grown quiet, an air of anticipation surrounding you both. “You like that,” he says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. “You like being my pretty girl, huh? All dolled up and so, so good for me.”

“For you,” you confirm. “Yes.”

“Can you trust me?” He asks. And then, to push you further, “Will you be good for me?” His fingers travel to your front, press against the seat of your thong. His touch is strong and persistent, and he stuffs the fabric a bit into your cunt, just to watch you squirm; just to feel how wet you are. Not to make you wait, no. Not to edge you either. Because, he reminds himself before the strands of his sanity leave, because he’s a sweet guy.

“Always,” you say, shuddering. Already you’re showing signs of wanting to cum.

“Come on, let’s go to the bed, baby.” You nod and follow silently, letting him lift you up and lay you down. You giggle, watching him stare down at you before reaching out for him, craving a kiss.

Like always, Mick gives you what you want, dipping down to press your mouths together.

It turns hot and messy quick, your arms coming up to wrap around his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer, feel him against you, his hands all over you. He grunts, stumbling a little, and parts from you, much to your chagrin.

You sit up, shifting yourself onto your knees so you’re more-or-less level—except he’s standing up and you’re on the edge of the bed. Your hair covers your eyes a little when you lean closer, pouting.

“Come on, fuck me, Mick.”

“Yeah?” He asks. When he’s horny, and when you’re coaxing him like this, like a vixen, like something he just can’t deny, his words get sharper, actions harsher. You’d look at your bruises in the mirror—angry thumb prints, hickeys where your tops and dresses won’t give it away (he’s a gentleman in that regard), bruised knees from bad race nights when he needs to fuck your throat raw and rid himself of frustrations—and smile. “You want me to stretch this little pussy out?”

He pushes you backwards again, and you flip yourself over, wiggling your ass at him. “Please?”

Christ, it’s like you know his pressing secret, like you want him to let it out, and stuff you full, and make you dumb.

He blinks. He’ll be sweet about this. As sweet as he can get, anyway. He sheds his shirt and gets behind you, holds you still when he tugs your thong to the side. His palms are big and rough against your skin, a bruising grip left on your hips, but still you can feel how gentle he is with you underneath it all.

You hear him pull his cock out, the elastic of his sweats stretching. He slides his cock in between your cheeks, and even through there you can feel how heavy, how big it is against you. You whimper at the feeling of it. “Come on, Mick,” you try again, voice airy from impatience. “I’ll take it.”

He lets his cock glide messily over your pussy, lubing himself up from the slick gushing out of you. You get wet so easily, he thinks. One touch, one word, and you’re like putty around him, needy and clingy and oh so aroused. You’re so wet, he mumbles, stupefied. You clench around nothing, grow even wetter.

He pushes inside then, impatient as you are.

A series of fucks erupt from his mouth, finally sinking into your entrance. It’s just the tip, but still you’re tight around him, your legs shuffling to accommodate the stretch. “I’ve got you,” he says. His vision’s cloudy. He keeps thinking—if you’re this tight now, this good, this pliant, what more if you let him fuck you there?

You’re dizzy with pleasure—every fuck with Mick is as dizzying as the last. You urge him to stuff you further, your whimpers lost in your head, but you can hear them faintly. Please, Mick. Yes, deeper, fuck, more. And, as if to encourage you, he goes, yeah? Like it like this, baby?

He knows you do. He’s sweet that way, always giving and giving. But you know something’s different—you feel it, even as you gasp from the feeling of his dick fucking you open. He wants something different. Something more.

You’re so tight, so sensitive, throbbing hotly around his dick. He fucks you hard and dirty, keeping a hand on your back, making sure you’re always in an arch, perfect and poised just for him. Your eyes flutter. Mick, you say, but it’s lost in your own moans. I’m so close—I might—fuck—

He grunts, feels you tighten around him. He fucks you harder, splits you open. You let him. “Go on,” he says, and the authority of his voice brings you both back to a state of semi-lucidity. “Go, make a mess of yourself on my dick.”

He utters the instructions with an edge to his voice. It’s husky and a bit lazy, but still you follow, letting the coil in your stomach unknot itself. Your jaw hangs open, eyes rolling backwards, letting your moans leave you noisily and breathily. More, Mickie. I want all of it. I want more. You’re so wet, you’re practically squirting slick all over him.

You’re cumming hard and slow, dragging out your orgasm by fucking back against him. Each thrust is punctuated with a squelch of your cunt around him. You dig your nails into the cotton duvet, feeling slick run down your thighs. His words spur you on, and his pace doesn’t let up, instead going harder, deeper. You cum so fast for me, princess. Gonna go again?

His shaft is almost dripping with how much you’ve released on it, a wet noise sounding every time he moves. Come on, he coaxes gently. Give me another. You’ll give me another, hmm?

Yes, Mickie, you moan. It’s loud and unashamed. Yes, fuck.

Still sensitive, clenching and squeezing, you let the stimulation take you over, drown you until you’re barely breathing, let alone speaking coherently. Already the coil twists again, and you anticipate the pending orgasm, the high, the release. You let Mick fuck it out of you. You let him give.

You cum again, building up and up and then crashing messily around him, whimpers leaving your mouth and shudders racking your body.

It hurts, almost, with how intense it is; it comes in the midst of heavy, rough thrusts pressing against the deepest parts of you. You’re almost wailing with how good it hurts, your arms giving and letting you collapse on the sheets. You convluse weakly, feeling him pull out, a gasp leaving your mouth.

In response, Mick presses a reassuring hand to the small of your back. You breathe deep, tension leaving your body, walls still fluttering. You’re so good for me, princess. You take whatever I give you. My good girl. It comes in waves, the praise.

He wrangles you atop him, so you’re semi-straddling him. Somehow, lying on his hard, sweaty chest, with your legs on either side of him, both of you barely clothed—you still in the set, Mick in his boxers only—feels so much more comfortable than the bed. “How are you, baby?”

