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takami-takami · 7 months

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Like Animals.

kinktober day 4: sex pollen.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut

warnings— afab!reader. dubcon (sex pollen/heats, but both have been pining like idiots). breeding if you squint.

keigo's beloved crush sidekick gets hit with the unluckiest quirk possible. he quickly discovers his rut suppressants ain't shit.

Through all the horrors and adverse life events Keigo has endured in this line of work— brutal near-assassinations, negotiations with international crime syndicates, purchasing sugar-free canned coffee with Splenda substitute by mistake before his morning shift— he has always been able to find a silver lining in the darkest of moments.

Which makes it infinitely more concerning that for the first time in his life, he nearly whines through his teeth the words, "why me?"

A palm drags once down his face, thumb and index finger pulling down his darkened eye bags. His hand collects the beads of sweat and stops to rest over his mouth.

He supposes this must be his penance for taking a risk and trusting faulty intel.

Keigo's informant told him the villain he and his darling sidekick were meeting would have a limited-ranged fire quirk, so the diligent hero stuffed ointment and cold packs in his pockets before leaving just in case.

If he had known the villain was a plant heteromorph and possessed a heat-inducing mist quirk instead, and that the person he was hopelessly in love with had a bit of a crush on would be caught in the direct line of fire?

He would have brought a paper bag to hyperventilate into instead. And some prayer beads. The god to which the prayer is delivered doesn't necessarily matter, he thinks. He'd simply pick one and drop to his knees in a bid for mercy.

"I'm taking you to a medic," Keigo puts his foot down for the fourth time this evening.

"Fuck no," you groan from the couch, shifting to squeeze your thighs together. It offers not even a modicum of relief from the incessant throb. "Do you want my cause of death to be humiliation? Is that your plan, genius? 'S bad enough as it is that you're here."

The subtext is unspoken, but clear to him through your adorable pout: I only trust you to see me like this.

It's unlucky that the man you've had the most innapropriate-for-work crush on for the better part of two years happened to be the one beside you that day. And it's just your sorry luck, you lament, that Keigo would also be the one to catch you, to fly you home cradled in his painfully capable arms, to refuse to leave your side and insist on making his favorite chicken soup for you in a desperate flail of support.

He'd respect your decision and leave, should you ask him to. You know that. And yet the humbling truth gnaws at your pride: doing so wouldn't do much to save your image at this point. He’s already seen you like this, you grumble. The proverbial cat has long since escaped the bag, waltzing its way over to rub its purring body against Keigo’s leg to your abject horror.

If you close your eyes, you can attempt to trick your brain into thinking this affliction is a flu of some kind.

Yes, this is just some common cold. You're wearing nothing but your work partner's shirt (your clothes were contaminated by the quirk's dust, Keigo explained, speaking in that strict work mode voice that makes you picture your mouth stuffed and drooling somewhere beneath his desk and between his spread legs). You pull the damned fabric down over your core as you try your hardest to not writhe in fits of pleasure underneath the blankets, rubbing your thighs together for any friction against your swollen clit.

All symptoms of an affliction of the flu, of course.

You don't need to reach down and touch to know the slick would string those thighs together, should you attempt to pull them apart.

Keigo knows that, too. But he doesn't say anything about it.

You would be mortified if you were aware of the truth.

That he knows everything.

Keigo knows exactly how you ache; like you're constantly on the precipice of an orgasm, perpetually ablaze from the heavy heat scorching your body from its surface to the boiling core.

You try to suppress your glee as he spoon feeds you the broth, reminding yourself that this is just what good friends do for each other.

Friends coo praises at each other when they swallow, friends tilt each other's chins up with one finger and mutter things like that’s a good dove and you can take another as they watch their throat bob in tandem.

Friends shiver from their wingtips down their spine when they pull the spoon back. They let their gaze linger for just a second on those lips that open wide, aching to touch.

Ever the gentleman, Keigo stays lowered to his haunches and places one hand over your forehead to check for a fever, redirecting his focus toward taking inventory of your vitals. He doesn't wince when he hears your moan at the contact, even though the pitiful sound pings at his weak points. His avian instincts remind him he needs to protect you, please you, take care of you; to make it go away, to fix that feeling he knows better than anyone is aching like a bruise between your thighs.

He doesn't allow his eyes to wander astray or trail their way downwards, especially when you're in such a vulnerable state; but his professional assessment is that if he could only wet his appetite, the flat of his tongue alone could—

He shakes his head and blows a puff to cool the soup, raising another spoonful to your lips.

"Here. Another. You need to keep your energy up," he reminds you, voice stern. It's nearly clinical and achieves the opposite of its desired effect.

Your heart rate picks up to thump at a steady, thrumming beat at the innocuous gesture of domesticity.

How have you never noticed how capable of a mate Keigo would be…? He’s all musculature and sincerity, sharp ridges at his knuckles and soft curves at the small of his waist where he only trusts you to touch.

You huff an involuntary moan.

He picks another god to praise that the couch you're laying on obscures his lower half.

Today, Keigo discovers his suppressants are only designed to reduce the chance of a rut being triggered. It brings the possibility of it starting in the first place to a comfortable near-zero, allowing him to carry out the spring and fall seasons as if he were entirely quirkless.

But if that rut passes through the blockers' biochemistry in, say, the event Keigo's luck rears its ugly head, for example… It does fuck all to reduce the actual symptoms.

More importantly than his own anguish, however, is this: his mate work partner got hurt because of him— hurt being a stretch, he'd know if he weren't overthinking so much, given the blissed out panting just two feet away from him; but you’re probably suffering and it's all his fault. It’s all because of an unlucky, once in a lifetime slip up from Keigo Takami himself, and he can't detangle himself from the guilt.

If drowning in the unexpected whirlpool that is his first rut in half a decade is his penance for the crime, then Keigo will hang his head and take it.

The huff he lets out is your last straw.

"I'm going to my room," you state, moving to leave like you left the stove on and are trying to avoid an upcoming house fire.

When his hand darts out to stop you, the touch against your shoulder sends shockwaves down your stomach.

He's touching you. He's taking such good care of you, feeding you, providing for you in his nest and now he's touching you?

It sends your hormones into overdrive.

You'd do well to conceal it, if his heightened instincts couldn't smell your desperation.

"I'm afraid it ain't that easy, dove," he warns, eye contact averted. "I'd avoid doing that, if I were you."

Keigo schools his expression, but not before you catch a flash of something hungry.

There's no chance in hell he's letting you out of his sight. Not like this. You're confined to the couch while he keeps an eye on you. Attempting to fix it yourself will only make the feeling unfathomably worse, something he tries to communicate to you with a look that only ends up making him look like a kicked puppy.

You squint right back when you process the implication of his words, eyes raking down his form in suspicion.

"How do you know all this, anyway," you ask.

Keigo goes silent, hand concealing his mouth.

Ah, it hits you.

Bird things.

Your head falls back against one of the numerous pillows your partner propped up behind you.

"The couch is soft," you murmur, situating yourself against the cushions and throw blankets he so carefully arranged. You trail your fingertips along a silk pillow. Keigo slams his eyes shut.

"Please don't say it like that."

"Why not?" Your lids droop, heat overtaking your better judgement. Tentatively, you play along the bounds. You allow your hands to run along the soft divots of the blanket covering your body, squeezing your chest and pinching the peaks. "It's like a little nest, isn't it?"

His hand drags down his face before pinching his nose bridge, suppressing a whine. "Baby, please—"

"You don't wanna join me?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. It's just the heat," Keigo tells himself more than you. "For the love of God, dove, stop talking—"

"But it hurts, Kei'." It’s a low blow, judging by the protective coo that escapes his lips.

Fed up, he leans forward and swings his right leg over your hip, crawling atop you as if his body has a mind of its own, utterly bogged by desire and yanked like puppet strings.

With him kneeling tall above you, the bodysuit of his hero costume hides absolutely nothing. The musculature is quite impressive, actually. Proof of his viability as a mate— all dominant and masculine and gorgeous.

And at this angle, you can see the most painful erection straining against his pants.

"I need you, Kei'. I need— mmph!"

A palm silences you; slapped down, hot, imposing, and heavy like a weight against your mouth.

The authority of the action makes your cunt clench; and Keigo would die before he lets that feeling go to waste, so his hips drop down to grind once against it.

Your eyes go wide, doughy and stunned, darting down in haste, following the trail of his thick bicep up toward the disciplinary scowl on his face.

His nostrils flare with the heaving in his chest, eyes screwed shut with his last slivers of patience holding its grip on his psyche.

"One more word," he says, pulling his hand away. "One more word and I'm ripping this blanket off and fucking you raw."

After a moment of silence, you speak.

"Please."

Keigo is wordless when he unbuckles his belt and lets it— and his inhibitions— drop with a satisfying clink.

The reality of what you've gotten yourself into comes crashing down as it hits you how utterly fucked you are. The scaffolding of years of sexual tension comes crumbling down like bricks to rubble, a city of restraint reduced to pure, animalistic desire.

Years of Keigo's eyes darting away when you nonchalantly change into your uniform in front of him, even though he never seemed bothered by any of his other peers doing the same; years of you both curling in on yourselves at the furthest edges of the bed you had to share, cramped close in those under-the-radar motels on stealth missions; years of the words "idiot, can I kiss you," held back by your lips as you watch him moan when he sinks his teeth into his comfort restaurant's chicken teriyaki every stupid Friday night, sitting cross-legged and at home on the carpet of your apartment floor.

Not a single word is exchanged as he pulls his cock free from its confines, nearly too thick for his fingers to meet when they wrap around it. He tosses the blanket to the side with haste, dragging your shirt (his shirt) up to your collar, exposing your chest when he lines his cock with your entrance.

"Please, Kei'," you sniffle. "Hurts."

"Oh, I know, baby... I know." His lips are pursed when he shushes you, tracing your cheek with his palm. "I'll make it go away."

When your lips meet, it's like static electricity; and it's entirely remorseless.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groans against your mouth, dragging his length along your sticky thighs before plopping the thick of it atop your soaked cunt.

"So wet for me," he reveres, dragging the plump tip through your mess to get it slick enough to rub against your clit.

Your rutting hips buck with impatience in an attempt to glide his length against your swollen pussy, but that only serves to fuel his desire; and those desperate little whines only feed into his insatiable need to fuck, to breed you until you're silent.

Until you shut the fuck up.

Those pathetic little sounds are music to his ears, a siren's song that used to play only in his most shameful fantasies; the ones that kept his fist tight around his cock the moment he returned home after missions, the sight of you panting and spitting blood after battle with a smile on your face still fresh in his memory.

Keigo wants to hear you moan.

But his rut needs to fuck you wordless with satisfaction.

"Oh, fuck," he hitches, shifting his hips back and forth to the tune of the audible shlicks below. Unable to stay upright any longer, his chest falls flush into yours in a rut-afflicted haze, rutting against you like animals.

When he slips his cock inside, it's with a kiss to muffle his voice.

And he wastes no time setting a punishing pace, aided nicely by the slickness that coats the sides of his cock. The legs of the couch surely must be scraping indents into the floorboards, judging by the creaks that mingle with the sounds of his belt buckle at every thrust. You'd notice if either of you were lucid enough to care.

It's a brief consideration of a possibility of an afterthought, like a sheepish voice behind a roaring crowd.

Pulling out, that is.

Yeah, if he were a stronger man, he could probably will his hips to stall. There's a chance someone far stronger than him would hiss when he does it. His cock would weep in denial of that sweet, velvet entanglement, dripping out in the cold when he fists himself to completion mere inches away from what might as well be the center of his goddamn universe.

But when it comes to you, when it comes to his rut, Keigo is not a strong man.

He allows his cock to throb in the vice of your cunt, instead.

"God, baby," he moans into your neck, wings flapping once, twice with each thrust, shedding a few feathers before straightening out and grazing the ceiling behind his back. "Baby. Oh, baby. You're so tight. You're so— fuck!"

He's babbling, but so are you. Legs hooked across the small of his back, you bump your hips as best you can to aid in his efforts; and with your last shreds of lucidity, you decide for the both of you how things will end.

With watery lashes, you open your eyes enough to blink away some tears and clear your vision just enough. Your gaze crawls up his legs that are still clothed to the thighs, peeking over the curvature of his ass and up his shuddering spine— all to mark onto your scarlet red prize.

When you entangle your fingers into the downy feathers at the base of his wings, it shoots straight to his cock and he spills.

With eyes wide open and a strangled choke at the back of his throat, Keigo's hips stutter when he empties himself. With every throb comes another rope from the tip, sticky and excessive from the rut, mixing with your wetness as you crash over the edge soon after.

When the ringing in your ears ceases and you finally come to, it's to the sight of your now probably-more-than-a-work-partner pulling out and staring between your legs as if under a trance, eyes glimmering.

"Kei', you okay?"

"Uh huh," he answers absentmindedly, utterly transfixed on the mess he made.

It's strange, he thinks. Whatever urges his rut transcribed into cravings, every instinct that tugged at the avian etched in his DNA and called him to fill you pales in comparison to the satisfaction of having indulged himself at last.

His eyes flick back to meet yours.

"Does this mean I can kiss you at work now?"

You snort. So that's where his mind goes in the end.

"It means a whole lot more than that," you say, rolling you both over so he lands square on his back.

#sorry i made jesus canon in this fic. I had to have him say it. Okay bye!#i know his quirk doesnt work like that its not an animal quirk but shhhhhh im having fun #🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha thirst #mha x reader #bnha thirst #smut #x reader

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holllandtrash · 10 months

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fragile line | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader

You and I walk a fragile line I have known it all this time But I never thought I'd live to see it break

what happens when the driver daniel falls in love with, ends up being the one who brings his career to a screeching halt? word count: 7.7k (im so sorry) warnings/tags: fluff-ish, plot with implied/very little smut, angst, mclaren danny, zak brown (gross), some incorrect f2 stats but whatever, time jumps, really just a lot of angst, its a rollercoaster

“What do you know?”

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you, the emphasis making it clear as day that you both carried the same career-altering information.

His signature grin and comforting optimism were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Daniel’s expression could be described in a variety of ways. Solemn, disappointed, hurt.

“What was I supposed to do?” You asked, going straight to the defensive. You couldn’t be helpful in this scenario, you just needed to explain yourself. He wouldn’t understand it from your perspective, but you had to try.

“Not take the seat,” he offered a solution, as if it was that simple. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you corrected. You had no say in this. McLaren had plenty of driver options for the 2023 season. There were rumours of Daniel’s contract coming to an end a year early anyway, everyone heard them, everyone ignored them. The only thing that remained uncertain for a while was who would replace him should the rumours be true.

You.

“You don’t even like McLaren.” You told him, voice raising a little as if that helped get the point across. “You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Daniel noticed the way your bottom lip quivered. He caught the way your eyes dropped from his, even just for a split second. There was something unspoken between you, something that weighed on your mind and Daniel stepped forward, wanting to know what exactly it was.

“Zak-” you started, reluctant to even say this. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

Here meaning Daniel’s flat in Monaco. The place you spent more nights at than your own. You played it off by saying his view was better but that was such a bullshit answer. Daniel’s flat always felt more like home than yours ever did.

You had formally met the Australian driver a few years ago, but god did time fly. It was at a race in Monza. You could pretend you didn’t know the date but of course you did, you had it memorised. September 3rd, 2020. There was no way you could forget the day your life changed for the better.

Or possibly, for the worse. It was up in the air at this point.

You were new to the Formula 2 series. The only female driver on the grid as you raced with Prema alongside Mick Schumacher. F3 proved to be quite a successful stint for you and you had your eyes set on the coveted Formula 1 series. You wanted to be in the big leagues.

Daniel saw that. He saw how determined you were to not only make waves in Motorsport, but to make something of yourself. You trained just as hard, if not harder than the other drivers in the junior series and Daniel had seen that for a while. He was often surprised to see you at the hotel gym, already working up a sweat when he walked in at a little after 6am. He would be even more surprised when he saw you there in the evening when other drivers went and called it a night or even went and celebrated.

Your race weekends were the same as F1 weekends, but you just had limited ones. It was a shorter season, less intense, but whenever you were there. Daniel saw you. He saw you and he paid attention. He even rooted for you, very publicly as well whenever he could, despite the two of you never having exchanged a word.

The first time you heard about Daniel cheering you on was after the Monaco race, quite early on into your first season. You qualified 7th, not ideal for a track like Monaco where the opportunities to overtake were far and few between, but somehow you did it. And then you did it again. And you could say it was luck but it was really smart strategy and an insane amount of driver skill that had you finishing fifth. In Monaco.

Those were Daniel’s words. He was asked pre-race if he watched the F2 run and he said of course. He said he “wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” wanting to see what you could do this weekend.

“It’s not luck, she’s incredibly talented,” Daniel had told the Sky Sports reporter. “She’s doing big things in the series, and I’m rooting for her. Truly. It’s rare a driver comes around with such raw natural talent, where you look at them and you know racing’s just in their blood, but it’s in hers. I would love to see her in Formula 1 one day.”

You watched that interview clip about twenty times. Daniel Ricciardo, the Daniel Ricciardo who had won Monaco a few years back, was complimenting you. He was rooting for you.

It wasn’t until Monza, nearing the end of your season that he finally approached you.

“I want to work with you,” Daniel said, straight to the point. You were in the middle of stretching in the hotel's fitness centre. It was only Thursday, the race weekend itself had barely started but Daniel knew he’d find you in there.

You pulled your airpods out and looked up at him in the mirror, “You what?”

“I want to work with you,” Daniel repeated, this time sitting down on the floor next to you. He kept your stare in the reflection. “I’m not a trainer by any means, but I want to work with you. I want to see you in Formula 1.”

You were flattered, honoured really, but you didn’t know what that entailed. “Work with me how?”

“Well, regular fitness training for starters,” he said. “But managing, really. I want to help you with everything that it takes to move up. Media training, mental preparedness, finding sponsors, getting you in touch with the right people. Let me help you, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what brought this on. Part of you was convinced it was because he knew this would look good on his behalf. If you did make it to Formula 1 and Daniel’s name was attached to yours, he’d look like a genius. A hero. He would be known as the first person from F1 to publicly support you.

But that wasn’t what it was at all. When you agreed and accepted his help, you soon came to learn that Daniel didn’t want to be in your spotlight at all. He found the opportunities that you needed and then stepped back. He didn’t mention to the media at all that he was helping you, he didn’t see a need to. He saw your potential and he truly wanted to help you make something off.

So there he was during the off season, meeting you in London where you resided. He trained with you, set you up with the right people, did weekly check-ins, he really was like a sort of manager.

He was there during pre-season testing the following year, literally. He stood in the Prema garage like he was just another member of the team. No one really questioned it, not when you said he was acting as a mentor to you. Everyone loved Daniel’s presence there and he was told he was welcome whenever.

He was there during race weekends whenever he could find time in his own busy schedule. He was never there during the actual race, needing that time to prepare for his own, but he always watched from his drivers room or had someone in his ear updating where you were and what was happening.

He was there in Silverstone, when you crashed during Saturday's Sprint Race.

It was one of the last sessions of the day, Daniel had already finished qualifying and he was standing in the back of your garage, arms crossed over his chest, eyes glued to the screen.

He was the first voice you heard when you spun, losing the breaks in mere seconds and all you could do was brace yourself for the impact of the barriers.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Daniel’s voice came through your radio. Not your engineer, not your team principal. Daniel. “Say something, sweets, tell me you're okay.”

Sweets, he called you. But only ever in private, or in front of close friends. What started as a joke when you complained about him not having any sweets in his flat the first time you visited in Monaco, stuck.

But everyone had access to the team radios. It could be heard by other engineers, other teams, fans even and those watching at home should F1TV choose to broadcast it.

Of course they did. They aired the exchange for everyone to hear and it spread like wildfire. It was all anyone on social media could talk about.

“Say something, sweets. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you sputtered out, hands shaking as you unclenched them. It was an instinct to pull them off the steering wheel and tuck your arms to your chest, physically bracing where you could.

“Good,” Daniel breathed out a very obvious sigh of relief. “Good.” He paused, and then with a quiet chuckle added, “What the fuck was that then?”

You laughed in response, needing the humour at such a traumatic time. You had crashed before, but this was a bad one. You didn’t even need to step out of the vehicle to know you were lucky to not feel any immediate injuries, but there was a ringing in your ear and the adrenaline was preventing you from really understanding the damage your body had sustained.

It wouldn’t have helped, though, to have gotten an earful, not like it was your fault anyway. It also wouldn’t have helped if you were asked again and again if you were okay. The more people asked, the more stressed you would grow. Daniel knew you needed a bit of lightheartedness at this time.

“No brakes, Danny,” you answered through a soft laugh.

“That just sounds like an excuse to me,” he muttered, the sarcasm evident even through the crackling radio.

“Are you going to continue to question my driving abilities or are you going to send medical out here to help me?”

That whole interaction went viral. From the radio message, to the clips of Daniel accompanying you to the medical centre, to the photos of the two of you smiling in the paddock despite the bruising on your body, the concussion you were diagnosed with and the instruction from the doctor that you were not stable enough to race on Sunday.

Which sucked, to put it plainly. But you were with Daniel. He made the situation bearable. With his arm around your shoulder, he walked you to the car at the end of the day, having waited with you the whole time.

People speculated, of course. Questions were asked.

Why was Daniel Ricciardo paying such close attention to you? Why did he get over the radio when he crashed? Why did it sound so flirty? Had he been in your garages the whole time and no one noticed? Was he a mentor? A friend? More?

You had put out a statement when you got to the hotel, thanking everyone for the kind words and well wishes. You shared that you would not be driving on Sunday and you also shared that you were thankful for the support of Daniel Ricciardo, your mentor, who reminded you that even the best of the best crash out sometimes.

Mentor, you publicly called him That’s what he was, right? Or trainer. Or Manager. Or friend, really. There were a lot of words to describe his relationship to you.

People online didn’t believe it. They thought there was more because, who looks at each other like that if they’re not fucking?

But you weren’t. Honest to god, that line with Daniel was never crossed. You never even considered it. Always content with his companionship and his advice, you didn’t want anything physical or romantic.

At least, you thought you didn’t.

Daniel dragged you into his room instead of letting you go up to yours because you were under strict instructions to not be left alone for the next twelve hours should the concussion worsen.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, handing you a glass of water. “I know I joked over the radio, but I was worried. It wasn’t a pretty crash.”

“Are any crashes pretty?”

He sat down next to you, closer than normal considering when he rested his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers were within the distance needed to play with the strands of your hair.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, “I guess it depends on the driver. I make the crashes pretty.”

The comedic gasp you let out as you clenched your chest had him laughing.

“Daniel Ricciardo, are you calling me ugly?”

“Don’t twist my words!” He exclaimed, eyes squinting as his smile widened. “I said I was pretty.”

You hummed, “You pretty much said I made the crush ugly.”

“I didn’t say you were ugly,” Daniel playfully tugged on a strand of your hair. “You’re not- I mean, you-”

And then the humour faded. He met your eyes, his hand fell to your shoulder. He was still smiling but it was the sort of gentle smile one wears when they figure out the answer to a question that had been eating at them for a while.

Something clicked for Daniel. At this very moment.

He wasn’t going to let it escape him.

“Pretty doesn’t do you justice,” Daniel told you, voice lowering. “You’re breaktaking, Y/N. On the racetrack, at home, at events, you put everyone around you to shame. And it’s not- it isn’t just your appearance, it’s you. Everything about you. Your heart, your charisma, the way your eyes light up when you smile but only if you’re talking to people you like,” he chuckled, having experienced it first hand and having seen the way you don’t look nearly as pleased when someone you dislike approaches you.

You were speechless, though. Frozen where you sat as this admission came out of seemingly nowhere.

And Daniel was attractive, that was an undeniable fact, he was everything anyone could ever want in a man. But you never allowed yourself to look at him the way other people would. He was your trainer, manager, mentor, friend.

You had no words to explain the way he was staring at you now. Nor could you explain why it made you feel more alive than driving a racecar at inhumane speeds ever could.

Daniel took another breath, eyes never leaving yours. “You are unlike anyone I have ever come across and I know, in my lifetime, I will never find someone who could ever compare to even a fraction of who you are.”

There was no way you could continue to be just friends after those words passed his lips.

You kissed him. You had to. It wasn’t like there was anything you could say that would match what he had already said, nor could you even find the words.

You kissed him and Daniel pulled you onto his laps, your legs moving to straddle either side of his hips. His hands roamed your body, sliding up the Prema shirt you still had on as your tongue roamed every possible inch of his mouth.

His hand gripped your waist, rolling you over top of him so you could feel in a matter of seconds how this conversation had now taken a turn. His cock started to harden, constricted by his pants, but you still felt it underneath you each time he shifted, each time you grinded against him.

When you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, Daniel leaned back, both of you taking that second to catch your breath and question if you were really going to do this.

“Is this a mistake?” You whispered, your thumb gently tracing over his lips. Your working relationship was perfect. This could ruin everything. You had fears, doubts, worries. One night could lead to dozens of complications.

But Daniel shook his head and all of those thoughts vanished.

“No,” he said, sounding so sure of himself with that one syllable. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life but you are not one of them.”

That was the only validation you needed. You kissed him again, more lust, more passion, than before as Daniel stood up, carrying you towards the bed at the back of the room. He dropped you down on the edge of it, smiling at the squeal that escaped your lips.

Daniel wanted to worship you every way he could. He was gentle with you, with your body, as he dipped his head between your thighs, making you feel a wave of euphoria that no one had ever brought you too before.

It wasn’t until you were begging for more did Daniel realise he didn’t need to be gentle the entire night. He slid two fingers past your folds, lifting his head and hovering his body over yours, wanting to feel your desperate breaths hit his face as he rapidly thrusted his digits in and out of you, your walls clenching around him.

When he attached his lips to that spot on your neck, his teeth pressing against your skin, you saw stars. Daniel’s motions didn’t let up as you came around his fingers, loving the way your legs shook and how you dragged your hand through the hair on the back of his head.

He was cautious about doing anything else, knowing you were injured, he didn’t want to overstimulate you or cause any more pain.

But you needed him. You reached for the zipper of his pants and tugged it down, telling Daniel you wanted this, as if the way you looked up at him didn’t already make that perfectly clear.

He was careful when he entered you, patient. The tip of his cock slid past your folds slowly and he kissed your collarbone so gently you almost didn’t feel it as you adjusted to his size, quiet moans emitting from the back of your throat.

He had praised you before, but only ever at the race track, so there was something so familiar yet so foreign about the way he whispered against your skin. It lit a fire within you.

“You take me so well, sweets,” he fought back a groan as your walls tightened around him when you clenched your legs. “So good for me.”

It was safe to say the dynamic between you two changed after that night.

Daniel adored you already, admired you greatly for your achievements and growth in the sport. But now he fought with himself every weekend, knowing that he couldn’t touch you how he wanted. He couldn’t show you the attention he so desperately wanted. He couldn’t kiss you when you got that podium in Belgium, despite finding a way to sneak out of the pre-race duties for a second to run to the barrier to be there for you with the rest of the Prema team.

Whatever was going on between you, it was unlabelled and it was private. The rest of the world didn’t need to know you were sleeping with the man you looked up to, the one who helped you become a great athlete in such a short period of time.

People continued to speculate. You were private, sure, but you weren’t overly careful.

You were seen landing in Monaco over the summer. You were spotted hanging out with Daniel on plenty of occasions. Even though you kept your hands off of each other and refused to act like anything more than friends out in public, you were different when you returned after the break. You both were. Everyone noticed.

Daniel was, if it was even possible, happier. And you were less stressed it seemed. While you were still fighting a constant battle of being the only female in F2, it no longer seemed as heavy because the weight of it wasn’t just on your shoulders anymore. Daniel was there too.

It wasn’t just physical, what you had. The emotional connection you shared was undeniable. Daniel was always there for you, and you, him. During the bad days, the good ones, and everyday in between.

When you finished the season 5th in the drivers championship, the only person you wanted to celebrate with was Daniel. He was so proud of you. He watched you go from finishing 13th last year to 5th. He played a huge part in that, but when you tried to tell him that, he only brushed it off, saying that it was all you, he was just happy to be there for the ride.

It was his idea for you to test drive for McLaren at the end of the year, too. ‘We’ll get you in a real F1 car’ he said. And you didn’t question it when the offer was brought forward to participate in a few practice sessions. It was exhilarating and terrifying and you cried tears of joy when you stepped out of his car because this was what you dreamed of. Driving a Formula 1 car.

Now you just needed a permanent seat and Daniel wanted that for you too. He was your biggest supporter, and you only grew closer as the days went on.

You met his family over the holidays. He spent New Years Eve in London with you.

When the season started again, he spent more time with you and Prema. When there were no scheduled F2 races during F1 weekends, you accompanied him in the McLaren garage.

At this point, quite a few people knew you were together, or at least they assumed it.

You didn’t post about it, you didn’t want to, you didn’t need to. Daniel didn’t need to show you off, nor did you feel obligated to let everyone know you were with him. What you had was private, it was sacred, it was only for the two of you.

But of course whenever you had a good performance, whether it be from a practice session, qualifying or a race, he’d share your celebration picture to his Instagram story.

“Would you ever do a shoey?” Daniel asked you one Tuesday night, zooming in on a photo of you, more specifically on the smile on your face as you clenched your second place trophy from Imola on Sunday.

You rolled your eyes but the smile was impossible to hide as he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you into his chest.

“Next time you win,” Daniel suggested with a laugh. “I expect a shoey.”

“I’m not Australian.”

“You’re dating one, sweets.”

You never actually discussed what you were. The term boyfriend-girlfriend seemed so childish. Dating was, in a sense, accurate, but again, there were no labels. He had your heart, you had his. That was the only thing that mattered.

“The world doesn’t know that,” you pointed out.

“They kind of do,” Daniel kissed your cheek, giving your side a squeeze as he stepped aside to help you prepare dinner.

You weren’t even sure when you fell into such a domestic lifestyle but there you were, practically moved into Daniel’s place in Monaco at this point and he was at your side, chopping carrots for the salad while you prepared the chicken breasts.

“A shoey would confirm it,” you glanced up at him, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t completely against the idea.

Daniel stepped behind you, fingers playfully pinching your waist, “Just think about it. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just reckon it would be entertaining for everyone.”

He didn’t bring it up again, not even when you got third in Spain and didn’t do it. It was your first time getting a back to back podium since you started racing and of course it was something to celebrate, but the idea of a shoey made your stomach churn. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know about your commitment to Daniel.

You walked a thin line, being with him. And while you enjoyed every possible minute spent with him, you knew the world was cruel. The second you officially went public, you’d lose respect in the motorsport industry.

The only female F2 driver dating an F1 driver? How scandalous.

Despite the rumours, the correct rumours, you were still in a bubble with him. You could pretend you were just friends, close friends. The tabloids had nothing to go off except your polite interactions and maybe a little too friendly smiles and so what if you were there in the McLaren garage cheering him on?

You were his biggest supporter and he was yours.

But it didn’t help that while your performance was improving, his was rapidly declining. While you had less races than his, already your stats were better. You qualified in the top 5 for the first three races. You finished second in Imola, third in Spain, already better than how you started the season last year.

Monaco was next. Daniel loved Monaco, you both did. Everyone did, it was the pinnacle of Formula 1.

It was unfortunate that your weekends ended up so drastically different.

Daniel qualified 14th and then finished 13th. He wasn’t proud of it, but he did his best to hide his disappointment for you, especially since you were starting on the front row, P2, for the feature race.

And somehow, you won.

After trailing behind Drugovich for the majority of the race, you were starting to believe you would finish behind him too. And you probably would have, had there not been a safety car almost six laps after he boxed for fresh tyres, giving you the advantage of newer tyres and less wasted time. It was a strategy your team was banking on, waiting for a safety car. It was risky, but it paid off. Overtaking was nearly impossible with Formula 1 cars, but you had a better chance in your series and somehow, by the grace of god, you did it. You pulled ahead and swiped the lead from Felipe.

You made history that weekend. The first female F2 driver to not only podium, but to win at Monaco. You gripped that first place trophy so tight your hand turned red.

Usually, F2 didn’t draw nearly as big of a crowd, but this weekend was different. Everyone was a fan of the series after that performance, a fan of you. You saw people in the crowd wearing Red Bull gear, Ferrari merch, McLaren hats, and they were all applauding you.

Of course, you were blown away by the support. Hearing your national anthem play was an incredible sound. There were tears in your eyes and your entire body was trembling, yet somehow you managed to find Daniel. Right in front, with your team.

He was so proud of you.

Despite his shitty qualifying, despite knowing he had such a low shot at earning points at his race that was in just under an hour, he was there for you. You couldn’t tell if he was cheering the loudest, or if you were just so prone to finding him in a crowd that you couldn’t process anything or anyone else.

You weren’t sure what came over you, but once you grabbed the champagne bottle, you found yourself taking your shoe off as well. As Felipe and Théo started spraying their bottles in celebration, you poured the bubbly liquid into the sole of your racing shoe and lifted it up to your lips, pointing directly at Daniel who couldn’t believe what he was watching.

It was rancid, as you figured it would. It was champagne out of a sweaty shoe, you knew it wouldn’t taste good, but it was a shoey and it was for Daniel. Felipe patted your back, laughing at your reaction and muttering something about how Daniel would get a kick out of that.

He was right, but Daniel wasn’t the only one who found it entertaining.

Your name was once again trending following the Monaco Grand Prix. Not Checo’s, even though he won the F1 race. Your name.

Not that you really cared that night. How could you care about what the internet was saying when the man you were with told you that he loved you for the first time? Nothing online mattered, not when Daniel took your face in his hands and told you he was madly in love with you. He was proud, he was happy, he was in love.

And you knew you loved him too. You had known this for a while. Monaco was just the perfect time to say it.

After going about as public as you could without physically coming out and saying you were dating the Australian driver, Monaco was the perfect place to tell him you loved him. You were on cloud 9, you were making history, you were in love.

You continued to deny, or at least ignore, the rumours that followed, still. You both did. You were in love with each other, not the whole world. Things would get complicated if you announced you were dating. You were vying for a Formula 1 seat and you wanted it without Daniels’ influence.

But at the following race in Baku you were asked similar questions.

“Your shoey last week, did that have anything to do with Daniel Ricciardo being there to cheer you on? You two have gotten pretty close in the last few months, he’s one of your mentors, isn’t he?”

You shifted your weight to one leg, wondering what the fuck kind of post-qualifying question that was. You had just completed three back to back podiums, you were on a hot streak now, starting third at this next race and the reporter only cared about what happened at the podium celebration last weekend.