You nod.

“So good. You take me so well every time.”

“You didn’t cum, Mickie,” you pout into his chest. You grind lazily against him, smiling when you feel his dick swell against your still-dripping cunt. He grunts. You’re insatiable, he says. Absolutely crazy.

“I want it,” you say quietly, into his ear, hot. “Give it to me again. Again.”

It’s like time slows, when your lips bite into his earlobe, your fingers lithe and dextrous between your bodies, tracing over the solid indents of his abs. His own arm sneaks over your waist, wraps around it, lets it rest over the sticky skin, and thinks. Maybe this is when he can solve his problem, let the secret spill out of him.

He grits his teeth, brought back to reality when your grip moves south to palm at his dick. “Princess,” he says, breathing unsteady. “You trust me, right?”

The air shifts. You stare down at him with big eyes, glassy from your previous stimulation. And you nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” He says. “Good.” He brings his other hand up to his mouth, covering two fingers with spit, and then, like a dam has broken: “M’gonna play with your ass, princess.”

Your eyes widen, but he starts nodding, smiling that sweet smile of his. So this is what he wanted. You inhale shakily, your hand leaving his dick to find purchase on his abdomen again. He heaves the both of you into a sitting position, so you can both breathe easier, but also so his access to your ass is easier, better.

He covers his digits with spit again. “It’ll feel good.” He reaches behind you and your hands are iron on his shoulders, your body rigid with anticipation, but also excitement.

He spreads you open, sinks his hands into the flesh there. “Trust me. Be a good girl.” He smears spit over the rim of your ass, thinks fuck, finally. “Relax for me.”

Ah, you whimper. Ah. He feels you take his cock in your grip, jerking it twice, slurring a whimper into his ear: Fuck me, please. And because he knows you need a distraction from the stretch, he gives you the familiar kind, his dick tight and hard in your cunt.

He thrusts upward to hit your sweet spot so you’re distracted when he’s rubbing tight circles, coaxing relaxation out of your ass. He feels your tension roll away. He’s got you like putty again. You’re caught up in the feeling, of bouncing on him; his hand momentarily leaves your ass to unclasp your bra and palm over your tits like a man starved.

Absently he thinks, is this what a nice guy does? Fucks his girlfriend’s pussy raw so he can claim her ass next? He squeezes his eyes shut, lets the thoughts filter out.

A strangled moan leaves you when he breaches your little hole. Just a bit more, he thinks, letting his finger back out, rubbing again, dipping lower to collect slick from your gushing cunt. He can tell you’re going to like this. “Okay?” You nod desperately, bouncing faster. Your slick is everywhere.

One hand leaves your tits to rub at your clit; the other stays rubbing circles over your rim, occasionally breaching. You nod. More, Mickie. Needy again. His fingers are wet and insistent against your clit and your ass, and the sensations flood you, knocking you into a state of euphoria. He stretches your ass open around one of his fingers, rubbing faster as he goes, feeling you get wetter.

“Mmmmf m’god,” you murmur, dazed. “Mick, I—I want more, fuck.” You cant yourself backwards to catch him.

He thrusts it, experimentally, collects more slick to make the glide easier. I know, he coos. I know, princess. Why don’t you give me one more? And you nod, because it’s easy, like this—when his dick is hard and deep in you. You bounce, each moan louder than the last, until finally your thighs are trembling and you’re releasing everywhere.

It’s a lot—a lot of slick, a lot of pleasure. You can’t tear yourself away from his cock, or his hand insistently pressing into you from behind. You whimper, sensitive, eyes vacant with overstimulated pleasure. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, and you moan into it.

“Just fill me up,” you beg. “I can take it.” He uses your release to shove another finger in, relaxing you further, drawing moans out of you that interrupt your flow of thought. It feels so new. It feels so good.

“Patience, princess,” he says. “I’m being nice this way.” He wants to split you open now, to be rough with it, to hear you whimper, to stuff you full of his cock and then his cum. But he’s patient. He’s sweet. He can wait.

He pulls out, rubbing the tip of his dick along the wetness of slick there. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, anticipating the breach. It comes, a dull burn that’s muted and slow, slow, slow. Mick grunts. “Can—” he tries, but the feeling is getting to him, the innate desire to fuck you stupid, to take advantage of how tight you feel. “Can you relax for me a little? Loosen up for me, princess.”

Okay, you murmur. I will. And you do, nodding as you allow yourself to relax. You can’t fathom the stretch. Mick’s already big—big shoulders, big arms, and feeling him so deep in you is addicting to a fault.

He slips in further, eliciting a moan from both of you. Expletives leave his mouth in rapid German, and he tries to wedge a sorry in there for the language—but he can’t, just keeps grunting as he wrestles himself deeper inside you.

Relax, he grits. Almost there, so good, baby. You lean into him, nodding, letting him coax you through it, through the stretch, the pleasure. He wishes he could see how well you take him, but he knows that after this, it’s going to happen a lot. He’ll get his chance then, to bend you over, or to flatten your legs against your chest, make you take it better.

Give it to me, Mickie, you whimper. Your hole’s so tight around him, pussy wet and dripping everywhere; he doubts he’ll last long with how you squeeze him. Your tiny hole, so little just earlier, is stretching so well just to take him.

He grunts. He’s so deep in you. He’s positive you can feel him in your stomach. When he finally bottoms out, after a few moments of prolonged silence (save for the intermittent moans), you both exhale. “You’re,” you say, breathless. “You’re so deep inside me.”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Love this dick,” you hum mindlessly, smiling, starting to grind on it. And fuck, why’d he ever keep this secret for so long?