“Sorry, did you have a question about this week's race?” You asked, and when he stammered over his words, you just nodded and walked away, a tight smile on your face.

Daniel’s conversation went a bit differently.

“Y/N’s shoey last week, we all saw it. Was that your influence?”

“Yeah I never thought she’d actually do it, it was sweet,” Daniel laughed. “It was great though, I happily pass the tradition onto her.”

“She’s really come along in Formula 2 since she started back in 2020, do you think she has what it takes to be Formula 1’s first full-time female driver?”

“Absolutely,” there wasn’t a shred of doubt or hesitation. He was happy to talk about you, to explain to the rest of the world why you were up and coming and should be taken seriously as a real contender for a Formula 1 seat. He probably would have continued on if his PR rep hadn’t pulled him away, reminding him of other duties.

The next few races were similar to your first ones. A couple more podiums, some outstanding qualifying sessions, more history being made. Your phone was blowing up weekly, everybody wanted to talk to you now and you knew Daniel had something to do with it. Him constantly sharing the faith he had in you did wonders for your reputation.

You might have been on top of the world, but you were well aware you were alone up there.

Daniels’ performances were anything but newsworthy. He had gotten a few points in Austria and France, but nothing to be extremely proud of, especially when he compared his 9th place finish at the Red Bull Ring to your first place podium, making it your second one this season.

He never let his disappointment for himself and McLaren stand in the way of your achievements. In fact, you didn’t often speak about the races when you were together. You were aware Daniel was having issues with the team, with Zak, with the car, but he didn’t want to weigh you down with his own problems, even though you assured him time and time again you could handle it.

Really, if Daniel had come to you with his struggles, you would have thought twice when Zak Brown approached you prior to the Hungarian Grand Prix. You probably would have slammed the door to your drivers room in his face if you knew how Daniel was being treated at McLaren.

But Daniel held his cards close to his chest while Zak laid his all out on the table.

“If a spot opened up for you,” he said, after spending the last ten minutes talking about the rich history of the team and praising your accolades. “Would you consider it?”

It wasn’t an official contract, just the start of a conversation that could lead to one.

Of course you thought of Daniel. And Lando, having grown close with him simply through Daniel.

“For 2024?” You asked, knowing both of them were set to continue driving through to at least the end of 2023.

“No,” Zak shook his head. You didn’t like how harsh his tone had turned, having no remorse for what he was about to say. “Daniel’s contract would be ending early.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers tapping the table as you tried to recall Daniel ever telling you that he was leaving McLaren. “Is he- he wants out?”

“It’s mutual,” Zak assured you. “He knows we can’t give him the car he wants and unfortunately, he’s not delivering what we need. We had high hopes with Daniel, but the working relationship isn’t what any of us thought it would be.”

It’s mutual. Those two words was all it took to convince you that Zak Brown and Daniel had already had a conversation about this, about terminating the contract a year early.

It didn’t help that Zak brought up your test sessions in the McLaren from last year, pointing out that you had better times than Lando, even. He went on to praise what you were doing this year at Prema and said, multiple times, that you would be an asset to McLaren should you choose to go that route.

And who were you to turn that down?

A team principal of a Formula 1 team wanted to sign you. Was it unfortunate that it was Daniel’s seat? Yes, obviously this situation was less than ideal, but he wanted out. You were convinced he wanted out, that he was done with McLaren. A 45 minute conversation with Zak Brown convinced you of that.

You should have been wary when at the end of the conversation he said, “Don’t tell anyone about this, yet. You know how the public can be, let’s just keep this to ourselves for the meantime.”

“But I can talk to Dan, right?” You asked.

Zak knew you were dating Daniel, it was a little harder to hide that from his team than it was the rest of the world. Maybe that’s why hesitated before answering, knowing that keeping a secret, something as big as this, from a partner had the potential to cause chaos.

But he shook his head, “Between us, yeah?”

And you listened to him. You wanted that Formula 1 seat so of course you followed orders.

You desperately wanted to talk to Daniel about it, but you knew you couldn’t. And either he sensed that something was off, or he was dealing with his own problems again and wouldn’t share, you really couldn’t tell when the summer break started and things just seemed…different.

You didn’t go to Monaco for starters, even though Daniel invited you to. But there were so many meetings with Zak and the board at McLaren that it made more sense for you to stay in London for the start of the break.

Daniel didn’t call as often and you wanted to give him space, knowing that this break was probably needed for him. You expected he was out with friends, letting loose, getting the weight of a horrible season off his back even if just temporarily.

The plan was to go to Monaco for the last week and a half and then travel to Belgium together. You had to delay that plan, however, when Zak called you and said it was official.

The 2023 seat was yours.

You wanted to celebrate, with Daniel, but how could you celebrate with the person you were replacing?

It was strange that Daniel had said nothing to you about leaving the team during the summer break, especially since Zak had said time and time again they were on the same page, that Daniel was ready to leave. The only thing that crossed your mind was he was given strict instructions to not say anything to anyone either, at least until McLaren went public with the news.

But with it being official, with you having just signed on the dotted line, you were tired of keeping it to yourself. You may not have been able to share the news with anyone else, but you had a right to have a conversation with Daniel about it.

You didn’t know how he would react. Surely he’d be happy for you, right? You were getting a seat in Formula 1, something that both of you desperately wanted to happen. And again, you were under the impression the departure from McLaren was mutual. He would be happy that someone he loved was taking his seat, right?

Right?

You had to tell yourself that the entire ride over to his place. You unlocked the front door to his building and took the elevator up to the fourth level. You didn’t think to knock, knowing he never locked it when he was home so you pushed open the door and stepped in, your suitcase trailing behind you.

You were happy to see him. He was always a breath of fresh air, despite the odd distance between you, you still loved him. You always would. He muted whatever was playing on the screen and stood up from the couch when he heard you walk in.

Usually, Daniel would greet you with a kiss.

Usually, he’d be smiling so hard his jaw would be hurting.

Usually, he was happy to see you.

You left the suitcase by the door and met him halfway, only he stopped walking when there was about a foot of space between your bodies. To you, it felt like you were still miles apart.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Your heart sank.

You had convinced yourself, Zak had convinced you, the whole back of house team had convinced you, that Daniel was aware of this upcoming change. That the termination was mutual. You taking his seat might have been a surprise, but it was never supposed to be a blindside.

“What do you know?” you asked.

“What do you know?” Daniel repeated the question back to you.

You were both fully aware of the exact same information. Daniel was leaving. You were taking his seat. Only, you had been informed this much earlier than he had.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Not take the seat,” he scoffed. “My god, I mean, they’re cutting my contract early, Y/N. For you.”

“For the sake of the team,” you said and then added, “You don’t even like McLaren. You’ve struggled with this team since day one.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stop racing.”

“McLaren is not the team for you and you know this.”

Daniel scoffed, eyebrows twitching, “Did Zak tell you to say that?”

“Zak-” you started, finding it difficult to hold his stare. This wasn’t the Daniel you knew. “-he doesn’t know I’m here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to talk to you or anyone about it, not until your announcement comes out.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a few steps away from you. It hurt, watching as he tried to physically distance himself from you. Like being in too close of proximity would set him off.

“I struggled with the team, yes, but I’m not ready to give up racing. You have now left me without a seat.”

It was easy for Daniel to blame you, you were standing right in front of him. You were quite literally the driver set to replace him.

But the real villain was Zak, for not having opened up this line of communication earlier. For making you believe everyone was on the same page. It was Zak’s fault for rushing to end the contract with Daniel instead of putting in the effort to work with him. He saw the shiny new toy that was you, that Daniel helped create, and he wasn’t going to let someone else take it first.

Daniel wanted to blame himself too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that until much later. He was the one who did everything he could to help you grow in this sport. He was the one who introduced you to Zak and the rest of the McLaren team. He was the one who got you in the car for the practice sessions, his car. Foreshadowing at its finest.

“You are unbelievable,” Daniel spoke quietly, heated with anger but his words were like ice as they sunk deep into you. “After everything I’ve done to help you for you to betray me like this, I just- I don’t think-”

You knew where this was going and you wanted to put a pin in it before he could finish any of his thoughts.

“Don’t finish that sentence, Daniel,” you whispered. “Please. Please, we can figure something out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” his mind was made up. “You took my seat.”

“Wouldn’t you rather it me than someone you don’t know? Someone you don’t trust?” You tried to turn this around, have him look at the positives, if there were any. “Daniel, everyone on the grid loves you, you’ll find a new team. One that helps you grow and get to where you want. McLaren isn’t that, we both know it.”

“I think you should go,” was his only response.

“If I hadn’t signed that contact, someone else would have,” you pointed out, grasping at straws here, painfully honest straws, but straws nonetheless. “Piastri, O’Ward…McLaren had options, Dan. Aren’t you at least happy for me that I out-qualified all of those guys?”

Daniel actually laughed, “You want me to be happy for you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Dan-”

“Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You need to,” he was stern. He was angry. He was done. With you, with the team, with everything he used to love and cherish. He was done.

You thought you knew Daniel. You thought you knew how this conversation would play out. You figured it would still be rocky, but god you now realised how naive you were to believe you could still make things work.

“I love you,” you told him, because what else could you say except remind him that you were so hopelessly in love with him, that he was all you would ever want in life.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true, was it?

You wanted a seat in Formula 1 too. You just never thought you’d have to sacrifice one dream for the other.

Daniel’s stare was cold. He only looked away for a second to nod his head towards the door behind you, “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have done this.”

You stepped forward, desperate at this point because how could he do this? How could he throw away what you had, over a seat?

Or was it you, who had ultimately thrown away what you had when you sat down with Zak Brown all those weeks ago?

It pained you to think about the strong possibility of that being the case.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, because you were. You were sorry about how this turned out, how he was betrayed, how this was coming to an end. You grabbed hold of your suitcase and nodded, backing up towards the door, “I really am sorry, Dan.”

He didn’t believe you. Why would he? In his eyes, Formula 1 was more important to you than he was. A career decision that benefited you, but ruined him, mattered more than your relationship. It was a bold move, a cold move, one that you didn’t think would lead to this.

Neither of you could have predicted this. On September 3rd, 2020, when Daniel first said he wanted to work with you, neither of you thought it would end like this.

Just as you grabbed the handle of the door, Daniel opened his mouth, wanting to get the final word in. And you really wished he hadn’t because those final words destroyed you.

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I never thought you would turn out to be one of them.”

You said nothing. You walked out of that Monaco flat with your head low and your heart even lower. You couldn’t even be excited about the next season, or the remainder of this one where you had the potential to finish in the top three.

You weren't happy, you were empty, you were defeated. And painfully so, you were also still in love.

Despite what was said, you knew it would take a while to get over Daniel. He was your rock for so long, he was always there for you and even though he could disappear without so much as a second thought, your feelings couldn’t, the memories couldn’t. It would take a long time until you felt whole again.

You didn’t know it yet, but the decision to take that McLaren seat would haunt you as you moved forward in your career.

This was not going to be the last time you ever saw Daniel.

part 2 haunted

#daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo one shot #danny ric #dr3 #f1 one shot #f1 fics #formula 1 x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo au

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belokhvostikova · 7 months

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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Mentions of drugs/drug dealing, alcohol consumption, and mentions of sexual favors.

Eddie Munson always liked talking about you.

When in situations as such—slumped into the worn couch with his legs spread wide, and an arm over the back to accommodate the red solo cup filled with the bourbon liquid in hand—pointing you out to whichever friend of his was closest, so his buddy could get a view of what he got to lavish in a couple times a week. And they didn't.

Because you'd never do that to him. No matter the lack thereof label, you'd never betray him. And Eddie Munson really liked that.

On the humid spring night, Reefer Rick had just escaped his four year conviction of Indiana's statute of limitation on drug possession. Defying the advice of his parole officer, a party had been sought out in the crowded woods of Lover's Lake to welcome his newfound freedom.

Being the tightest of buddies, you knew Eddie would be in attendance. And he knew you knew he'd be there. It was your coyness of avoiding his presence that made you that much more alluring, pissing him off in the best way possible; lip-bitingly enticing.

So when you were in the kitchen, speaking to some nobody, Eddie and his friend would watch. His buddy's eyes following the curve of your body, as Eddie detailed just how much you were willing to do for a free exchange of weed, but only for him. Eddie would pick up on how his friend's breath would hitch, as he spoke about the innocence of it starting out with a kiss to you hungrily bouncing on him until the night bled dark. "God, she's my special little customer." He'd groan in his friend ear, because nothing spurred him on more than the fact that he got to revel in what all the other guys wanted.

Because he had you, and you had him.

And what was his friend's name again? Oh, yeah... Steve Harrington. The notorious king known to have women wrapped around his finger. So maybe that's why talking to Steve turned him on a bit more than usual. Sure the man was undeniably pretty (that'd be a discussion for another day), but seeing Steve salivate for you was quite incredible when you'd want nothing to do with the ladies man, because standing in front of you was Eddie Munson, your something.

Despite the filled cup in hand, Eddie slapped Steve's chest to derail his attention away from you. "Come on, need a drink." It was very obvious that that was never the agenda, when Eddie steps had fallen straight to your path. "Havin' an awful lotta fun, aren't you?" You heard his baritone voice speak to you, as he perched himself against the kitchen counter next to you.

As if on cue, your friend knew to leave you be. And, of course, you beamed at him, nodding your head as you took a sip of your drink, letting your eyes cast upon him. "Havin' fun ignorin' me?" He smugly looked down on you.

Your head leaned seductively. "I'm not ignoring you." While taking him in, your eyes landed behind him, falling on the looming figure of Steve Harrington, where you watched his eyes rake you down before meeting you.

Eddie watched from his peripheral, grinning with a smile on his face as he restrained himself from hurting his friend. His jealously evident in his sudden bluntness. "You like Harrington?" Steve, of course, smirked.

Your attention fell back on Eddie, and it irked him just how easily you caught on to his possessiveness. "No." And there it was. The big, fat ego boost that made his cock twitch.

Men were really weird. The insult had, for whatever reason, Steve Harrington smiling down at you. "Well, that's just not fair." He ticked. "You guys can't have fun, if I can't."

"There're lots of other pretty girls around here." You offered. Eddie chuckled, slamming a rough hand to Steve's shoulder. "Lots of other pretty girls." He patronized with a shit-eating grin.

Steve scoffed, playfully flipping him the bird as an unspoken "you win" to the man who got to have you, before leaving you two to be. Eddie's arms managed to cage you against the counter, before his lips met your ear. "I really don't like you ignorin' me, sweetheart." He scolded you.

You whined with jutted lips. "I wasn't." A lie to entice him. Eddie looked you in the eye. "I don't like guys lookin' at you, either." You rolled your own, peering behind you to the crowd of people invading Reefer Rick's house.

"No one is-"

"Oh, but they are, baby." He was quick to coo at you. "See, you're just this pretty, little thing, you don't know how filthy guys think. But believe me, baby," his forehead leaned against yours, "I do."

You quieted your voice. "And... what do you think?"

"What do I think? Well, I think I got this pretty girl in front of me, who I kiss, and, y'know... touch," he huffed his breath against your lips, "and I think that I don't like the idea of some other fucking guy gettin' to do the same." He spat sternly. "So what the fuck does that make you?"

Your breath heaved. "Um, y-you're girlfriend?"

"My girlfriend, yeah, that's right." He nodded.

"Are you asking me?" You questioned him. His lips crashed down before you could think, letting his taste of the alcohol he abandoned just to speak to you, invade your mouth. A connection so deep, his work had you moaning against him, as his hand indented the back of your neck to keep you from leaving him.

Eddie Munson was eating you alive. "No. I'm telling you."

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | When has a situationship ever ended nicely? Never. So here you go, happiness.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader

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cinnamostar · 4 months

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six dates to fall in love

part one. part two (here). part three. part four.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 2.3k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), cursing, one gorey joke thing, arguing, angsty, they're each other's biggest haters, let me know if i missed anything !!

a/n : this parts shorter unfortunately but i hope u like it! likes, reblogs, and feedback appreciated. pls read part one first if you havent! well. now theres a whole new hurdle for these two to conquer heh... this part is a lot shorter, so sorry for that but i felt like it was best to keep it at this length :o

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“He said what?” Chan asked, shock coloring his voice as you updated him on the night’s events, and how absolutely insufferable Hyunjin was.

“I’m telling you, that guy’s a dickhead,” you mumbled angrily on the phone, shuffling through your apartment as you discarded your outfit and headed into the shower.

Chan took in a deep breath from the other side of the line, “Well, I knew that already, but that was just a new low.” You hummed in agreement, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, whatever. I just have a bad feeling this isn’t going to work out in our favor.”

“You never know, maybe tomorrow will go a lot better, Y/N!”

You smiled at Chan’s attempts to lighten the mood, “I seriously doubt it, but I will try to put my faith in you and this plan of yours,” you sighed, “Well, I’m going to shower and go to bed, thanks for listening.”

“Always, Y/N. Tomorrow will be better, okay?”

“Right, good night, Chan.”

“Good night!”

God, you could only hope that Chan was right.

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You were definitely having a severe case of deja vu as you sat at your local coffee shop, a pistachio latte in hand as you waited for Hyunjin to arrive for your second date of the week. You both had agreed over text this morning that you’d meet at 12:30pm, but it was nearly 1pm and there was no sign of Hyunjin. Great, you thought to yourself, as it seems like his inconsideration was not limited to just your feelings, but also your time.