Once you’ve started moving, he takes it as a greenlight to go faster, progressively speeding up his thrusts until they’re sloppy, loud with the noise of your slick and his precum. His hands are big on your waist, controlling how you move and how you stay still. “Fuck, baby,” he says, desperate. “You’re so perfect.”

For you, Mickie, you moan.

He doesn’t realize how brash his actions are until he has to readjust his grip and sees indents of his thumbs on your hip, ones that will no doubt leave dark bruises. But he ignores them, and ignores the throb of arousal that ignites through him seeing you so wrecked and debauched like this, and thrusts harder. “Shit,” he grits. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You encourage him, bouncing back to meet his thrusts, embracing the burn of it. You’re certain you’ve cum twice already with how spent you feel, but the pleasure comes in waves every time he thrusts, sending you into a new kind of dizzy. You can feel just how split open you are, because your boyfriend is thick, and you can sense how wide open you are just from how well his dick fits. He sizzles into a space of just talking, talking, talking, to somehow redirect the stimulation—it falls into praise, questions, mumbled pet names.

Gonna fuck your little ass so full, he grunts. Full of my cock, my cum.

You cry out. Yes, you respond. Mickie—I want it.

I know you want it, he says. He mumbles something nondescript in German, voice heavy and rough. Then: Wanna take this dick, hmm?

He pulls out to the tip, then sinks back inside fast. It’s like whiplash, like the stretch has been played back at twice the speed. You moan loud, open-mouthed and desperate, nodding. Your mind is cloudy, cock-drunk, the way you always get when Mick’s been fucking you this long.

Gonna, he says, guttural. Gonna fuck this little hole. Stretch it out.

Then he’s fucking you fast and dirty, wetter and wetter, and you’re cumming again, watching yourself gush slick all over his lower abdomen and his dick, making the glide faster, easier.

You whimper all through it, prolonging your own release so you never have to let go of this euphoria. You hear him like he’s six feet below you—good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, yeah. Give me another.

Another—it seems impossible. But still you say, “Yeah, I’ll give you another,” your voice sticky with thirst. He fucks another one out of you, his pace rapid fast, dick pressing perfectly into your ass. It’s messy, your cum is everywhere, but you wedge another gush of slick out, and that’s what does it.

This time it’s you asking: cum in me, Mick. Make me full, please.

Mick looks down, watches you take him, your release everywhere, and grits his teeth. He presses his forehead to your bare shoulder, grunting, then filling you up. You moan at the feeling, already anticipating how good it’ll feel when he pulls out, lets it gush out of you in spurts.

You both breathe heavily. Then: “So, anal, huh?”

And then you’re laughing, albeit tiredly, Mick lifting you up to run you both a bath where you make him cum one more time.

Later that night, when you’re asleep (a day of racing and anal sex is not for the weak, you’d said before skipping on Haas-sponsored dinner), he retreats to Lando’s room to play poker.

“Where’s your girl?” The Brit asks, a cheeky smile on his face. “She passed out?”

“Woah, locker room talk much,” Alex says defensively from the couch. “Keep it down, you nymphos.”

“Just trying to gauge if Mick here tired his girlfriend out.”

Mick reviews his cards and offers a smile. “I would never.”

“Yeah, Mick’s vanilla,” George jokes. “Lando, stop bringing your porn addiction into our poker games.”

“Vanilla?!” Alex says, interest reignited.

“Have you seen the guy?” Lando points blank at Mick, who stares back with an amused smile. “The press calls him F1’s golden boy. The cutest little puppy on the paddock. He just isn’t into tiring sex.”

“Let alone”—George stifles a laugh—“what you’re into, Lando.”

Mick hums, shrugging. “What can I say? I’m a sweet guy.”

#f1 #mick schumacher #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #f1 x reader #mick schumacher drabble #mick schumacher blurb

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disneyprincemuke · 2 months

Text

where the fun begins, 4 * ls2 (ms47)

pairings: frat!logan x reader, college!mick x reader

word count: 2.8k

notes: surprise! hello gaiz i finally (poorly) finished fratlogan pls dont come for me gn

(f1 masterlist)

| one | two | three | four |

“yeah?” logan perks up with a scoff at you. “can’t pick who to nurse?”

you stand by frederik, shaking your head at logan in utter disbelief. you’ve always known that he’s always been a bit of an idiot, but never to this extent. it’s not often that you see logan battered up but you’re surprised that it had taken this long.

“oh, come off it,” you scoff. you look around your surroundings, only then noticing the several pairs of eyes on the 3 of you. you refuse to be the campus gossip on how you choose to handle the situation. you throw your arms in the air. “what are you looking at? go have your party!”

surprisingly, it works. perhaps it’s the fact that the quiet girl is asking them to scramble off that made everyone walk off. they knew there wouldn’t be much to gain from you anyway, considering how low you’ve been laying since you stopped talking to logan.

logan watches you walk across the lawn, shooting him a quick disapproving look before you approach mick. he scoffs softly to himself, moving liam’s hand away from him. he continues to hold the tissue against his nose, pulling it away to glance at the blood that its collected.

he returns it to his nose as he watches you take mick’s hand into yours across the backyard. he doesn’t even notice that frederik has walked towards him with questions spilling past his lips.

“hey, what happened?” your voice is gentle as you finally stop in front of mick. you take his hand into yours, gazing your fingertips over his knuckles that just only forming a bruise. you gently drop his hand and start scanning him. “did he hit you?”

mick’s gaze on you softens as he shivers every time you touch him. he shakes his head, still blinking rapidly as he tries to ground himself. in all honesty, he doesn’t know what came over him either. he’s not typically one to throw the first punch at all — every fight he’s gotten into thus far was born from the sheer need to defend himself after getting decked.

it feels like he had let logan get too comfortable speaking on your name that it had escalated to feeling the need to throw the first punch. he was going to simply walk away if you asked him, but hearing logan talk about you like that to him knowing that he’s seeing you only made him wonder about the things he’d tell his ratty friends.

for the record and in logan’s defence, he never speaks ill of you. and if you were to ask oscar, his theory is that logan’s ego is simply too big for him to lay his weapons down and admit that he’s fallen in love with you.

logan’s never said it, but oscar knows. oscar’s not stupid.

mick felt like he had to throw a punch just to remind logan who he was talking about — the girl that he was once also changing his lifestyle for. the girl that’s been cruising about campus without a problem until logan had swooped in way before he could muster the courage to talk to the prettiest girl he thinks he’s ever seen.