He most definitely was doing this on purpose, there was no way this wasn’t just one of his other tactics to get under your skin before even arriving. Was this how every date was going to be like this entire week? You wasting fifteen to thirty minutes of your life waiting for some conceited asshole to make it, even though he was the one to pick and agree on a time. This was ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but feel peeved as you watched the cafe’s clock tick by, mentally noting how much time had passed at every minute. Maybe it was best to go home, maybe this whole dating thing wasn’t going to work out and it was best to just cut your losses.

Right, going home sounded nice and at least you wouldn’t be losing time on some bumbling idiot. You let out a sharp exhale as you stood up, grabbing your bag and drink to make your way out, but as you turned around, you were met with Hyunjin, who was standing a few feet away from your table with his own drink in hand.

With an eyebrow cocked up, he mockingly cooed, “Aw, you were going to ditch me on our date?”

You rolled your eyes in frustration, an exasperated sigh escaping you as you sluimped back in your seat, motioning Hyunjin to take his seat with a hint of sass in your gestures, “Oh, right, I was the one ditching you, not the other way around.”

“I did not ditch you, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re thirty minutes late, Hwang,” you deadpanned.

“Better late than never, no?” he smirked, taking delight in how easy it was to rile you up with such little effort on his end.

You pursed your lips as you glared at the man who sat across from you, a small ‘hmph’ leaving you, “Whatever.”

Much like the day before, the familiar tense atmosphere took its place once more as you both sat quietly in your own seats, occasionally taking a sip of coffee every now and then. Having Hyunjin in your company was torturous, it was almost as if he held you captive in the most miserable week of your life and he made no attempt to make it the least bit enjoyable.

You, once more, decided to remain quiet, allowing Hyunjin to be the one to make any conversation since he seemed to be the one struggling the most with this arrangement. It was best to let him go at his own speed, right? Although that did not stop the displeased look from leaving your features, your eyebrows remained furrowed since the moment you were made aware of his presence.

Hyunjin let out a gentle huff, placing his drink down as he analyzed yor features, “Do you always have this much attitude?”

Rolling your eyes, you responded sternly, “When it comes to you, yes.”

“Right, because I’m the problem,” murmured Hyunjin sarcastically.

“Glad you know.”

Hyunjin bit the inside of his cheek, lost in thought as he tried to figure out the right string of words to say, ones that wouldn’t kindle the already burning heat of hatred you had for him. The silence was unbearably uncomfortable, restricting him of any chance to catch his breath as anxiety and trepidation took over him. He despised this, he hated having to always be on guard around you and it was getting overwhelming, despite it only being the second day of this so-called plan. Hyunjin wasn’t dumb though, while he may be upset with these current circumstances, he would be an idiot to not take advantage of it. His plan was simple, all he had to do was get under your skin as much as he can throughout this week in hopes you’d decide to drop out of the project altogether, which would mean he would no longer have to worry about getting kicked off the shoot if they only had to replace you, he thought.

Unfortunately, you were as hard-headed as a bull, bulldozing over any hope Hyunjin had as your stubbornness made itself apparent through your countless attempts to speak to him last night. Though, something had to be working, he thought, as you reached a standstill of quietness in the middle of this bustling coffee shop.

The coffee shop was brimming with life, fellow patrons laughing with their company and baristas shouting out names to orders as the espresso machines and blenders whirred in the background. It was a relaxing, welcoming, and cozy environment which sharply juxtaposed the energy emanating off you and Hyunjin. If anything, you and Hyunjin would be more fitting standing outside in the cold, icy, and piercing winter winds as you exchanged hardened gazes, neither wavering from their stance. Anyone who stepped within a three foot radius of you both would feel instant chills due to the intensity of the situation, yet, everyone was too absorbed in their own world to pay attention to the mental battle you and Hyunjin were engaged in.

“What did I ever do to you?”

The sudden question surprised Hyunjin, effectively drawing him out of his stupor as his gaze softened at the vulnerability in your tone and the slight quiver to your voice, though your features remained in the permanent scowl that seemed to falter ever-so slightly. This was new, this was something Hyunjin had never seen from you before and it made his heart ache to hear the confusion and uncertainty reverberate from your words. This show of weakness from you should be something he celebrates though, this means his attempts to push you away from this project had to be working, yet why did he feel so guilty? Why did he feel his stomach drop slightly when he heard you tremble over your words? Moreso, why were you asking him that?

Hyunjin’s face contorted with perplexity, “You’re seriously asking that?”

Your frown changed into one of curiosity, not entirely understanding what Hyunjin meant by his question, “... What?”

Hyunjin could only return your confused gaze, your cluelessness only seemed to light a fire under him as fury began to settle in his eyes, “You’re joking, right?”

Taken aback, your mouth struggled to form any words as your brain tried to rack through your memories, searching for a moment in time that you could’ve upset or hurt Hyunjin back then, but there was nothing. You were drawing a blank and could only wonder what you could’ve possibly done to cause this kind of rage in Hyunjin. You spoke cautiously, afraid the wrong words could escalate the situation as you desperately did not want to call attention to you two, “I’m sorry… I don’t… know what you’re talking about.”

Hyunjin could only wear a baffled look in his face, scanning your eyes to only find you were being truthful, no sign of deceit and you were not feigning ignorance, you were genuinely lost at his sudden outburst. He couldn’t believe it, had his version of reality been entirely false this whole time? Up to this point, he had scrutinized you as a villain, one of the worst in the industry, yet the thread that held this belief was quickly unraveling as he took in the innocence your eyes conveyed, a silent plea for him to not doubt your honesty.

“Weren’t you the one…” Hyunjin questioned, uncertainty in his voice, “Didn’t you sabotage me from getting that role on Director Han’s project?”

“Huh?”

That was all you could muster out, your jaw dropping at the sudden accusation, “What the fuck are you talking about, Hwang?”

“I saw you talking to him on the set of your first film project together! Just a few days after my audition,” he spoke firmly, doing his best to remain steadfast in his perception of events.

“Yes, I did speak to him. In fact, Hyunjin,” you spat his name out, anger burning in your eyes as you tried to keep your voice down, “I was telling him how much of a joy you were to work with and was recommending him to cast you.”

“You’re lying.”

You stood up suddenly from your seat, hands flat against the table, refusing to listen to Hyunjin’s fictitious words and accusations as you felt yourself ready to explode, struggling to keep the heated discontentment you felt contained. Has this really been the reason why Hyunjin had been so cruel to you all these years? Over some dumb hunch that had no weight to it, no proof other than it being a convenient explanation? Was it simply easier for him to frame you rather than accept someone with more talent landed the role? It took everything within you not to slap Hyunjin across the face as you seethed in your rage, trying to make sense of everything that had occurred since that time.

Of course, missing out on the role was absolutely heartbreaking for Hyunjin, as that film ended up being a blockbuster success and would’ve launched his acting career in a way so many could only dream of. Though, it absolutely wasn’t your fault that the director decided to cast a more experienced and already established actor, one whose name alone would’ve bought the film instant success.

“Right, I am so lying. Because there’s absolutely no way in hell they decided to cast someone who was just a better actor, right? It’s all my fault because of course, the great Hwang Hyunjin could never be a failure.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, studying his reaction as he remained frozen in his seat, a conflicted expression on his face as he tried to process your words. However, Hyunjin was a deeply insecure individual, one who needed constant praise to feel any bit of confidence in his ability to perform and he was quick to become defensive when it came to facing failure. Perhaps that is why he was so sure to blame you without second thought, someone who was such a stark polar opposite from him, someone who had all the confidence of the world in themselves, someone he absolutely envied and grew to hate over some theory he piped up to cope with his own shortcomings.

You scoffed at his lack of response, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

Yet, you cannot expect someone to just back down from their version of events that they upheld as truth for so long. He had spent two years believing this, and how could he ever be so sure that you weren’t just lying to him in his face? What if you were just trying to maintain your image through lies? Though, something about the expression you wore told him that was not possible, but his own selfishness refused to let him fully accept that.

“I don’t believe you,” was all Hyunjin could say, stubbornly holding onto the reality he had unknowingly fabricated as he did his best to ignore the hurt in your eyes.

“Why would I lie to you about that? Why would I have ever done that to you?” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes as your frustration was finally getting the best of you.

Finally uncovering the truth behind Hyunjin’s hatred towards you was not as satisfying or relieving as you had always imagined it to be. The growing indignation you felt was overwhelming, you were losing control of your own body and emotions, control slipping between your fingers like grains of sand as another wave of emotions began to make itself known. It pained you to know Hyunjin had thought so poorly of you for so long, your heart aching at the thought of him thinking you’d do something so terrible to him.

The molten lava of anger that flowed through your veins finally met the cool, tumultuous sadness your heart took on, turning into stone as the emotions fought with one another for dominance, but the heavy weight of cobble filled in the cracks of your resolve and urged you to maintain your composure.

You shook your head at Hyunjin, who still remained still in his seat, and without a word, you turned to leave the coffee shop, abandoning this stupid date idea your manager had conjured up from whatever demented reasonings he had. Maybe you should have left earlier, maybe it was best to cut your losses and accept defeat. All you had now was an unquenchable amount of anger that no amount of water would ever be able to fully put out, and this only intensified your dislike for Hyunjin.

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taglist: @kopikokrunch @icouldntcareless22 @kidrauhlschik @hhwangsmoon

**taglist will be closed at twenty users

#cinnamostar writes #skz #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids #fanfic #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #skz hyunjin #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #skz x you #stray kids x you

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mguvmii · 2 months

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口に出さない言葉 // UNSPOKEN WORDS

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎⛧₊˚🎧 Inumaki Toge [ fem!reader] ‎

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎⛧₊˚🎧 no warnings, just fluff :) the only warning would be that I don't use inumaki's rice ball ingredients right so sorry for the mistake TT

—— sometimes his cursed speech abilities were too much to handle. Sometimes he wished he could say what was on his mind, and on his heart without the worry of bringing harm.

—————————— 𓆩🦇𓆪₊—————————

"Kelp." Toge greeted softly, walking onto the training field, his collar zipped all the way up, to conceal his cursed marks on the corners of his lips. His lilac eyes trained onto Y/n, who was watching Maki and Panda train with one another, while she was taking a break. upon hearing his soft greeting, she turned and smiled warmly at Toge.

"Hi Toge," she replied back, equally as soft. Toge, for once, thanked god the collar was covering his mouth, because he found himself smiling unintentionally upon seeing the girl.

He could feel warmth in his cheeks, threatening to show when she looked his way, and his heart faltered when she offered him to sit with her. Toge took the spot next to her, his heart beating abnormally fast.

She was pretty -- far too pretty for him. he liked looking at her. It's always been like this, ever since they attended tokyo jujutsu high together. As the two of them advanced into second years, the boy's crush on the girl only grew.

The problem, one that he wished he could fix, was the fact that he had to use limited words, to avoid harming himself and her, along with everyone around. Though he used these rice ingredients, he really wanted to finally get the feelings off of his chest, and tell her how much he liked her. He couldn't though.

she didn't understand. She really didn't, and it wasn't her fault. She was desperately learning his little meanings through his rice ball words. She was so devoted to learning his way of speaking, even going as far as to make a small dictionary she had written out with meanings to his rice ball words.

She cared about him. It showed with their interactions, and the fact she had made a whole dictionary to learn for him, so she could talk to him. She looked at the white haired boy and smiled. "Are you going to train as well?" She asked, wanting to start conversation.

Inumaki reached up, gripping the zipper of his collar. "Bonito Flakes," He replied shaking his head, to deny the statement. He looked down at her bento box and furrowed his brows. "Mustard leaf?" He asked, gesturing to her bento box. He noticed she wasn't eating.

"Huh?" She asked, looking down at the bento box. She wasn't eating it, she knew it. She flushed and glanced back at Toge.

"I was waiting. . . . for you, so we could eat together," She admitted finally, moving her food around the bento box. Inumaki couldn't help the faint blush that spread across his cheeks when he heard that. His heart raced again, threatening to leave him out of breath.

"Tuna mayo?" He asked. She furrowed her eyebrows. she was trying to figure out what he was saying to her, in that context. Flushing she pulled out her little booklet that she made, flipping thorough the pages. Now Toge really couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, and his eyes were even smiling, when he realized she was translating.

"Yeah," She replied finally with a nod, confirming that she really did wait for him. "I figured, you hadn't eaten yet . . so I was going to split this with you," She explained.

Toge's heart warmed. He wanted so desperately to confess to her in that moment. it was so hard . . trying to tell her how he felt. He wanted to tell her, so he could be with her in the way that he wanted.

He watched as she split the bento box and handed Toge his own pair of chopsticks. He took them gratefully and thanked her. He looked up at her. The least he could do was try.

"takana," he started, trying to get her attention. It worked. She looked up at Toge, her heart racing just as bad. "What's wrong Toge?" She asked softly.

He sighed and unzipped his collar. He felt like he needed to give her his full attention, and not hide. She smiled, seeing the little curse marks on the corners of his lips. She always found them endearing.

He was nervous. He was blushy and nervous and he was trying to get his words out. "Tuna mayo, salmon . . . " This was harder than he thought. He felt frustrated, and upset with himself for once. he stopped speaking and looked away, zipping back up his collar.

He would never be able to tell her his feelings, not like this. He took a shaky breath in.

"Y/n," He replied softly, for once, calling her by her name. It just slipped out, unintentionally. he prayed that his cursed speech didn't affect her. he was relieved when it didn't. She looked surprised, and a little shy when he called her by her name.

"That's the first you've said my name," She commented with a small smile. "It's nice coming from you."

He looked away, the blush evident on his cheeks. There was no point in trying to tell her his feelings, not with words at least. He had to try a different tactic. Without looking at her, he reached over and shyly took her hand in his own, squeezing it softly. He was just a cute, shy little schoolboy at the moment.

I like you. I really like you Y/n.

that's what he wanted to say but couldn't. He knew that he never would not anytime soon. Yet . . . the way she smiled at him ,and the way she held his hand back, scooting closer to him so their shoulders brushed, it sent his heart into overdrive, and it wasn't all that bad. He could live with it for now, as long as he got to share these little moments with her.

"I understand," She finally replied , albeit softly. "I like you too, toge."

she understood. She understood him. toge looked at her fully, cheeks red. He smiled, feeling warm all over. "Salmon," He replied softly. That's all he could say. He couldn't say I love you, because he was scared of bringing harm to her, and really it wasn't that time yet.

Toge didn't say anything, but he leaned over and pressed his lips against the side of her head, in a silent way of expressing his feelings for her, leaving him content.

#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki toge #jjk inumaki #inumaki x you #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #inumaki x reader #gojo satoru #gojo fluff #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #yuji itadori #maki zenin

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koolades-world · 2 months

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the fear of loss (satan x reader)

What is it to lose?

When Satan thought about loss, first his mind always made it's way to that book he was in the middle of reading that he'd managed to misplace, or how his favorite pen was missing somewhere in his bag again. A button popped off his shirt, or a missed opportunity to give back something he borrowed. It was something mildly annoying at most.

As he thought more, he began to dig deeper into the definition/ Sometimes, a plant he'd been working hard to take care of would die, or one of his beloved cats would go missing. Breaking the cover off a book by accident, or the handcrafted bookmark finally coming fully unraveled. With the help of magic, though, this could easily be resolved and made right, or the way they were previously. It was something that hurt more to think about.

However, when he was having a bad day or he somehow managed to slide into the slippery pit of the meaning of his existence, loss meant more than just that to him. Mc was the light of his life. They showed him that he didn't need to prove to anyone that he wasn't Lucifer. They indulged him and his interests in a way his brothers never did. He couldn't imagine living without them. It was something that felt like it was ripping the very fabric of his being to pieces.

In retrospect, he was quite young and had much to learn. His brothers had experienced this already, when they lost Lilith. He couldn't imagine spending an eternity in paradise with someone you loved, just to have them ripped away in such a way. They couldn't have seen it coming. He'd never asked, but he wasn't even sure they'd considered it as a possibility; that god might strike down one of his own angels to such an extent of no return.

Mc had only been with him for a relatively short period of time, but he was a changed demon with them in his life. He knew humans' time was limited, and before his eyes, even if he tried to ignore it, he just couldn't. While he shared some of these sentiments, such as staying up too late binge reading and getting eyebags, the fact that they were human spoke louder than anything else. The gradual development of aches and pains that they seemed set on ignoring, the formation of crows feet and smiles lines. While he remained the same: unchanged. Aging wasn't something he'd considered until the exchange program.

Loss was something Mc had seem to come to terms with. He wished he could too. He had much to learn, even from a being much younger than himself. They had told him many stories about their life, and even if they weren't the focal point of the tale, loss was ingrained within them. Satan had met many powerful beings, but none of which seemed as content as Mc did with the idea of death.

Eventually, he decided to ask them himself. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't what they told him. Mc told him they knew there was no going back or redoing anything that has already been done, so they wanted to live life to the fullest. They didn't want to cling onto something they knew wouldn't last, so there was no point in worrying. They did tell him that they were kind of afraid, but that that was normal. Living life to the fullest was most important to them.