“i’m sorry,” mick finally whispers. he drops his head slightly, trying to meet your gaze. when he does, he tilts his head at the way you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and tilt your head.

“what are you sorry for?” you turn his hand over once more and graze your fingertips over his knuckles. “we should really get you an ice pack. your hand must be hurting like crazy. come on, babe.”

you tug on his arm towards the house, but mick just stays in his spot. “hey, what’s wrong? talk to me, mick.”

“i’m sorry,” he repeats, shaking his head. he sucks in a deep breath, glancing over at logan across the backyard, still surrounded by his frat brothers to nurse his bleeding nose. “i don’t know what came over me. but he was talking about you and in the moment, i felt like i had to do something. you should have–”

the warmth of your hand against his cheek cuts him off mid-sentence, his breath slowly steadying when your eyes meet his again. “it’s okay. why are you apologising? the important thing is that you’re alright.”

“you’re not at all curious why i’m untouched while logan’s sat there with a bloody nose.”

you press your lips together and shake your head. “you don’t expect to always be so calm, do you? these things happen, mick.”

but mick shakes his head at your response. these things happen, yes, but not to him. he should have just walked away. the last thing he needs is for him to let his anger consume him, causing him to act irrationally.

he feels you squeeze his hand. “hey.” your tone is firm, his gaze softening when he meets your eyes. “it’s okay. let’s just get you back to my apartment, okay?”

he nods, feeling his chest feel less constricted at the way you pulled him towards the house. you smile at lily. “are you coming home tonight? or are you spending the night with oscar?”

oscar smiles at you. “i can drive you guys back. i didn’t drink at all tonight.” he pats mick’s shoulder and sighs. “sorry again for logan’s behaviour, mate. i really don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“ah, it’s alright.” mick takes one last glance at logan across the lawn before he disappears into the house with you completely. “you should probably ask him if he’s okay, babe.”

“he’ll be okay. we have a house full of first-aid trained brothers,” oscar waves mick’s concerns away, nudging both of you towards the front door.

mick stands his ground though, not moving when oscar expects him to. you glance at lily, eyebrow raised and she shrugs in return. you look at mick again, “what is it?”

“i really think you should talk to him,” mick says softly. “clear the air or something. or at least just ask if he’s okay.”

“mick.”

“i’m serious.” his breathing is steady and he no longer sways side to side. the pain after throwing the punch had sobered him up more than he wished, now suddenly seeing the bigger picture.

he doesn’t actually know what had gone down between you and logan. all he knew was that you had left one of logan’s parties early one evening and he offered to drive you home. he got your number, and suddenly 3 weeks later, he scored himself a date with you.

you barely uttered logan’s name, or even explained what had happened. though, he really has to thank george for finding out if you’re single. he had george ask alex, who then asked logan when they ran into him in the gym before he decided to ask you out on a date.

but seeing the way logan was so bothered, it must not have ended as well as you tried to brush it off. and judging by the way he acted in the bowling alley a week ago, it doesn’t take a genius to know that logan misses you.

“just talk to him. it might do him some good,” mick whispers with a grin. “i’ll be on the couch waiting.”

“see, i don’t think this is a very smart decision,” oscar whispers, tapping his finger on his lips. “this is logan we’re talking about. you want her to talk to logan alone? you literally just met the guy.”

mick shrugs, eyes still boring into yours with a certain assurance in his stance. he knows what he’s asking you to do — if you suddenly change your mind and decide that logan is the one for you, then he will not stop you. after all, he cannot dictate what’s good for you or not.

though the thought of you running back scares him slightly. he had spent so long mustering the courage to ask you out, get you in his arms, only for logan to throw a fit over something he had failed to cherish when he had it.

but you nod, shocking oscar and lily. “are you sure about this?”

“i’ll just ask him if he’s okay,” you say firmly, lips pressed into a thin line as you flash mick a small grin. “i’ll see you at the couch, okay?”

mick nods, letting oscar and lily whisk him away. it doesn’t take long for you to find logan — this isn’t the first time logan’s gotten into a fight during one of their parties. the american being a hothead is more of a common occurrence than not. just as you expected, logan is in one of the bathrooms upstairs with frederik and liam by his side.

“oh.” liam slowly drops his hands, surprised to see that you knew where they’d resided after yanking a drunk logan away from the backyard. “do you want to–”

logan immediately sees you through the mirror, just as shocked to see that you’ve come to him.

“yeah, can i have a moment with him?” you say softly, shyly pointing at the boy sitting on the sink top. “i just wanna talk to him for a bit.”

“are you sure?” frederik asks, ignoring the way logan looks at him in shock, flabbergasted at the way that it seems most of his friends are against him at this very moment. “do you need me to stay? he’s had quite a bit to drink.”

“i’ll be okay,” you grin with a nod.

frederik shoots you one last stare, in which you pat his arm to reassure him. he whispers to you after liam walks out that he’ll be right outside if you need him. and that leaves you with logan, in the crammy and clean bathroom of the house.

you can hear the music from the party softly, groups of friends cheering at the beer pong table and laughter from those on the dance floor. your breathing consumes the room, but one question remains in logan’s head: what the hell are you doing here?

you take a step forward, grabbing the damp towel that liam had hung on the rack. you take the ice pack lying next to his body and take another step towards logan, pressing it against his nose.