After that, he resolved to take them to experience anything and everything he could think of that he thought they might like. While he was a creature of habit who loved to do most of the same things daily, he began to branch out and took them all over the Devildom. For a while, many words unspoken floated between himself and Mc, until they eventually thanked him, because they hadn't forgotten that conversation either. It was that day, he realized, he was actually afraid to lose Mc.

He was afraid to wake up without them by his side. He was afraid to eat breakfast by himself. He was afraid to walk to RAD without them. He was afraid to sit at lunch alone. He was afraid to sit by himself in the library. He was afraid to read in silence by himself. He was afraid to spend every night by himself.

He was afraid to be alone again.

So, he promised himself that he'd treasure them and everything they had together, while he still could. He let them know much he actually loves and cares for them. He held them close and treated them to everything they wanted, before he couldn't any longer.

He didn't let Mc know about the growing ache in his heart as he thought about their future together.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #omswd satan #obey me mc #omswd mc

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somejazzinthemorning · 9 months

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spa'23

his eyes are tinged with pain and a hint of regret. you don’t get it. it was not totally his fault and you can’t stand the way people lash out at him on social media, screaming in caps lock, blaming him for the chaos he ensued on himself. it could have happened to anyone out there. an unpredictable twist of fate. it fell upon carlos, and he did whatever he could to salvage something from it.

with measured steps, he walks from the car to the corner of the garage. ruper clutches his water bottle while caco stands there, his lips pressed together in a straight line that barely conceals a sympathetic smile. perched on a box inside the garage, you mirror their expressions, a silent show of solidarity in the face of heartache. it’s a chain reaction, the pain echoing through the team, drawing forth those melancholic smiles.

but all you can do is focus on his eyes, those once-glistening obs now shrouded in sorrow; they seem to swallow the light around them.

you just want to close the space between you two and hug him. kiss his temple. tell him how well he did, despite everything. offer some words of comfort, burry yourself into his arms, because you know that brings him as much comfort as it brings to you. but you can’t.

all you can do is stand there, a witness to his struggle, a participant in his unspoken anguish.

work doesn’t halt with the retirement of the car; no, it is just the beginning of a different kind of toil. and god, how you wished it did, just to give him the solace he so desperately needs and spare him from the emotional turmoil he must endure.

he dons his headphones and turns himself to the screens. his lips barely part, his words lost in the vast expansion of his internal labyrinth. even caco and rupert receive little more than a nod from him. he acknowledges the fist bumps, quick hugs, and handshakes from his team, but silence is deafening.

even on the radio during the race, his voice was painfully muted. you wonder what goes through his mind when his lips are so silent.

you know, deep down in your heart, that he gave it his all. through sweat and adrenaline, he pushed himself beyond his limits, and the limits of the car. that's the only thing you're certain about amidst this chaos of uncertainty. but now, as the dust settles, he stands there, a warrior in defeat, silently battling the demons within.

every fiber of his being, every ounce of determination was poured into the race, leaving nothing but a hollow shell.

it's that unwavering commitment that shines through, despite the darkness that engulfs him now.

as he strides away, bound for the media pen, he glances back at you. his hand stretches out just a fraction, fingers beckoning you towards him. ignoring the guests and friends around, you wiggle your way through the crown, almost stumbling in your eagerness to reach him.

finally, your small hands find his.

his grip warm, firm.

like he desperately needs to find a port and find shelter.

the hair is heavy, and you catch the faintest sigh escaping his lips the instant your hands intertwine.

“i’m so sorry”, you whisper, your voice barely audible amidst the din surrounding you. the words tumble out, the only response you can muster at the moment. “it could have happened to anyone.”

you want to console him, alleviate the burden he carries. the pain of failed expectations. his and the thousands of others, wearing the same color around the track and across the whole world.

but his response is resolute and unyielding, the words cutting through the air like shards of glass.

“it didn’t just happen. i made it happen.”

so much remorse and self-blame in his words.

his eyes search your face, and you’re not sure what he’s expecting to find. you just want to comfort him, to remind him nobody is perfect, that even the greatest fall sometimes. but words escape you, and you find yourself standing there, clutching his hand tightly, remembering him you’re there.

with a tender touch, you raise your hand to his face, fingers caressing his cheek in a gentle dance. the glimmering constellation of your digits leaves a trail of comfort in its wake, and he instinctively leans into the warmth of your touch. his eyes flutter shut as your thumb grazes his skin, as if seeking solace and reassurance in this fleeting moment of tranquility.

on your tiptoes, you draw even closer. your lips, feather-light, meet his other cheek in a sweet caress.

"whatever happened, your fault or not, we'll overcome it. i'm here, and i’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, and the one after that. i'll be here the next time you race, whether you fail or stand tall on that podium. that's the only thing i'm certain about. we'll try again.”

this race broke me, so i wrote this in a rush to try to conceal the pain. ["conceal", she said.] i didn't had time to review, so sorry if it's messy and/or with typos. we suffer together, 55nation.

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fluff #belgian gp 2023 #spa 2023 #carlossainz #carlos sainz

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cod-imagines-fanfiction · 7 months

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Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend part 5 (2k words)

Summary: Alejandro and Valeria face off.

TW: Violence Link to A03 Link to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

“Liar!” Valeria screamed as she lunged at Alejandro with her blade. The hilt shone where the light caught it and Valeria glowed with the silver lustre of the weapon beneath her. In battle, she glistened like an unforgiving, merciless god. She aimed for his neck, she would make him bleed and regret ever looking at her wife in the base way that he regarded her. It never occurred to her that he would ever place his hands on her, and the mere thought sent Valeria into a frenzy. Her wife, defiled by the likes of Alejandro; a man touching her wife, her goddess. The woman who was so beautiful that Valeria could kiss the earth she walked on. It was unthinkable – it was untrue! Y/N would never submit herself to that, she did not have those sorts of feelings. Not only feelings of disloyalty, but feelings towards men. Instinctively, Alejandro reached for his handgun. The two entered a deadly brawl.

They were locked in the dance of death. Their bodies followed the music of violence and brutality; their limbs stretched out and followed the inevitable rhythm of cuts and bruises, of sprained limbs and blood-soaked mouths; of strength and weakness; of the killer and of the killed. The base, animal instinct of murder prevailed over reason and argument. In her heart, Valeria knew that she and Alejandro had never talked properly, and they never would. It was not possible to speak of certain things. The betrayal, the pain; it hung over their struggling bodies, unspoken but felt. It hummed between their yells and grunts; it leapt out every time one looked at the other. Beyond what had happened with Y/N was what happened before. Valeria knew that she had instilled a pain so deep within him that it would never heal, that this pain would be part of him forever. An ugly pain that contorted him from the inside, a pain that Valeria prayed she would never experience. But it was all worth it. Were she given the chance to go back in time, she would do everything exactly like she did; she would pay any price if meant getting to spend her life with Y/N. There was no limit to what Valeria would do. She would break the hearts of everyone that was ever born, she would cut her soul in half -anything for her wife.

“How does it feel, huh?” Alejandro spat out between hurried breaths, matching her attacks with his. “Can you imagine it happening – can you see me doing it?”

“Callate!” Valeria saw her chance and sliced a long gash on his face. With an angry yell, he kicked her and the two fell apart. Valeria crouched with a hand on her abdomen and willed herself not to vomit. What Alejandro spoke of was incomprehensible to her. She could not conjure the image in her mind. It was as hateful as trying to imagine Y/N dying; it was unthinkable and too painful.

“You don’t think your woman could ever love a man?” He held a hand on the bleeding slash on his face, the blood staining his glove. “You really think that, given an alternative, she would stay with you forever?”

Valeria knew that he was only provoking her like he always did. It was one of the things he hated most about him, how he prioritised his amusement over her pain. How he would rile her up just to see her get angry. She hated how stereotypical he made her feel, a caricature of a Latin American woman - always angry, always nagging; feisty! She hated it when he would say how beautiful she looked when angry. Like when someone scares a peacock just to see it spread its beautiful blue and green feathers; a show for the entertainment of others. From the outside, it looked like lover's jest, but she always felt the contempt that lingered beneath his words, the secret enjoyment of her emotional torment. It was his way of dominating her, by controlling her emotions, triggering them for his pleasure. It was something that made her fall hard for Y/N, how, when Valeria showed her frustration, Y/N went above and beyond to soothe her. A shoulder massage, sweet words, sometimes food - she had an array of ways of pleasing Valeria and shooing away the clouds that hovered above her. It was the first time that Valeria felt someone affirm her feelings, and she realised that not all lovers wanted to see her suffer. That there was another life to be had, a soft life. A life where she was not tormented at home, where her spouse didn't make her feel insecure or unwelcome. A life of undeniable, steady love.

She felt the same thing happen now, this dangerous game with her inner fire. His provocation, how he dared her to do something about what he said. The difference was that now, she really did mean to kill him.

“She’s a lesbian, pendejo. It is not possible for her." Valeria looked around the container and felt a hysterical, manic laughter bubble to the surface.

"She's not like you and me. She only swings one way, my way."

Alejandro dropped his hand, the wound still bleeding but he did not bother to soothe it. The blood continued to flow freely, the droplets trailing down his face and threatening to leak onto the floor. There was something in his dark eyes that was at once terribly vulnerable and terribly hard. He tried to hide it, but Valeria had already seen it. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Valeria's face tightened with a terrible grin. "You heard me. You're just like me, Alejandro." She cocked her head to the side. "Exactly like me," she uttered slowly, emphasising every single word, letting them trail off her tongue.

Her words fell and landed with a thunderous blow. They were quiet words with heavy meaning. She felt him glow with shame, which he would express as anger. Men like him always did. Machismo men like Alejandro allowed no room in their lives for something which shamed and frightened them. They did this by not looking at the world too closely, as they did with their reflection in the mirror. They only allowed themselves the quickest of glances before they were in motion again. Their lives were a blur of movement, busy lives that, from the outside, were driven by a purpose bigger than themselves. But really, they busied themselves because they wouldn't allow what they were running from to catch up to them. This threat of shame would haunt them forever. It was not possible to run forever and so there were rare moments where they caught a glimpse of that terrible, nameless thing. Moments at the bar where something frightening glimmered within the eye of another man - was it suspicion, or was it recognition? He would tear his gaze away and look down at his glass, he would reach the bottom. He would forget what happened with each gulp, until the next time.

"You don't hate me because I left you. You hate me because I am what you won't allow yourself to be. Unashamed."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said with a dangerously low voice, his words sounding like a growl. "You're being crazy like you always were. A crazy, hysterical bitch-"

"You know there's even a word for it these days!" She said with enthusiasm, enjoying how the tables had turned. Enjoying that at long last, they would finally talk. "They call us bise-"

He lunged at her with the ferocity of a cornered animal, his blood-stained hands immediately grasping for her neck. Forcing her silence, forcing her to never speak that word in front of him. It was a silence that Valeria vowed to never hold again. She fended him with her knife, slashing at his wrists. She would buy herself enough time to finally say her peace. To finally get to the bottom of this sick, perverse jealousy that threatened to ruin them both.

"I always saw how you looked at him!" She yelled in between his attacks and her defence. "I saw how you shivered at his touch when you thought no one was looking! I know what is in your heart because it is exactly what is in mine. You hate me because you hate yourself. You think killing me will make that part of you go away, but it never will. I don't care how much you hate yourself, but it is NOT my problem. And it is certainly not my wife's problem!" Her words were drowned by his hands at her throat. Hands that were leaking blood like a river, shaky hands that would make her go quiet if it was the last thing they ever did.

" I am not like you!" He choked out the words. "I am a man."

His grip eased slightly, giving her only enough time to say one thing: "Rudolfo is a man too, but you still love him."

For the first time in her life, she felt that she would really die this time. She had cheated death many times before, but there was no more running from it this time. She would be one more body to the pile that shamed, repressed men created during their lifetime. A pile of murdered ex-lovers lest the world find out they had been loved, and of people who knew the truth and threatened to reveal it. Alejandro, wounded and bleeding out, was content to spend the last scrap of his energy choking her. His heart was beating so fast, he could hardly hear anything above the ringing in his ears. That deafening ringing noise and the feeling of Valeria's body underneath him were the only things he could feel.

And so he didn't hear the sound of creaking metal as the door was opened. He didn't hear someone yell at him to get off her. She was an important informant, after all. This whole mess was so that the Army could finally gain some intel on Hassan and the missiles, and here was the Colonel murdering their best chance at tracking those weapons. But Alejandro heard nothing, not the first pleas and the subsequent commands. He did not hear Rudolfo or Soap yelling. Nor did he hear heavy footsteps approaching and Commander Grave's rifle as it was raised above his head and brought down with more force than was needed. Alejandro's body flayed to the side, yet he held on.

"Damn it, you son of a bitch, I said get off!" Commander Grave's voice thundered within the container as he dragged Alejandro off of Valeria.

Rudolfo was at Alejandro's side at once, already beginning to patch up his wounds. As Valeria was being revived by someone else, Alejandro felt her cold, sardonic gaze on him. He could feel the satisfaction radiating off her, her 'I told you so.' Instinctively, he rejected Rudolfo's first aid. "Quítate," he mumbled and shrugged off any attempts at patching up his slit wrists, or his damaged face. Rudolfo's flinched away from Alejandro and turned to Valeria.

"Valeria Garza, you are now in the custody of the Mexican Army," said Rudolfo as he pulled out a set of handcuffs from his back pocket. "You're going to prison for what you did." He helped her get up and placed the cuffs on her as she gained her footing.

She was expressionless, shaky from her proximity to death. She could only utter one thing. "My wife."

Rudolfo nodded solemnly. "She is in custody waiting for you."

"If she's hurt-"

"She isn't," he said and looked to the side where Alejandro was tending to his own wounds. "I made sure of that." A ghostly smile hovered over her features as Valeria was escorted outside.

Note: I hope you've enjoyed this part! I'm very aware that Valeria and Y/N have spent very little time together in this fic and I promise to bring them together very soon!

pookie bear tag list: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit @00ops1e @lesvii @therapyneeds @lez-zuha @starre-eyes @7smexy7diva @hello-kitty-festival @konigmeu @cassiecasluciluce @gay-ass-country-boy @starwars-theclonewhore @bi-witch-bxtch @somnoslvt @ashthepillow @b3ns0ne @idiotwrites @danart501 @deakyspuff @mistresssiri @angethehimbosimp @@sae1kie

#cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty valeria #cod imagine #valeria garza #cod valeria #valeria garza x reader #valeria x female reader #valeria x reader

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opal-owl-flight · 10 days

Text

Making up for lost time.

3 always believed in 4. They even hoped shed exceed them, and not make the same mistakes they did.

Maybe if they trained her enough, she wouldnt be broken like they are.

More deets below the cut, regarding 3 and their current status with inknemia...

Ive given them angst abt their contribution to 4's state. And abt their anxieties on being a perfect enough ageng so they never fail, so the (fragile) world, their way of life, is always safe

However.

After OE, 3 was able to continue going on patrols and missions, but something is definitely off.

Their body was still young and fresh enough to keep going despite acquiring inknemia (it basically gives them more limited mobility/power due to reduced ink capacity/density). And with 4 there, she can cover for their weaknesses brought by disability.

Even then, they felt it. That creeping feeling that this wont last.

Their ink tank was running low way more frequently. Restoring ink is slower. Splatting enemies takes longer.

4 was starting to run on ahead. A rising star, if she kept her pace, and they slowed down more.

Everything they knew. Turfing, ranked, agent duties.

Their fragile world was breaking. But only theirs. And they cant do anything to stop it from tipping into that point.

As if thats not enough, 4 left for college. And all those duties they shared fell back to them alone.

8 was also around, but she was with Off the Hook more. Shes technically not an agent...

until she became one officially, its all 3. All that work on a breaking body that cant do what it used to anymore.

They felt despair at each action they cant do as long, or anymore. Their actions became much more precise and decided to adjust. Their shots, their specials, their bombs -- only used when needed, ending fights as quickly as they start.

Still able, for a while. Still a legend, for a while. But they know. They know.

And when the news came that Cuttlefish was retiring --

They knew it was time. 1 and 2 are taking them off the field.

Its become too risky for them now. Hell, they even had to retire from turfing. (what a coincidence that the wiiu servers just died.)

Its a hidden turmoil they bury under work. Under the training sessions theyre allowed to do. Its the omly action theyre allowed these days, save for the occasional/rare mission/task that only they can do (that defuzzifier in splat3)

They miss being able to do what they were able to before.

Oh, 4 thinks shes a useless agent?

what about 3, who cant be that anymore?

At least, not as much as they used to be.

Both of them, theyve grown old, exhausted from the turmoils of life. Of events beyond their control.

The reason they pushed 4 so hard was...well, besides to keep her safe, its...I guess, subconciously, so that shed be their protege. To do what they cant anymore. To protect the fragile world.

Forgetting that 4 is not them, that 4 has different skills and limitations. They didnt want her to push herself so hard bc they did that and fell to Tartar. Inadvertedly...

They pushed her hard enough that she wanted to give herself up to Order, a similar entity to Tartar.

Just. God. Ow.

3 actually being the one who can help 4 the most this whole time

3 who wanted her to be safe. And now wanting her to exceed them.

Want to see her become better.

Meanwhile theyre sobbing inside abt how their body is imprisoning them, almost. An unspoken, subconcious struggle, which expresses itself in their strict discipline. Whats usually on the surface is their perfectionism and their worry for everyone else. This entire struggle with their body is bc it means they cant protect everyone else like they used to. It tears em up.