“why are you here?” logan says softly, barely able to look at you as you try and nurse him. if you just asked him, he had been wondering if you were going to walk to him instead of mick when you first stepped out of the house. he had gotten used to that scene whenever he got into a fight.

it’s comforting to see you here next to him.

“are you okay?” you ask, pulling your head slightly to meet his eyes. “your head must be pounding after that.”

he shrugs. “a little. but it’s nothing i haven’t gone through before. i’ll be okay.”

you nod when his hand comes up to hold the ice pack in place, his fingers barely grazing yours. you take a step back and hold your hands behind your back, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you tried to find the words.

there should be more to say than just asking him if he’s alright after mick punched him in the face. you didn’t say another word to him after you left that night you overheard him speaking to someone on the phone — you had just disappeared and removed yourself from the narrative.

“this doesn’t mean anything. i just wanted to see if you’re okay,” you whisper, now looking down to avoid his gaze. you glance at him, opening his mouth to say something before you cut him off. “and i wanted to explain why i ghosted you.”

he closes his mouth, sitting up slightly straighter at your words. this, he is interested in hearing. because to him, he had played his cards right.

“i overheard you on the phone with somebody at my last party here.” you try not to think of what happened often. whenever you did, it fills you with a kind of rage that you don’t usually feel. it just makes you so mad when you think of the way you finally let yourself be with someone and you found out that he had double crossed you in some way. “you were seeing someone while you were with me?”

logan feels his heart drop. he can instantly remember what phone call you’re talking about. he had left his room after he hung up, about 30 seconds after you overheard him and abruptly ran off to go home, then went back down to liam saying that you had left early.

he didn’t know you were there.

“let me explain,” logan sighs, shaking his head. he hops off the sink and takes a step forward, but retracts when he sees you press yourself against the wall behind you. “just hear me out — we weren’t together at the time.”

“that’s unfair of you to say,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “you never asked me to be your girlfriend. you just strung me along for months without a label.”

“i was going to. please, believe me. i just had so much going on.”

“it’s not fair of you to use that as an excuse. do you take me for some idiot, logan?” you fold your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. “what did you do with her?”

logan stares at you. the guilt of what happened that night eats him up, even after you had decided to leave him for good. “it was at a party. one of the nights you didn’t attend because you had something early the next morning.”

“i didn’t ask you when it happened. i asked you what you did with her.”

“it was just a kiss,” logan mutters, shaking his head. “it was just a kiss. it didn’t mean anything. i was so drunk. i don’t know.”

he holds his hands out, hopeful to hold you as he tried to explain himself. you hold your hands up to stop him in his tracks, jaw clenched. you blink, “why? logan, i tried to fit your lifestyle. you asked me out first — why would you do that to me?”

he slumps his shoulders. “i don’t know.”

“that’s not a good enough answer,” you take another breath, “say something besides that.”

“i don’t know,” he shakes his head. “you were never meant to find out. it was a mistake.”

“not good enough.”

logan takes a breath. “i’m sorry.”

and if he had said this earlier, maybe you would have given him another chance. “i don’t care if you’re sorry.”

he contemplates, but he says it anyway: “i love you.”

“you don’t get to say that to me!” your response is instinctive as you jump back, hand on your chest. that’s at least one thing you never expected logan to say to you. maybe you did, months ago, but just not now. not ever. “it won’t change anything.”

“i know. i’m sorry.”

“is that all you have to say for yourself? i– i liked you so much. i can’t believe this is where we are now.” there was a time that you saw logan in your future. it had looked hopeful the longer you stayed with him. you sigh and throw your arms up in the air. “i’m sorry — i need to go. i can’t even look at you right now.”

he nods, leaning back on the sink again. you spare him one more glance and he just shrugs, giving you a small and reassuring smile. a smile that told you that he knew that he did this to your relationship. “please take care.”

you were suffocated by the short conversation you had. you grin at frederik, keeping his word as he lingered outside the bathroom door, as you run over to the stairs. you grip at the railings as you walk down and catch a glimpse of mick on the couch, shaking his leg as he bit on his nail.

you don’t blame him for being a little thrown off when you let yourself be alone with logan.

you appear behind him and he feels his airways clear up at the sight of you. he takes a refreshing breath when you poke his cheek and smile at him warmly. “let’s go, babe?”

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane @namgification @happy-nico @nikfigueiredo @vroomvroomcircuit @localwhoore @foreveralbon @what-is-happening @angsthology @urfavenoirette @alliesreblogs @fxrmuladaydreams @cxcewg @adore-u-ls

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #frat!au

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neymarsangel · 11 months

Text

Rivals with Benefits - Mick Schumacher x reader - Part 3

Read Part Two here

Mick Schumacher x female!reader

Summary: Mick and you were both set to drive for Ferarri. You were two best friends climbing through the ranks together (and through the sheets) but things turn sour. You join Red Bull and Mick is never the same.

Warnings: Angst, smut-ish? Swearing

Word Count: 4.2K

—

The following day you expected Mick to be gone and the only thing left of the night before would be memories but to your surprise, Mick was right beside you. His arms were wrapped around your torso as he held you against his chest. As much as you hated him, the sight of the blonde wrapped up in your sheets made your heart warm. Seeing him like this made you think back to what you had with him but that was the past and you couldn’t go back to what you were.

“You know staring is rude,” Schumacher whispered out, groaning as he stretched slightly.

“So is pushing me off the track and ruining my race, serval times in fact.”

“Always latching onto the past y/n.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead, his thumb swiping across your cheek as he looked at you with pure love in his eyes. Your eyes searched his, wanting to know the truth between you both. How could he end everything with you but look at you like the pair of you were sharing your first night as a married couple together?