They are still FAST and can deliver killing blows still. But its in bursts, never as consistent as 4

One of these days... maybe she finds out during her break...

What 3s going through, inside.

3 had to replace themself for Splat3. 8 wasnt around, 4 was in college...Thank god Cuttlefish found someone....

Neo3. He NAMED this agent. Three.

That was their name...its gone now (I mean they def have a name outside the number, just havent thought of one)

I. Think thats it. These notes are kind of unedited so WOWPKSKS. its all over the place

#splatoon #splatoon fanart #agent 4 #agent 3 #captain 3 #opal owl’s nest

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its-avalon-08 · 3 months

Text

lando norris x reader part8

part 7 guys <3 themes enemies to lovers flirty interactions female Formula1 driver (warnings - slight smut towards the end)

Red Lights, Racing Hearts: Chapter 8 - The End or The start?

On yet another race day the roar of the crowd reached a fever pitch as Y/N and Lando pushed their cars to the absolute limit. They were neck-and-neck, a blur of red and blue streaking across the finish line. But in the end, it was Lando who crossed first by a razor-thin margin of a quarter of a second.

Y/N crossed the line in second, breathing heavily, both elation and disappointment mixing in her chest. She congratulated Lando with a curt nod, the joy of the podium celebration muted by the sting of defeat.

As they returned to the pit lane, Y/N noticed a tall, imposing figure storming towards her. He had the same fiery hair and fiery temper as Y/N, but his eyes held a cold contempt that sent shivers down her spine. It was her father.

"You absolute failure!" he roared, his voice thick with disgust. "You disgrace me and lower our family name with every mediocre performance!"

Before Y/N could even react, a stinging slap echoed through the pit lane. Tears welled up in her eyes, not from the pain, but from the years of pent-up hurt and disappointment that his words unleashed.

Lando watched the scene unfold, his blood running cold. The man's words were like a punch to the gut, his arrogant demeanor a stark contrast to Y/N's usual unwavering confidence. He saw Max step in, pulling Y/N away from her father, her face pale and expression unreadable.

Concern gnawed at Lando. He saw the way Y/N's shoulders slumped, the way her usually vibrant eyes were devoid of their usual fire. He had never seen her like this, so broken and vulnerable.

Max, usually jovial and carefree, wore a grim expression as he escorted Y/N away from the crowd. Lando felt a strange urge to follow, to offer some form of comfort, but hesitated. It wasn't his place, he told himself. They were rivals, not friends.

Yet, the image of Y/N's tear-streaked face lingered in his mind, a silent plea for help he couldn't ignore. The victory on the track suddenly felt hollow, tainted by the pain he had witnessed.

Taking a deep breath, Lando pushed through the throng of people, ignoring the cheers and congratulations echoing around him. He had to know if she was okay, even if it meant breaking the unspoken wall between them. He needed to see for himself, just this once, that the girl he saw under the moonlight – the vulnerable, real Y/N – wasn't just a figment of his imagination.

The words hung heavy in the air, Dutch syllables laced with concern and anger. Max's voice, usually gruff, softened as he spoke to Y/N, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. She responded in fast-paced Dutch, tears glistening in her eyes, but the language barrier couldn't mask the raw pain in her voice.

Suddenly, Carlos materialized, concern etched on his face. He held out an ice pack, his warm brown eyes meeting Y/N's. "Here, for the cheek," he said softly, his Spanish accent a soothing balm amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

Y/N accepted the ice pack, pressing it against the throbbing bruise. "He's not wrong, Carlos," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I am stupid. I am a fucking disappointment."

The silence that followed was deafening. Just then, a shadow emerged from the corner, a figure who had been observing the whole scene. It was Lando.

He stepped into the light, his eyes blazing with defiance. "Shut the fuck up, Y/N," he snapped, his voice low but firm. "No, you're not. You may be frustrating and annoying and irritating," he paused, a smirk playing on his lips, "but you drive like a goddamn god. You beat Lewis Hamilton. So shut the actual fuck up. You. Are. Not. A. disappointment."

His words, unexpectedly powerful and laced with genuine concern, cut through the fog of self-doubt that had enveloped Y/N. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she simply stared at him, speechless.

Max and Carlos exchanged surprised glances. This was Lando? The cocky, arrogant rival was speaking with a sincerity they hadn't witnessed before.

Y/N finally found her voice, her tone laced with disbelief. "But… my dad-"

Lando held up a hand, silencing her. "Your dad is an idiot," he said bluntly. "His opinion shouldn't matter. You know what matters? Your talent, your passion, your goddamn fire. Don't let anyone, not even your own blood, dim that light."

His words resonated within Y/N, striking a chord deep within her soul. The fire he saw in her, the fire she sometimes doubted, he saw it burning bright, and his unwavering belief reignited its embers.

A spark of hope flickered in her eyes. She met his gaze, a single tear rolling down her cheek, but this time, it wasn't a tear of despair, but of gratitude.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of the paddock, with Max and Carlos as silent witnesses, a fragile connection was forged between Y/N and Lando. It was a connection born out of unexpected concern, shared vulnerability, and a newfound understanding. The rivalry might still simmer beneath the surface, but something had shifted, something deeper, something that promised a journey far beyond the checkered flag.

-------- time skip, a few hours later -----------------------------------

Y/N stood before Lando's hotel room door, her hand hovering over the knock button. Uncertainty gnawed at her, but the echo of his words, "Don't let anyone dim that light," propelled her forward. With a shaky breath, she pressed the button.

Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Lando in all his casual glory: messy hair, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a playful smirk plastered on his face. "Lost, L/N?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N ignored his usual banter, her eyes locking onto his. "Thank you," she blurted out, surprising even herself.

Lando's smirk faltered, replaced by genuine curiosity. "For what?"

"For… everything," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "For shutting me up, for seeing me, for making me believe."

Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken emotions. Lando studied her, his gaze tracing the vulnerability in her eyes, the faint bruise on her cheek a stark reminder of her ordeal. He saw a strength too, a resilience that had been momentarily shaken but not broken.

He stepped aside, a silent invitation. "Come in," he said, his voice softer than usual.

Y/N entered, her heart pounding against her ribs. They sat on the edge of his bed, facing each other, their knees almost touching. They talked, or rather, Y/N talked, pouring out her feelings about her father, her doubts, her struggles. Lando listened intently, his full attention on her, occasionally throwing in a comforting word or a knowing smile.

"Yeah so that's why we broke up, he was a proper dick. he cheated and then got mad at me when I wouldn't take him back" Y/N finished. Lando laughed out loud and said, "What actual moron would cheat on you? The fucker was lucky you ever let him near you in the first place."

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to fade away. Time stood still as they held each other's gaze, an unspoken question hanging in the air. The intensity of it almost hurt, like a current running between them, electrifying and exhilarating.

Five seconds. Five seconds of their eyes locked, a silent conversation unfolding behind them. Five seconds that felt like an eternity, a slow descent into a whirlpool of unspoken desires.

Lando's eyes flickered down to her lips, their fullness inviting, their curve tempting. An unbidden warmth spread through his chest, a fire fueled by the vulnerability he had witnessed, the strength he had admired, the woman he was starting to see beneath the fiery racer.

"Y/N," he rasped, his voice thick with a mix of nervousness and desire.

She leaned in, her heart mirroring the frantic rhythm of his. Before he could form another word, her voice, barely a whisper, cut through the tension.

"Norris," she breathed, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something more, something raw and primal. "Kiss me right now."

And with that, the dam broke. Lando surged forward, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. It was a kiss born of unexpected connection, of shared vulnerability, of a rivalry simmering into something more. It was a kiss that promised the thrill of the chase, the comfort of shared understanding, the uncharted territory of their blossoming feelings.

A low moan erupted from Y/N's mouth as Lando pulled her such that she was straddling him. She grinded against him gently causing his cock to harden instantly. He let out a soft groan as he pulled her hair to adjust her face placement. His hands wandered down, but before reaching her ass, he pulled away and asked "Can I?". (CONSENT IN COOL). Y/N nodded breathlessly, while Lando's hand wandered over her ass, pulling her even closer.

Lando moved to Y/N's neck and searched for her sweet spot. She mewled the most delicious sound when he found it and Lando smirked. "Fuck darling, you're going to be the end of me" he whispered. Just as they were about to go any further, Y/N's phone started buzzing. It was Max. She scrambled off Lando as she answered the phone is dutch. Max was asking her to come down for a quick meeting. With swollen lips and a fresh hickey on her neck, Y/N and Lando exchanged glances. Giving a quick wave, Y/N sprinted out. Lando muttered, "What the actual fuck did I do?"

What had they just done? Would this be the end of everything they built or the start of something unlikely?

#lando norris #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #red bull racing #y/n #ln4 fluff #ln4 x reader #ln4 smut #lando norris smut

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apurplenessie · 7 months

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How would the 141 + Alejandro + Rodolfo + König React to a morning “helpout”?

MDNI! GN Reader!

! GN reader! Part 2 Alejandro & König. Sorry for taking wayyy too long to write, work and school is a bitch. (fellow IB’ers whats uppppp?) this one is a long boi (2.6k words ;) dont tell me i dont treat my fellow alejandro & könig enjoyers well)

keep in mind i've never written for these characters before ( also i'm not fluent in spanish nor german + english is my third language so yk read with a grain of salt). Requests are more than welcome! THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT THO! I defiently want to write for Gaz soon but i gotta figure out his character better!

Contents: graphic descriptions of oral m!receiving. Lots of boners lmao. Yeah I know it can get repetitive but the prompt is limiting.

Alejandro

You were on base with him. It had been a super slow day but you enjoyed it because your schedules matched up. Most of it had been spent in Alejandro's large office, you two sitting in silence while doing paperwork. You and Alejandro were usually loud but it's days like this that make you certain that you love him. Just peeking over your papers and getting eye contact. The smirk he gives back, the twinkle in his eyes, god it could keep you up for days. Just that image of him..

Of course after sitting down for hours you needed to move. He led you to the training area and you had a blast. Training was always more exciting with someone else but it was magical with a man like Alejandro.

The way his arms flexed when he would lift the weights. The way his thigh muscles could be seen moving in the hip adduction machine. Of course he knew you were staring and he made sure you saw he added your exact weight to his hip thrusts…

It was the subtle ways Alejandro could seduce you further. He was all talk with many others but these unspoken flirtations were his attempts at showing his attention was purely on you. And you had to admit it worked.

He scoffed at you when you suggested with a wink that you’d shower together. “Lo siento amor, can't be caught fooling around like that on my own base” He grinned “Though i’ll make sure to grant you your wish next time we’re home, ok?” He winked and you separated to wash off the sweat.

You didn't say where you’d meet up again. You didn't think much of it but after 2 hours of no Alejandro and waiting at his office you went looking for him.

Not in the kitchen, not in the common room. He was with Rodolfo in the training area. ..Cute you thought to yourself as you watched them brawl.

Like a lightbulb lighting over your head you got an idea. Finding a way more mischievous use for the water bottle you held in your hand.

You snuck up to them, hiding amongst the training equipment. Alejandro had his back turned to you and rodolfo was solely focused on taking the taller man down. “Try to catch me hermano - bet you can’t” Alejandro teased. Rudolfos eyes as usual barked back a louder response than his mouth. His eyes darted over to you as you were nearing your boyfriend. He was a smart man who immediately refocused his eyes back into staring down Alejandro’s. Though now he sported a smirk. “What's with the sudden change in confidence, really think you can intimidate me amigo?” Alejandro spat in a mocking tone. Though shortly his breath hitched and he yelped. You poured your ice cold water all down his back.

He turned around sulking, slightly shivering due to the drastic temperature change. He had barely started sweating again but his shirt was soaking wet and clung to his strong muscles. He let out a low whine “Por quééééé”

Rudolfo snickered, now behind Alejandro “ Gracias, Y/n” he tossed his friend a towel, warm by the gym's temperature.

“Stabbed in the back by my own amor de mi vida” Alejandro dramatically moaned, grabbing his chest in pretend physical pain. You scoffed and kissed him on the cheek. “Feel better now” you held his face in your hands. He pulled you in by your shirt collar and you could feel his forever warm chest up against yours. He went in a bit and licked from your collarbone to your ear lobe. Too distracted to hear Rudolfo silently backing out of the room to give you your privacy. “Maybe, but I'll get my payback sometime baby” He’d whisper before shoving you away playfully.

After a long day together you ended up on the roof of the base. It was a secret spot that was reserved for just Alejandro - and now you. As unbelievable as it was to you, it was also kept secret from Rodolfo.

You had taken two thermo containers of coffee / tea out with you. As well as some simple biscuits. But the aura still felt heavy coated in luxury when you looked up towards the sky, in the arms of the man you loved so much. You admired his relaxed face in the pale moonlight. Caught up in massaging his hand you didn't notice he had fallen asleep. Only when you heard the familiar sound of his light snoring, did you go to look at him again in his now slumbing state. He was normally cute, but in his current state he was adorable.

You initially had no intention of waking him up but that changed when he transformed from a peaceful state to a groaning stirring mess. You were scared that he was having a nightmare and contemplated waking him up.

That was before you looked down to see a bulge not present before - and heard what was suspiciously horny noise mewling out of his mouth.

You flushed at the lewd noise. Wanting to help out but after all he seemed more than hesitant to do that stuff on his base. However, this was his secret spot… You slid a hand under the blankets covering you both. Snaking your hand down, pushing his shirt to the side and rubbing the base of his cock with probably a shockingly cold hand. He responded with a little puff of air and a thrust of his hips into your hand.

His dick was warm and you laughed at using it as a hand warmer. His cock grew harder with each stroke and his eyebrows knitted themself into patterns on his forehead. He wore his focused expression but with closed eyes instead.

You dragged his pants down, slightly cringing at the thought of his sensitive skin hitting the cool night air. Your solution? Taking as much of him into your mouth and rubbing his thighs trying to keep his warmth.

Alejandro woke himself up with a guttural groan. He was quick to figure out the situation, he hadn't fallen into deep sleep. His chest rising and falling as he lifted a hand to brush your hair with his fingers.

“Fuccck cariño, you look espléndido debajo de mí~” he’d be too needy, too cocky to stop himself from thrusting into your throat. Throwing his head back as he did so.

He wouldn't care how he’d cum. Either cumming on your chest or deep in your throat, it didn't matter. He just wanted his mark on you.

“Feel better now?” You’d joke and he chuckled, interrupted by distorted breathing.

After he did catch up with his breath, though, he'd be on you like an animal, smirking in that magical way.

“ I need you baby, so so bad” He’d hover over you, pulling you into a heavenly makeout session, so close to the stars.

König

It had started the day before. You had no real way of knowing if König was just busy or if he was, like your gut was telling you, ignoring you. Some days it was just difficult figuring what was happening in that gorgeous covered head walking 2 meters above the ground.

You didn't always know what was going on inside of his head but you'd give him space if he needed it.

Going to the common kitchen for a hot cup of coffee you saw him pour his own. Taking the time to admire your boyfriend as he was standing out like a sore thumb in the small tea kitchen.

Of course, he'd know you were staring. A soldier in his rank would be dead if he couldn't notice your ogling eyes. But he didn't say anything, just turned on his heel. You thought he’d sit at the small metal table, but no, he stormed out of the room, through the opposite door. Which was further away than the one you just came from, you noted to yourself.

Ok so he was mad. While watching the instant coffee melt, then foam up, you thought of what you could do. It wasn't easy to confront him like this. You two would be texting frequently when either of you was away, but right now you were both here and it felt obnoxious to text him when he was right there.

“Man problems, huh?” You heard the teasing tone of Soap coming up from behind you.

“How do you know that?” You question him. Staring at him you knew that if HE knew - there was a good chance it ment bad news.

“Sorry i notice the 2’ meter and hell man running away from his ‘little rodent’ or whatever he calls you' You snort, thinking fondly of the actual nickname your boyfriend called you during the softer moments together. Little mouse, you wanted to be his little mouse in his shirt pocket right about now. It bothered you deeply that he was acting this way, and soaps expression turned slightly less smirky when he saw your expression change.

“Yeah i don't know he seems upset at me but i don't know why” you sighed. Soap gave you the best advice he had, which was useless anyways. His relationship dynamics not matching yours at all.

König continued to not even look in your general direction for the rest of the day. You got tired of it and tried to call him before bed. He didn't pick up. You wrote him a message before throwing away your phone and going to sleep. “Hey what's up? Please talk to me König.” Your message was left to read.

The alarm called its usual warcry at 6 am. You had gotten your hours but felt restless. The situation with König was affecting you more than you thought it would. Especially looking at your phone and seeing that König had not returned anything. He could be really upset if you did not respond to him reaching out. You couldn't blame him for his anxiety but at this moment it felt especially cold. Fuck this, you’d confront him.

First thing in the morning you had a briefing and Soap was really enjoying this new aura on you. You stayed silent, frustration bubbling underneath your skin. You stood up and left with a loud bang of the chair you were sitting on falling. But you didn't care. You didn't care if Price would view it as a sign of disrespect. That was something you could deal with later, you left for later.

This time, when you entered the tea kitchen, he was sitting there. Uncharacteristically all of his focus was on his phone. So focused in fact he didn't seem to notice your shadow slowly encompassing his sitting silhouette.

“König, talk to me.” You commanded but choked on your words, biting the inside of your cheek in exasperation. Tears threatened to escape your eyes when you saw his hood flow in a sigh. He went to stand up but you put a strong hand on his shoulder and prevented him from doing so. He gave an impatient groan in response.