“The past can be just as relevant as the present.” You hit back at his words, a smile on your lips at the encounter.

“You always have a response, don’t you love?”

“You should know me by now Schumacher.” You propped yourself up, getting a better look at his sleepy state. “How come you’re still here?”

“Did you want me to leave?”

“No, I’m just curious as to why you wouldn’t leave.”

“This isn’t a one night stand, is it?”

“Won’t happen again -”

“So you’re saying I’m never going to win another race this season?”

“That’s always a possibility with your shitbox of a car.”

“So shit I won last season.”

“You cheated, that had nothing to do with the car.” Mick narrowed his eyes at you, his lips curling into a smirk as he slowly shifted in bed, manoeuvring himself so he was now hovering above you and you were laying flat on your back.

“You don’t know when to let things go, do you?” His lips dove down to your neck, ghosting along your skin. “Unless you’re with me, then you do…” He started to kiss down your neck, his hands moving to your hips as his body started to grind against yours.

This wasn’t part of the deal. It was a fuck and then he’d leave. It was never supposed to lead to round two in the morning but it felt so good. When the two of you were at Haas it felt like a relationship, you two would hang out outside of work, you’d met his family and he’d kissed you in public before. That was the day the Formula 1 side of the internet broke. A photo of you both outside a club circled around but Mick just stated that he was whispering in your ear, the picture was so blurry he almost got away with it, almost.

“You’re so pretty…” His lips continued his journey down your body, the only sound was your light moans until someone knocked on your door. The sudden noise made Mick jump from your body, his head snapped towards the door as another knock came.

“y/n!” Verstappens voice made Mick’s eyes widen. He looked at you with a slight glimpse of fear in his eyes. It was unusual to see him like this, the only time you’d ever seen fear in his eyes was the day you’d crashed at Silverstone but that was in the past, it was the race you never wanted to relive in fact the only time you ever let your mind travelled back to that moment was with Max. “y/n are you even awake?”

“Give me a second!” You screamed back at your teammate. Your eyes fell towards Mick. “Get in the bath, lay down and pull the shower curtain so he doesn’t see you.” Shoving Mick off you lept up and threw on some shorts before taking a quick glance at yourself in the mirror, hoping Mick hadn’t left a reminder of the night before on your skin. Your eyes darted to the Mick who’d quickly followed your instructions before you opened the door.

“Christ, have you only just gotten up?” Max took in your appearance before walking into your hotel room.

“I had a late night.” You technically didn’t lie. “How come you’re here?”

“Wanted to check up on you, after yesterday. Heard the media weren’t too kind either.”

“You know they’ll always favour Ferarri, they hate us.”

“They only hate us since we've started winning and I don’t think anyone intends that to change.”

“Well, I hope not Verstappen.” You gave him a smile. You always valued the bond you had with Max, the man would also always be by your side even when things were bad for him. He looked out for you on and off the track, you could never forget how he pushed Charles off the track when he accidentally clipped your car on the first turn of the France Grand Prix. Charles wouldn’t stop apologising to you after the race, more than likely out of fear that Max would hunt him down. “What else did you want?”

“Am I not allowed to just check up on you?”

“Normally you spend the day with your family after the race.”

“Oh I plan on it, I’m meeting my Mum and sister for dinner tonight.”

“Send them my love.”

“You can join, my mum would love to see you again. She hasn’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m fine Max -”

“Come on y/n.” His eyes silently pleaded with you. “You hardly ever see your own family and my mum see’s you as one of her own so…” He let his words hang in the air as he awaited your answer.

“What time?” Max’s eyes lit up at your words.

“I’ll pick you up at six, we’re going to a small restaurant along the beach, should be quiet so you won’t have to worry about the media hounding us both.”

“Thank you, Max.”

“You never have to thank me y/l/n.” His eyes scanned the room, it was almost as if he was looking for something… or someone. “But how are you? Really? After Mick winning -”

“It’s one race, Max, he won’t win like that again.”

“I know he won’t.” Max huffed as he spoke about Mick. “Christian is trying to appeal still but he can’t promise that Mick will get any come up.”

“You don’t need to worry about him, Max. The plan is to win it this season and either you or I will.”

“That’s the mindset you need.” He smirked, his head falling towards the bathroom. “You mind if I use the bathroom?”

“No, it’s fine.” You didn’t sound certain in your response but it didn’t matter, Max was already heading to the same place where your rival was currently hiding after the pair of you slept together. You knew Mick wouldn’t give up where he was, not only for you but because he knew Max wouldn’t let him live another day. Whether he ended his career on the track or off it, he knew he wouldn’t live to see the sunrise tomorrow.

Your heart was in your throat as you heard Max finishing up, your hands silently shaking as you waited for your teammate to leave your bathroom and your room. Shoving Max out of your room was evidently new to him but he put it all down to the race yesterday. He knew you’d be upset hence why he invited you to dinner with his mum and sister. When things fell apart he had his family and you but when you needed someone you only had him and the team. He knew much like you did that your parents adored you and no bond was broken with them but they were never involved in Formula 1, that was your life, not theirs.

He opened the bathroom door, his eyes lighting up as he saw you smile at him. “You spoken to your family?”

“Not yet.” Max frowned at your response. “Maybe fly them out, maybe it’ll be helpful if they attend Silverstone?”

“Absoueltly not.” You cut him off.

“Then invite them to Monaco.”

“Too high end for them.”

“Then find a race they’ll like and invite them.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“How about this,” A smirk grew on his lips. “Whatever race you’re close enough to win the championship with, you invite them to that one.”

You lingered on it for a second but you knew he wouldn’t leave without a yes and you really needed to get Mick out of the bath. “Yes fine, it’s a deal.”

“Atta girl.” He pulled you into a quick hug before walking towards the door. “Don’t forget, six! I’ll meet you outside the hotel.”

“I’ll see you then Max.”

“And don’t worry about Mick, we’ll get rid of him.”

“I believe you Verstappen.” You two shared a grin as he closed your door, leaving you alone… so he thought.

“You know,” You heard Mick’s voice growing louder as he clambered out of the bath. “If you always need to talk about family then you can always talk to me.” He now came into view, a cocky expression on his face, ironic considering he was terrified of Max no more than a few mere minutes ago.

“And why would I talk to you?”

“Because you know you can trust me.”

“Can I?”

“Did I ever tell the press what we were after that photo came out? Have I ever told anyone what we were? No.” He took a breath. “Just because we broke off what we had -”

“No Mick you broke off what we had.” You kept your voice steady as you spoke. “I never wanted what we had to end, Mick.” It hurt to say those words out loud. You’d always known in your heart you’d never wanted it to end but you’d only ever said those words to Mick out of anger rather than sadness.

“Neither did I y/n, you think it was easy to break off what we had?” He retaliated, gathering his clothes as he did so. “Do you not think I lay there every single night and not regret what I did?”

“Then why did you call it off Mick?” You stepped towards him. “If you really hate missing what we had then why haven’t you talked to me about it?”

“Because it’s not that easy.” He stepped closer towards you, now fully stressed but without his shirt, you still had that draped over your body. “I have a reputation to uphold, you don’t know what it’s like to have a famous dad -”

“At least your family care about your job.” You replied.

“It’s not my fault that your family couldn’t care less about you!” His heart dropped at his own words at the realisation of what he’d just spoken. He’d never meant it but when he was annoyed he always had a habit of letting words he never meant slip out. “Wait y/n I didn’t mean that I just meant -”

“Get out Mick.”

“No y/n please I’m sorry I meant they didn’t care about the sport, I never meant it to come off like that -”

“You know what Mick I don’t care how you wanted that to come across. You will never understand what it’s like to beg your family to come to your races but they are too proud to want to look like they’re leaching off their daughter. They watch all of my races, they worked hard to get me here Mick and you won’t know what it’s like because everything was handed to you because of your stupid last name!”

You had a point, most of the drivers on the grid were only here because of their parent's money. Sure some were richer than others but some like you and Lewis had no last name or riches to hold onto. Despite a lot of their names or riches carrying them through the sports, a few of them did have the talent that was needed to survive in this sport, Max being a key example.

His expression drastically changed and now he looked pissed as he replied. “Do you know how easy you have it? Never having to live up to any expectations because of your parents. You could be the shittest driver on the grid and you wouldn’t get nearly as much abuse as I would all because your dad isn’t one of the greatest drivers in the world!” Mick took a short breath before he spoke again. “And do you know what it’s like to be constantly hounded by the press about your dad’s state? I’d rather my dad chose not to come rather than know he’ll never be able to.”

“Get out Mick -”

“Why? Because you know I’m right?” He challenged.

“No because if I say what I want the two of us will rip one another's heads off and someone in this building will hear and the last thing you’ll want is for Max to hear.”

Mick wanted to continue this fight but he knew you were right. If Max or even someone like Pierre was to hear they’d smash the door open and beat Mick up there and then. His eyes met the floor as he took a step back and headed to the door. “Enjoy your dinner tonight.” His tone was flat as he entered the hallway.

Before he could even take a step he felt someone’s gaze lingering on his, Turning his head to the side he met the confused eyes of Lando Norris who was evidently confused at why Mick was leaving your room without a shirt the day after the race.

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” Lando held up his hands in defence as Mick watched a girl stumbling out of his room behind him, carrying last night’s heels in her hand.

“Deal,” Mick replied before turning on his heels and heading back to his own room.

—

Your hair bounced softly as you walked down the halls of your hotel towards the car park where Max was leaning against the hood of his car waiting for you. His face lit up with a smile as he stretched his arms open to hug you. “You look beautiful.” He commented before opening the passenger door for you.

“Thank you Verstappen, you don’t look bad yourself.” You smirked as he closed the door and jogged around to open his door.

“Well believe it or not I don’t always live in my racing suit.” He mirrored your smirk before slowly driving out of the car park. “My sister and Mum are already there, Victoria can’t wait to see you again.” His smirk turned to a smile. “How are you after yesterday.. I know I’ve already asked but I just want to check in you know?” He quickly changed the subject.

“I’m fine, Mick is a prick and soon enough he’ll get his karma, he always does.” You thought back to a few races last season when he attempted to force you off the track and it backfired on him massively, then again he did walk away the winner in the end… by cheating. “It won’t happen again.” Your eyes met his for a quick glance. “Do you think his Dad will ever get to watch him race?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Just curious what you think.” You turned your attention to him. “Is it a crime to ask my teammate for his opinion?”

“I’d like to hope you saw me as a friend and a teammate -”

“You know I do.”

“I’d be pissed if you didn’t but in regards to Mick, I don’t know. Micheal’s accident wasn’t exactly a clean one. Has Mick said something to you about his Dad?”

“No.” You lied. “I was just thinking if maybe I should be mre grateful for my family -”

“You are grateful for them and they know that, he has said something, hasn’t he?”

“No Max he hasn’t, I just thought maybe I should invite and press them to come a bit more. Mick’s Dad can’t come to races but my Dad can. He might not like to but he always has the option.”

“I think it’ll do you good to see them at a race track because at times it honestly looks like Christian is planning on adopting you.” He broke out a small smile at his own works, one which you mirrored as you replied.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Well maybe the both of us could do with a supportive father-like figure at the races.” His smile dropped slightly at the thought of his Dad but he never let him get to him well… he never liked to show how Jos could get to him.

The pair of you made small talk for the rest of the journey before pulling into the restaurant car park. Much like when you’d met him, he quickly ran round the car to open your door. He might’ve lived with his Dad for most of his life but his Mum had clearly raised him to be a gentleman. Thanking him for his actions the two of you headed inside.