“Please if i did something wrong at least let me know what” His icey eyes looked up into yours. The staredown that most likely lasted less than half a minute felt like an hour in a snowstorm. You saw the storm under his irises. “Not here” He mumbled, rolling his shoulder to push your hand off but indicated for you to follow when he left the room.

He led you to his quarters. A route you had not taken in painfully long but knew by heart. The silence on the way there was new though. The only sound was cadettes yelling vaguely in the background, the constant hum of electronics and his heavy footsteps.

He opened the door for you, the room hitting you with his comfortable smell. But you felt a stranger in the room, you. The way he now stood over you. Awkward position behind the now closed off door. The sound of his heavy footsteps had been replaced by your heartbeats. “So…” You wanted answers.

He started pacing around the room. Periodically looking in your direction. You let him think. His shoulders dropped and he stood before you. “You.. if you want him more, then just go” He took your hands in his own, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles.

You paused in partial confusion and disgust. Who was this other man? “König i have no idea what you are talking about”

He puffed in impatience “Soap. I see the way you look at each other” the silence that followed felt like fire. As much as you wanted to respect the insecurity of your lover you lost it and started hysterically laughing. “SOAP? You can't be serious. I see that idiot as an annoying brother at best!”

He gave another sigh in annoyance “Please take me seriously y/n. Don't toy with me like this” His eyebrows furrow visibly under the mask.

“Entschuldigung mein König, didn't mean to make you insecure” You stepped closer. It was comforting to know that his behavior did not stem from him growing to dislike you but you still felt guilty for making him think you had a thing for another man.

After talking it out with him you had both grown exhausted. He was sitting on his bed, head in his hands. You stood in front of him, taking his hands away and placing soft kisses on his temples.

“Nap with me, bitte” His eyes blinked tired, the blue orbs staring up into your eyes expectantly.

You laid together for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The familiar smell of him under his garments and gear. The way he held onto you, made it feel like you were two puzzle pieces joining together perfectly.

You were the first one to wake up after a couple of sweet hours. You took the time to look at his sleeping face, seeing him so vulnerable, unlike what he shows to everyone else.

When you shifted to get better access to his face you felt something else. You froze contemplating what to do in this situation, before getting an idea. I’ll show him I'm his, you thought to yourself, a smirk forming on your lips.

You moved away under the duvet, cringing at the cold air hitting your body. Looking up at him you could see his peaceful expression had changed to one of slight discomfort at the exposure to cold air as well.

Taking in the sight of this large man, in this large bed. You’d plant kisses starting from how far you could reach when still being straddled just below his hips. As soon as you’d put weight on his crotch he’d sit up, awake and alerted. He’d look puzzled, disheveled his short hair pointing in all different directions. “What, what are you doing?” He’d question.

“I'll show you it's only you who I want.” His eyes widened as you pushed him gently into a comfortable resting position again.

Releasing him from his underwear, you’d hear him start groaning. “Gott I missed this” he’d whine, already too desperate for his own good.

Starting to stroke his reddening cock, his large hands gripping the sheets. You only hummed as a response, spitting on it to lube it up.

His breathing was irregular and deep. He was touch starved severely due to most of his life spent in the forces.

His hands found the back of your head as you decided to take the tip into your mouth. He was impatient, so close already - and not in the mood to wait. He pushed you down, not paying attention to the small gags coming from you. “Gott~” He cursed with his head thrown back.

He’d cum fast but hard. His body tensed. He’d cum down your throat no questions asked. Though he’d be a bit embarrassed by his behavior as he calmed down.

He spent the hours following glued to you. Either in bed or around the base. Soap made an effort to disappear as soon as he could hear the familiar Austrian giants footsteps.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw22 #cod mwii #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro call of duty #alejandro mw2 #alejandro vargas #könig #könig x reader

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swaqcenix · 1 year

Text

࿐ྂ The Unspoken Truths ࿐ྂ

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

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warnings: 18+, angst, makeup sex, oral (r receiving), mommy kink, fingering, dirty talk, choking, light fluff, legal age gap (R early 20's Nat mid 30's.)

Summary: After the accords, you ran and didn't want to risk Nat's whole life just on one mistake.. 2 years later when thanos is needed to be taken down, you are reunited..

Word count: 4.7k

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

"We almost made it," that was it.

That was the last thing you'd told Natasha Romanoff as you left the compound.

You could see through the reflection of the glass how she was failing at holding herself together. How she was breaking down and Tony held her. You wanted to turn around, but you couldn't. You wanted to shout at yourself..

Yet, the choices were limited. You had no choice but to run, they wanted you dead after the sokovian accords. You'd done too much damage. And now Ross was sending a swarm of agents after you.

She begged you to perhaps stay, try and 'work it out', in her words. You wouldn't, couldn't do that. When she asked if she could come, you'd almost contemplated it. Almost asked, almost said yes.

You'd both just disappear.. That was until you'd stopped swarming in that stupid reality. You wouldn't risk Natasha's own lifestyle. Not after everything. You loved her. The saddest part was you never got to tell her that. No, all you did was look her in the eyes as you tried not to cry, your voice breaking.

Saying that final line broke you. Now 2 years had passed and you had to go back. Apparently you were needed, war was coming. 2 years yet you'd never stopped thinking of her.

2 years of wallowing in self-pity and anger at yourself. You half regretted your decision, but you felt it was the right call to make. You wouldn't have endangered the one person who meant more to you than life itself.

You looked around the compound, it hadn't changed. Well scarcely anyway, Tony seemed to have added perhaps a couple more ornaments and god knows what. But, apparently other than that nothing had changed. Aside from the people residing there.

None of you would have gotten by these past 2 years without enough trauma for a lifetime of therapy. Not one single person who'd be standing in this room would get by without thinking of that war. That one fucking mistake. And for what?

It was stupid and pathetic really. The world's mightiest hero's crash and break at a booklet of paper. Funny really, how words on a page can break a bond you have in years.

"Wanda," you smiled tried to shake any on coming thoughts.

She practically ran to you, engulfing you into a tight embrace holding you to her. You knew she needed it just as much as you did. While her and vision ran towards the edge of scotland, residing there for a time, she hadn't seen your face in so long.

You could tell Wanda was tired, exhausted even. Not just from the deep cut that went from the tip of her forehead across her eyebrow. That did however make you curious, but from her eyes and her posture.

You'd been the one to encourage her with vision and been the one to get her out of her room on endless days of loneliness. She'd bury herself in her thoughts, so you did all you could to drag them out. You became her best friend, her anchor she turned to.

"I missed you," you mumbled into her shoulder.

"I missed you too, where did you go?" She smiled softly, but it was strained.

Truth be told, you didn't keep in contact with any of them. So when Steve reached out managing to find you, you were at a loss. You didn't even want to go, but you had to.

"It's amazing to see you again, but she's going to want answers," Steve said from behind you.

You turned quickly on your heels and he offered a squeeze of the shoulders for affection. She...

He was right and frankly, he didn't even need to say who she was.. Nobody did, because they all knew. Trying to shake off the feeling of dread and utter fear, you shook your head to clear thoughts away, before responding to Wanda's question.

"Here and there, I didn't sit still for long. Not with Ross trying to hunt me down, not really. I couldn't afford to. I went to Budapest, Hungary, Spain, so many places," you explained.

If you were honest it sounded amazing when you worded it like that. They spoke of how you seemed happy, but if only they knew. You could have been happy if you had everything you needed... everyone.

"Right do we have all we nee-" the voice entering the room came to a sudden halt, a rather chilling one.

Her voice was always softer when she had spoken to you. It was always more relaxed, less guarded. You hadn't heard her in so long. Felt her, touched her, melted into her.. Your Natasha Romanoff, well what was yours. She is no longer and that hurt to think.

Slowly, you turned in the direction of the voice and by gods if you could see tension in a room physically, this was it. It was the definition as the air became thick and almost unbearable.

Your eyes connected with her own and for the first time in 2 years you saw her once more. Her green orbs were as the hue of the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once. There were flecks of strength, of the kind of green that comes only as summer advances. Yet there were flecks of darkness, of anger and hurt.

You knew why, you weren't stupid. There was unspoken words, unspoken truths, lies and anger that needed to be heard, needed to be told. Her hair was shorter now and dyed blonde.

It suited her, you could still see what used to be your own Nat. Her eyes flickered down over you, examining you. You almost laughed knowingly. She was checking over you for injuries. Even now, even after everything she was still making sure you were okay.

Had you been in different circumstances, you'd have approached her. Had it been a different time and different place you'd have ran into her arms and sobbed, making sure she's okay. But it wasn't, so you couldn't. Yet, you couldn't resist the one statement.

"I'm okay," you smiled softly trying not to let your emotions get the better of you.

Her eyes flickered once more, emotions running through them before they went cold. Almost black, her green eyes that you loved, still love almost gone. And your heart throbbed with pain and fear.

"So you are."

The coldness in her tone, almost made you fall back and onto the floor. You deserved it, even if you did it to protect her, because you loved her. No, because you still love her. God, you wished you had said.

Sensing the tension and the pain that was flickering between you and Natasha, Tony interrupted whatever was going on. Allowing the room to relax once more.

"So what are you saying," he continued as this debate had been going on for 20 minutes.

They'd been discussing strategies on Thanos, on the oncoming war and the future of the worlds as a whole. You wanted to listen, you wanted to pay attention. But you wanted her more than anything.

She hadn't looked at you all meeting. Well, actually that was the opposite, but she'd always pretend otherwise. Whenever she thought you weren't looking you felt her gaze hit your own.

It was unnerving if you were honest. The moment you looked her way, she'd be looking down, or attempting to focus on what Tony said. It was physically painful, you could swear you felt your heart shatter every time. Yet, again you knew you deserved it.

You knew everyone in the room was aware of the awkward situation between the two of you, but none dared mention it. It was also obvious to you that nether you nor Natasha were honestly focusing on whatever was happening.

All too suddenly, or perhaps a while after- you weren't focusing on the time, Tony stood up abruptly. He grumbled that the meeting was over, before storming out the room.

Himself and Steve had been ranting and debating over working together or not, it was painfully obvious the team wasn't a team. Not after the accords, there was so much unspoken truths in the room. That was excluding your own awkward encounter with Natasha.

You felt the heavy tension drifting about the room, not only because of your arrival and the unspoken and needed conversation between yourself and Nat that needed to take place, but because of the breaking point of the team itself.

You found yourself letting out a heavy sigh, your eyes drifting shut and body flexing out of stress and utter exhaustion. You were tired from the fighting, the team and the world. You just wanted to rest, but that wasn't possible. Being an Avenger, being an agent nobody got to rest.

You then glanced over at Natasha, feelings of guilt and sadness succumbing over your mind poisoning you from the inside out. Her eyes moved up from the table connecting with your own and darkened instantly. She didn't look at you anymore, she looked at her enemy. All she saw was just a painful fragment of what could of been and you hated yourself for it.

"So Y/N/N, hows things been," Scott said trying to cut the tension.

In reality you could tell this was going to go wrong within seconds. How were you supposed to respond to that? If you said you thought nothing but of how you missed Natasha that would be awkward and you'd need the ground to swallow you up. On the other hand if you said it was amazingly she'd only have more to confirm that she'd hate you, only giving her more reason to do so. So you settled for the most easiest of responses.

"Oh you know, it was fine," you shrugged not wanting to expand on your answer.

A heavy sigh and a scoff caused you to look at the source of the noise, allowing your breath to catch in your throat. Natasha flung the chair she was sat in back stomping heavily out of the room only glancing swiftly at you with anger in her eyes, in her face. All towards you.

You swallowed the steady rising of bile down and played with your fingers. You looked at Wanda who held a sympathetic gaze to which you felt sick to see right now. You didn't deserve sympathy, you didn't deserve Natasha nor any love. You were only trying to protect her. Only trying to stop her from being tagged along in your shit, you couldn't drag her down with you.

Wanda however gave you another knowing look, the look of she wanted to speak or talk with you alone. Perhaps simply enjoy your company and you weren't one to turn it down. Therefore, you yourself found your body unconsciously standing your feet padding softly out the room.

That's how you found yourself now, feet curled up on the couch under your body as you watched Wanda's favourite sitcom. She'd made you some food and snacks just like old times and your heart swelled.

When you first came to the compound, besides Natasha, Wanda was the first to make you feel okay. She was the first to check on you, hear your sobs and fears. She saw you and you saw her. Wanda was the sister and best friend you never had. At first, Natasha got the wrong idea thinking you two were flirting and dancing around something, causing a strain in your relationship. Until one day you found yourself trapped between herself and the wall, her lips only on yours, her hands only on your body. She saw you and could feel only you.

A sigh left your lips at the memory dancing between your thoughts, a reminiscent of only what could have been. Perhaps you should have let her come, should have let her stay rather than only saying that you almost made it. Seeing her break over you as you stood there so simply and silently leaving her poisoned your insides.

Wanda glanced over at you, squeezing your shoulder slightly. She didn't know what to say, but she knew you still loved her. She knew she still loved you. She just threw her anger her hatred towards you instead, because breaking ones heart always does illicit an unspeakable anger through your veins.

"You should go to her," she whispered into the silent air.

Your body tensed up at the direction of this conversation, not too content on talking of it. You knew you had to though, you couldn't dodge and dance around the unspoken forever.

"She hates me," you said with such certainty it was almost like she'd verbalised it herself.

Yet, Natasha didn't need to tell you she hated you. You could see the anger, the hatred, the venom in her body language. The way she couldn't bare to look at you anymore, your presence only sickening the older woman.

"She doesn't hate you, she still loves you," she urged on causing yourself to scoff.

"Nat cannot even bare to look at me Wands," you stated sadly.

"She just is hurt, it was like before, remember? She thought we were a thing she had to fuck you senseless just to understand you have always been hers," she chuckled causing a laugh to escape your own lips as you smacked her lightly on the shoulder.

She was always one to be so forward going and blunt, it's one of the things you loved about Wanda. It's what drove you to open up so much to her so quickly and without fear. She wouldn't judge and nether would you.

As if the universe hated you further, suddenly Wanda nudged you as your head turned around to look behind you. The laughter between the pair of you died down as you saw Natasha standing there a look of pain crossing her eyes. For one moment she looked so hurt and so lost you wanted to cry, until her posture changed and she simply rolled her eyes crossing the room to get a snack and storming off once more.

"Go after her," Wanda insisted standing up to drag yourself up.

"But," you began but she cut you off instantly.

Wanda pushed you towards the direction that Natasha had gone urging you swiftly to follow. Your body wasn't too content on going but your mind knew otherwise. You had to go after her. You needed to.

"You need to go to her, so do it," she said firmly looking at you.

You didn't argue with her. Only nodded with certainty and understanding. You spun back in the direction the older woman had stormed off in and began to jog down the hall.

The distinct red hair of Natasha came into view. Her hair was braided into a long ponytail, draping down her back and even facing the back of her she looked utterly beautiful. She always had done and always will do.

"Natasha," you breathed out loud enough for her to hear it.

However she only sped up her movements clearly trying to avoid a confrontation or any sort of communication with you. Like hell were you having that.

Natasha made a beeline for her room and you practically sprinted down the hall this time and just before she shut the door, your foot halted it. You jammed your foot there causing her to grunt in annoyance.

"Move," her voice held no place for argument and no place for discussion.

Yet you didn't care anymore. She was the person you wanted the person you felt and you would be damned if you lost her again.

"We need to talk," you urged desperately.

"No we don't," she grunted but you could hear the waver in Nat's voice. You could hear her.

"Please Natalia," using the one name you knew would hit her. She hated it but she loved when it slipped past your lips.

Stepping back she fell onto her bed, emotions overcoming her Natasha tried to keep her tough composure as much as she could. She tried to keep herself in hold but you could see her. You saw her entirely.

"What needs to be said exactly?" She said through gritted teeth trying to keep her anger at bay.

"We need to talk about it.. Us," you were apprehensive to state that and she laughed bitterly rolling her eyes.

"There is no us Y/N. You made that clear the day you sauntered off leaving me like it meant nothing. Like we meant nothing." She spat out pain laced within her tone.

"You think I wanted to just leave you? You think it was easy for me," you exclaimed anger now building up inside you.

Her anger you understood slightly, but she was acting like you never loved her. She was acting like you never cared. All those nights staying awake for her, that meant something.

"You left me standing there. You're a coward. That's what it was. Damn, you're weak actually. All those nights I spent caring for you I wish I never did," she said and your eyes widened in shock.

You stumbled back as though she had just punched you in the gut. It felt like the world had crashed down on you heavily and you couldn't breathe. The tears tracked down your face heavily and your throat swelled up as your eyes became glassy and your vision hard to see through the tears.

"I left you because I loved you. Because I wanted you safe. I know, I know how it looked when I left but I knew if I looked at you, if I cracked slightly you'd come within a heartbeat. I would've, I still fucking would done anything for you. I looked at you and I didn't see a Russian Spy. I didn't see the black widow, I didn't see a villian. I saw Natalia Alianovna Romanoff. Now I see a fragment of what we were, I see nothing but pain," you said as you refrained sobs.

You now dared to look at the woman who was once your world, who still is in your mind and she looked remorseful. She looked shocked, but most of all she looked broken. For once in months you saw the Natasha you first encountered when you entered the compound the one you were determined to help, to love and to feel. She saw you and you saw her.

You went to leave but it was as though something snapped inside of her, a coil turned and the wire snapped within her as she clasped your arm causing you to tense and freeze. Her touch elicited warmth within you, a feeling you'd been deprived of for so long running through your veins once more. You turned to look at her now seeing her own face painted with tears as they continued to pour down. Yet all you saw was beauty. All you saw was Natalia.

"Stay," her voice was hoarse with emotion and your body couldn't help but react to it. Your mind was stronger though.

"Why," you felt your voice speak before you thought.

She looked you dead in the eyes, only now could you see the anger wasn't there. No, pain no judgment. Just love and lust. Just Natasha.

"We didn't almost make it. We did make it and I love you. Please stay, please let it be enough," she begged you like the first time.

You weren't sure who moved first and who acted first but your lips collided as one, hands clawing all over each other as you fell back towards the bed. You did what she wanted. You stayed and Natasha appeared determined to show you just how much she loved you.

"You stayed," she whispered as her tongue brushed the roof of your mouth begging for access that you hungrily allowed.

Tongues clashed together, begging for dominance but as she flipped you over so she was on top it was clear who won the battle. She'd always win and you'd always let her. Her hands raked down your body undressing you so fast you didn't realise you'd been reduced to now only your undergarments.

"Have you still got a bratty behaviour that mommy has to take care of hmm," her voice was hoarse and coaxed in lust, your body jolting at the nickname.

You nodded unable to speak, but Natasha didn't like that. Instead her left hand crawled back up to your body as she leaned in and nipped at your earlobe, before burring her face at the junction between your neck and your jaw, nipping harshly. Her other hand squeezed your neck lightly causing a rushing of heat between your legs in response.

"It appears you have, use your words and be a good girl Y/N/N," she stated sucking harshly on your neck causing a load groan to escape your lips.

"No mommy, I'll behave," you whined and squirmed underneath her causing Natasha to pin you down further with her body.

"That's my good girl," her right hand moved to fondle with your breasts.

She pinched them lightly, rolling the tips of the buds between her finger tips earning another loud moan of approval from you. Nat always loved your moans and the way you squirmed for her. Her fingers could lightly touch you and you'd be wanting her craving her every touch and she thrived off it.

Her mouth moved further down your body kissing and nipping every part of the way. She missed the way you felt underneath her, missed the way your skin tasted and felt under her fingertips. God Natasha had missed fucking you and seeing you scream her name. She clearly had every intention of others seeing these marks but you couldn't care less, you were hers just as she was yours. That never really had changed.

"Mommy," you cried impatiently earning a light slap to your thigh.

"Patience detka. I want my sweet good girl all ready and squirming for me before I dive into have my desert," she stated with a smirk against your stomach.

The praise added with desert caused another wave of heat to hit you and you felt your pussy become wetter by the second. Her mouth attached to your breast as she nipped and sucked it in between her lips and you moaned out in pleasure. She gave it the most amazing attention, licking and bitting before switching her attention to the other one. Natasha focused so much on your breasts, you'd failed to notice her hand slipping down your body and playing with the hem of your underwear.

Her fingers lightly brushed over your clit through the clothed panties and you let out a rather guttural moan before sighing loudly.

"My my detka. You seem to be such a little slut, all soaked for me before I've even touched you hm?" She slapped your clothed cunt with demand causing your hips to buck in retaliation.

"Mommy please, I need you," you whined and she grinned as she slid down your body with an eager and hungry look in her eyes.

"Since you asked so nicely, I think I will fuck you until you're screaming mommy's name hmm? Would you like that kotenok? You screaming out my name as you cum all over my fingers and my face?" The mere thought of it caused you to whimper and nod fast.

"Yes please," you said as she let out a dangerous grin before yanking down your underwear wasting no time shoving two fingers in you.

The moans of you both filled the room as she fingered you in just the right places as before. They felt so perfect in you, fitted so right and made your entire body feel aflame.

"God you're so tight love, do you like mommy fucking you hard with her fingers hm?" She thrusted in faster causing you to shout out her name.

"God Natasha- please I need your tongue but I love it. I need it, please mommy," you squirmed so much she had to pin your down with one of her legs.

"Since you've been such a good slut and asked politely I think I'll take my desert now Y/N/N," she stated removing her fingers.

The loss of her fingers caused you to whimper and whine in sadness, the feeling of want overcoming you once more. However the feeling quickly went away as she replaced her fingers with her tongue and oh god was Natasha Romanoff talented with her tongue.

The older woman licked heavy and determined strokes up and down your pussy, causing you to let out dirty and insane moans, the tears of emotion trickling down your face. She continued eating you out until her tongue moved further down, entering you fucking you hard with her tongue.

"Oh my sweet girl, you taste just as you always have. I could eat you for hours and never want to pull away," she mumbled against your clit causing the vibrations to allow you to feel hot and sweaty.

She continued to lap at your clit with such determination and the coil in your stomach built up as you felt your orgasm drawing close. She sucked on your clit hard causing you to cry out and you knew you were close.

"N-Natasha," you whined and she knew but slapped your thigh in retaliation.

"That's not my name is it now kotenok hmm?" She sucked your clit with such hunger the noises filled the room only drawing you closer than before.

"Please Mommy, I'm close," you corrected earning an approving hum and she dipped back inside you, her thumb coming up to your clit.

"Who do you belong to sweetheart?"

You could barely process her words but you knew you'd have to respond otherwise she'd never let you release only edging you until you were sobbing underneath her.

"You, always yours," you cried out begging for a release.

"Good girl. Now cum for me Y/N. Fucking cum all over my tongue."

The vibrations of her talking mixed with the hard and talented tongue of hers allowed you to come undone as your orgasm washed over you and she continued to lick you through it, allowing overstimulation to course through your body. She hummed at your taste as she held you down getting her reward as you moaned collapsing down from exhaustion.

You felt her clamber off you and head into the bathroom as your ragged breaths filled the room. You'd missed that so much. You missed her.

Natasha's voice broke the silence that had been dancing through the room for mere minutes and filled your ears with such love and joy.

"That was something hm," she stated offering you the water to which you took and gulped down gratefully.

Pulling the covers over you, your body was exhausted and you looked over all you saw was her. She was back and you were here with her. Her smile softly matched your own as your eyes glassed over with emotions overwhelming you all at once.

"We made it," she whispered against you as she slid in next to you, nuzzling into your neck.

"We did."

"You stayed," she whispered and the unspoken truths became familiar and clear.

"I will always stay Natalia," you whispered against her. The gentle squeeze tighter around your waist was the unspoken words you knew.

As you drifted asleep in each others arms, sometimes the unspoken is better remained unspoken and other times it isn't. You did stay though. You always would. She was your Natalia and you saw her as that only. Just as you were hers, through the spoken and unspoken times. Throughout time and history, forever dancing as one.

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

AN: I hope you enjoyed that! If anyone does have any requests feel free to send them in! I'll do a master list shortly explaining what I do and don't write etc. Stay safe and happy! <3

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #marvel fic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha fanfic #marvel #mcu fandom #mcu fic #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 8 months

Text

At cane’s length

this song owns my heart, and i’ve been thinking about writing something with soft dom vibes for a while sooo. here you go.

cw: viktor x reader, smut, viktor is an unbearable tease, gn reader, gn pronouns for reader

word count: 2k~

art cr: @arcanescribbles. my inspiration for this fic, actually.

*standard ‘eng is not my first language so please don’t be mean to me’ bullshit i put before posting every single one of my fics*

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

Viktor is handsome in a cruel way. In an untouchable, ‘tease all the remaining sanity of you’ one, to be precise.

Cruel.

That short, plain word spins on your tongue, threatening to roll off it any second. You audibly gulp, desperately trying to swallow the harsh adjective, and the longing flows down your throat, leaving you breathless — almost too turned on to think straight whatsoever.

You can’t call him that. Even though he’s not exactly opposed to the idea of being relentlessly cussed out by you. It’s the consequences of your boldness that attract him: after all, he gets to watch you all tied up and needy, doe-eyed as you desperately ask to be touched… And then wide-eyed as you switch to being utterly unfiltered and vulgar, trying anything and everything to make him fuck you tonight. Spending the whatever’s left of your wits on those incoherent mumble-like sentences, pleading mewls mixed with the sounds of your knees scraping on the floor from all the squirming you do. Completely and utterly adorable in this state of raw desire, and it figuratively makes your brain slip out of your ear, replaces it with debauched thoughts, with inability to feel anything except for the lust — so intense, that it’s almost painful.

The ingenious, irritatingly smug man or, as you so kindly dubbed him, ‘kinky bastard’ is seated above you, the corners of his mouth curled into a wicked smile, legs spread in this tauntingly inviting manner — testing your limits, mocking you deliberately. He knows that you crave to be between those legs, struggling to fit the aching swell of his cock into your mouth, to let it stretch your slick, heavenly warm throat — or even to be split in twain, fucked over his desk like the horny mess you are — desperate, sobbing, charming in the tantrums you throw just for him, begging to be taken care of. Well, not only begging, to be frank. It’s a full-fledged demanding now, which, decidedly, did flatter Viktor, but being a brat never works on him. You have to be good to obtain his mercy. Negotiating, perhaps. Even when your sanity is gone, even when the only thing you can think of is choking on his dick. Those are the unspoken rules of earning Viktor’s touch — the sweet in its unattainability treasure. And you’ve learned it the hard way.

Viktor thinks it’s only fair, since he can’t be rough with you physically. His body might be sore, but his mind? God, you wish it was sore at least once in a while. Yes, he might not be able to frantically pound you into the mattress, but he’s perfectly capable of coming up with new ways to edge you. Which you loved, of course, but fuck would you prefer the first option so much more. But he’s an incorrigible inventor to the bone. Even in the sheets. Well, more precisely, now — in his lab.

The ropes on your wrists are rubbing the skin, keeping your hands tied reliably behind your back. They serve as one of the numerous reminders of this embarrassingly unfair position Viktor had put you in: you can’t move unless he’s kind enough to let you — he’s not restricted in his movements at all, you’re kneeling in front of him with a vulnerable expression — he’s leaning in his chair with a shit-eating grin, legs spread, head thrown back as he looks down at you in a way a master looks at his servant. You’re fully naked — he’s fully clothed. Viktor calls it ‘the perfect balance’. You call it ‘please, just take that damn thing off’. The idyll.

“Viktor, why are you doing this to me?” you mutter, glancing at him with a weak sigh. He quirks an eyebrow, unbothered, divine-looking with those rays of sunlight peeking through his dark hair, forming a figurative nimbus. ‘Like a god,’ you think, and for the briefest of moments your gaze changes from desperate to enamoured. But then you remember that your god refuses to be worshipped. That he would rather watch you suffer, disregarding your every prayer. And so you frown again.

“Funny, you should ask,” he purrs, the thickness of his accent matching the thickness of sexual tension between you. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re supposed to keep your enemies at arm’s length.“

You scoff, ignoring the painful tingling in your knees, the once cold floor beneath you warm and sticky in the places your hot skin touched it.

“I’m no enemy of yours,” you mutter, sounding almost genuinely offended. But Viktor only laughs, mouth open in a silent, amused ‘oh?’. Your only response is a frustrated moan.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, dear,” he demonstratively clutches his cane, the sexy bend of his long fingers so tempting it nearly has you cumming on the floor. “Didn’t you mention hating me earlier?”

Of course you did. How couldn’t you, when you wanted so badly to open wide for him, to bite on the calloused thumb, the undefinable salty, with a mixture of something metallic taste of his skin so familiar you could easily make it out. Oh, and with accuracy sharp enough for its savour to become a phantom sensation on the tip of your tongue. However, the same tactic never worked for his cock. Whenever you tried to imagine him abruptly pushing it inside of you — the craving would just become stronger, more unbearable. Fantasies were never enough. You needed the real thing.

“Not that I care what label you’ve decided to put on me tonight,” he continues, obviously hinting at the ‘kinky bastard’ incident. “A lover or an enemy — you’re staying at arm’s length.”

“More like at cane’s length,” you mock, angry eyes swirling that white tie oh his slender neck, but the rope around your wrists stops you from tugging on it to angrily steal a kiss.

“Cane’s length?” curious, Viktor leans over you in his chair, and for a second you’re deceived, rejoicing at the proximity, but he’s quick to remind you what a fool you are, his unhinged expression turning into an entertained one. “You have quite the brilliant mind, darling. We should probably test that out.”

Your teeth instantly sink into your tongue, instinctively scolding yourself for the inability to watch your mouth. Why, just why would you say that?

“Test that out?” you mumble, as your gaze drops to his shoes, unable to handle the intensity of his amber eyes lancing through your face.

“Exactly,” Viktor confirms, slyly biting his lower lip. “You see,” he utters, as his crutch loudly taps on the floor, causing you to shudder, “I don’t think the distance between us is equal to the length of my cane.”

“You can’t be serious,” you snapped at him, sobbing frustratingly. “Viktor, it was just a metaphor.”

“I’m a scientist, my dear. I don’t do metaphors. I do calculations and proven facts,” he utters, placing the crutch into his lap, and you find yourself shamefully jealous of that stupid stick, wishing terribly it was you resting there instead of it.

Viktor gives the cane an evaluating gaze, as if trying to measure it with his eyes, cruel grin never leaving that sharp, currently reachless for you face.

“So, supposedly,” he clears his throat, hoarse voice unbearably seductive as he pensively looks you up and down, taking in the debauched arch of your back, the redness on your aching knees. “I believe that my cane is around… say, thirty five inches long. And you, my dear,” he grabs the cane by its handle again, pointing at your face, left eye closed as if he’s trying to measure something again, torturing you shamelessly, “are still too close.”

The annoyance is impossible to hold in anymore. It’s a pure torment — incredibly hot in a certain perverted way, if you were to be frank, but god did you hate him with every fibre of your being right now, dreaming of fucking this mocking sass out of him, of teaching him a lesson. Viktor deserved to be ruined purely for the way he keeps those skilled hands to himself right now, denying you the oh so craved pleasure.

“Well, I don’t think I’m close enough to you” a protest escapes your pouted lips, but it appeared to have fallen on deaf ears, just like all of your previous, hopelessly useless pleas.

“Eh, debatable,” he utters casually, driving you even more mad with a playful shake of that insufferably smart head. You bite back an angry ‘tsk’, followed by a pissed-off roll of the furious eyes. Viktor is quick to notice the bratty demeanour.

He’s smooth in his roughness. In testing your patience with the insatiability of his own. Something cold quickly brushes your chin, forcibly tilting your head up again, and you huff at the audacity, eyes snapping open as you realise that he’s coaxing you to look him in the eye with his fucking cane.

“The fuck?” you hiss at the cocky jerk, but the way he holds that crutch to your face disarms you, adds even more arousal to the mixture of intense feelings building up inside of you.

“Language, my dear,” he purrs, eyes sparkling with malicious pride, “we‘re in a respectable place.“

He bares the upper row of his teeth, smiling at his own witty remark, and you can swear to god that never in your life have you wanted to wipe a grin off somebody’s face so badly. With a kiss, preferably. But a fist would work just perfectly fine too.

“Oh please,” you hitch in breath when the same hard edge of the cane slips off your chin to fleetingly press into your neck, but something about the uncertainty of Viktor’s movements tells you that he’s not done with you yet, that there’s more ‘foreplay’ to come. “Your lab is not a church.”

“Oh yeah? Why are you kneeling then?” he teases, poking you with that sharp sarcasm. As if a goddamn crutch against your throat is not humiliating enough already.

“I want to slap you.”

Viktor hums, and the tortuous cane traces the curve of your shoulder, causing your breath to hitch in anticipation, the contrast of the cool material with your hot skin stealing a dreamy gasp from you.

“Slap me?” he murmurs, enjoying the way you suffer for him. Because of him. “Well, too bad I’m that good at tying knots.”

“You’re an awful person.”

“Oh, don’t flatter me like that.”

“No, seriously, why don’t you just allow me to make you feel good?” you practically cry out, arching your hips in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. But the cane is still there, gently dipped into your collarbone to keep you in place.

“You’re already making me feel good,” he whispers, pushing you away, and all you can do is groan, squirming like you’re facing grim death. But considering the current intensity of your overstimulation, that death might actually turn into quite the real one. In the guise of this devilishly handsome tease, which would make it the worst and the best way to go at the same time.

“But I can make you feel even better,” you beg, half-lidded, exhausted and so beautiful in this perverted state of such earnest vulnerability. Just precious. Sacred even, if the situation wasn’t so sinful. “Viktor, please. Aren’t you done torturing me? I could do so much better than just grovel here.”

“Perhaps,” he presumes, but you know him and his undying love for the eye-fucking too well. Hell, he might just adore this humbling staring even more than having actual sex with you. “But I would rather enjoy the exhibition for a little longer.”

You roll your eyes again. A rather dangerous choice of a reaction, because the crutch in his hand abruptly taps on your shoulder, drawing your attention back to his glistening eyes.

“Roll your eyes at me again and I’ll make it two cane’s length,” he threatens, and you bite your lip to suppress a pitiful moan so hard, that your teeth leave two crimson marks on it’s tender flesh.

And that sexy, secretly favourite torture of yours starts all over again.

#viktor smut #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor x gn reader #viktor fanfic #no beta we die like men #arcane smut #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader smut #Spotify

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