“You look gorgeous!” Victoria caught sight of you and Max. She rose in her seat and pulled you in for a hug before she stepped back to admire your outfit.

“Thank you, Vic, it’s so nice to see you again.” You greeted his mother too, just as if she was your own. The Verstappen’s became your second family through your Formula 1 career. With your parents not attending as many races as other families they stepped in and made you feel like your family was always in the garages cheering you along at every turn.

“You two are dominating the track as usual.” Max’s mum smiled at the two of you. “Think maybe you’ll get your first Championship this year y/n?”

“She better,” Max spoke before you could answer.

“Well that is the plan, I’m at the top for now but that can slip away fast.”

“But you won’t let it, Horner won’t let that happen.”

You turned to meet Max’s gaze. “Maybe if you go easy on me I might be able to win it.”

“Well, that won’t happen.” He smiled at you. Just as you were about to speak another female vice caught everyone’s attention.

“y/n? Is that you?” The voice belonged to none other than Gina Schumacher. Stood beside her was her mum and Mick who was giving you the widest smirk on the planet. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” Gina was at most races but that never meant you acknowledged her or any of Mick’s family for that matter. The blonde weaved her way towards you before she pulled you in for a hug, one which you weren’t anticipating for.

They’d clearly known you and Mick were no longer as close as you both used to be. The press continued to report on it, fans wouldn’t stop talking about it and you would hardly utter a word to the Schumachers anymore. But did they know the truth behind what happened between you and Mick? By Gina and her mother’s reactions, it seemed they did not.

Max’s family had always been close to Mick’s. He and Mick would often be seen talking and spending time with one another outside the track but ever since he met you that changed. Max learned the truth about what happened between you Mick and witnessed his cheating moves on the track and that bond he once had soon died. Sure he’d still see Mick outside of work when he and Mick’s Mum would meet up but he always kept it civil which came naturally but right now Max had to force himself to be civil towards his old friend.

“What a coincidence that you’re here too!” Gina smiled.

“It’s nice to see you Gina and you too Corinna.” A sheepish smile spread across your lips, you didn’t dare meet the eyes of Mick.

Corinna smiled at you before she spoke. “Have the four of you just gotten here?”

“Yes,” Victoria spoke before anyone else could. “Have you?”

“We have.” Mick finally spoke. “Why don’t we all just join one another? Would be a shame to waste this opportunity now we’re all together?” He grabbed a waiter's attention and asked if you could all be moved to a larger table. Max wanted to protest against the whole idea and so did you but you both knew his Mum would skin you both alive for causing a scene. You prayed they wouldn’t have one free but God clearly didn’t wish for your prayers to be answered today.

The four of you left your table and followed the Schumachers to a table situated in the corner of the restaurant, at least you’d be out of the way if the press somehow walked in. You attempted to sit down but Mick reached your seat before you did. His eyes never left yours as he pulled the chair out, gesturing you to sit down, such a sweet action compared to those of last night.

“Thank you.” You muttered to him as you slowly sat down. Mick took a seat beside you, his hand brushing your leg as he pulled himself closer to the table. Max kept a close eye from across the table at Mick. His gaze narrowed every single time Mick’s eyes even dared to look at you but that didn’t last long as his Mum caught on rather quickly which allowed Mick to get away with a lot.

At first, the dinner was going fine, everyone was just catching up with one another. Both Gina and Corinna continued to speak to you as if nothing had ever happened between you and Mick which put you at ease, the last thing you needed was to be hounded with questions as to why the two of you were no longer close.

When your drinks were set out before you Mick let one hand fall under the tablecloth his left hand made its way to your leg. Without breaking the conversation he was currently in he allowed his hand to push up your dress so he could lay in hand on your bare skin. His thumb rubbed your skin as if it was a living act between two people but you knew he was only doing it to make you snap.

“Stop.” You whispered under your breath as you took a sip of your drink.

“Stop what?” He muttered back, his tone an amusing one.

“Touching my leg!”

“You weren’t complaining last night when my hand did this.” He let his hand glide further up your leg until it reached your upper thigh. Squeezing your legs shut you shifted in your seat slightly which caught Max’s attention.

“You okay?” He mouthed across the table so he didn’t grab anyone else’s gaze. You nodded before you tried focusing back on the conversation around the table but Mick made it harder than it should’ve been.

“You look stunning in that dress.” He whispered, his thumb moving back and forth on your inner thigh. “But not as good as you looked in my shirt this morning,” He took a sip of his drink. “You can keep it by the way -”

“You’ll have it back before you fly tomorrow.” You muttered.

“I don’t want it, it looks better on you.”

“Well, I don’t want it either.” You snapped at him and attempted to pull your legs away from him but this time Mick was prepared. With just his left hand he pried your legs further apart so his hand could now reach your underwear. He lightly pressed on your clothed clit with his fingers, a cocky smile on his lips as he watched you attempt to hide your reaction to the sudden action.

“Not sure if I can wait till I win again to hear your beautiful moans and feel your body under mine-”

“Well, that’s a shame.” You tried to shrug him off but he wasn’t going away that easily.

“I know you want more.”

He technically wasn’t wrong. Part of you hated that Max had interrupted the two of you this morning. Last night did feel good and you wanted it to happen again, much to your own dismay. You knew you shouldn’t. You’d finally gotten over what had happened between you and Mick, you still hated what had happened but the feelings you once thought you’d had for the blonde had washed away and the thought of sleeping with him time and time again just made you worry those feelings would creep back into your heart.

He was going to be the death of you.

Taglist: @lillianacristina @mrscevanss @chiliwhore @mloyer @eclairmcqueen @faeb1tch42069 @abysshaven @babs22sstuff @ironmaiden1313

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