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#you diced who driver for who
sainztander · 2 years
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btw it's simply hilarious to read accounts of carlos painted as a victorian era orphan who has to plead for Some Scrap Of Affection (daily getting cakes and surprise parties and compliments and cuddles from management and mechanics) and puts on a Brave Face in front of the Humiliation of Leaving Some Space For Charles Il Predestinato Leclerc' Signature on a Cap They Both Have To Sign... and the mental side eye to the reader with the sarcastic reminders that ferrari insists of not picking up a number 1 driver despite all these Clear Signs Of Favoritism (picking out bad photos i guess??)... british comedy truly is something else
#oh i know why british media is obsessed with finding faults everywhere in ferrari's management#(which is not only to find validation after the era of the Valtteri It's James jokes but there's that too)#but this is all so funny in so many ways#firstly the assumption that not (publicly) stating a hierarchy is actually Always A Lie because it's clear that charles is the favorite#which is easily deduced from ummm... him being taller than carlos(?)#and then the even wilder theory that while it's Natural and Good to have a n1 driver also the n2 driver is to be humiliated at every turn#like. make it make sense.#anyways british journos have been seething ever since binotto has been saying that he values both his drivers and it endless amuses me#why are you so obsessed with ferrari respecting both their drivers babygirl. why do you care.#idk who needs to hear it but it's the team's general lack of competence that has been failing charles not any lack of n1 driver status lmao#and i still don't get what yall have been screaming about when talking about team orders or whatever because i don't remember once#in this season where a hierarchy between charles and carlos would have changed the outcome of any race#just say you don't like the idea of only merc and rbr being painted as villains and go on#i don't think that any kind of team order is inherently wrong but everyone being obsessed with ferrari's approach is telling#Those passages ab carlos in the gq article are way more insulting than anything ferrari's management ever said ab him btw#f1#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#n dice#this is a british journalism hate blog btw!
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allthewayabt · 2 years
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natalieironside · 4 months
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So I used to be a pizza deliver driver, and that was pretty great for me; it made me feel like a video game character doing Quests. And when you started your shift as a driver, you got a wad of 15 singles for making change which was deducted from your tips at the end of the night. And this was back in the very early 20teens so $15 American just so happened to also be the price of half a tank of gas and a pack of Marlboro reds, so it was often also a sort of interest-free loan.
Now, a trope in pornography which was once so common that I myself have never actually seen a genuine portrayal of it but only seen it parodied runs thusly: A brave hero is delivering a pizza to some beautiful person who, upon receipt of the pizza, says, "Unfortunately I don't have any money; could I perhaps cover the cost of the pizza with sexual favors?" And always the hero agrees to this Faustian bargain which I'm sure must seem quite reasonable to you uninitiated civilians.
But, see, I'm making minimum wage. I have no savings. And I already spent my bank on half a tank of gas and a pack of Marlboro reds. So I'm $15 in the hole, and do you know what happens when you don't cash out at the end of the night? The manager calls the cops, and the cops come to your house. Mr. Domino is gonna get his $15 back by hook or by crook. I seen it happen. So if I accept the beautiful person's modest proposal, I'm mortgaging future tips against the $15 *and* the price of the pizza--which can get up there, depending on the order--and if I don't fix those books by the end of my shift, that could get to be a real pain in my ass.
Just doesn't make sense, y'know, from like a business perspective. Maybe it'd be worth a gamble. Maybe if it was like a beautiful woman who was a service top and also a werewolf, maybe you roll the dice and hope for the hard 6. But you gotta be risk-aware, is all I'm sayin.
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fangirl-dot-com · 5 days
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Chapter 30 - Vettel Reincarnate
final gp y'all - I might cry..
Shoutout to that one reader who was asking about secret santa - this one is for you darling!
Not going to do a giant speech - you all will know when the last chapter comes out because I'm going to do a farewell little post before the chapter goes live ☺️
Please enjoy!
A red Santa hat sat on your head as you stood in front of some cameras. Your grin was wide as your hands held three neatly wrapped presents. Secret Santa had finally graced the paddock and you could tell that the air felt lighter. Or maybe it was a bit hot in the oversized Santa suit that you were in. 
Max had already won the championship this year, so there wasn’t any bad air between two drivers. You and Charles were very close, but it wasn’t a fierce rivalry as the press seemed to make it. One stink eye to him and apparently you hated the Monegasque with every fiber of your being. And the pictures of the two of you at family dinner? The two of you were secretly conspiring against the other the entire time. 
Jemma, as you learned the lady’s name, was walking over. 
“Are you ready to start?” she asked, looking over the cameras one more time. 
You flashed her another smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” 
The cameraman gave you the signal, letting you know that it was rolling. You took a deep breath before you started. 
“Hi everyone, and welcome to the 2024 Grid Secret Santa.” 
You paused as you looked down at the presents. 
“I guess I’ll start then?” 
The crew chuckled around you as you set two down on the little table. You were saving the biggest one for last. 
The first present was a medium box. You carefully unwrapped it, making sure not to tear the paper. You giggled as you went slowly. 
“Max hated it when I would not just rip and tear last year at Christmas. I wanted to save the wrapping paper.” 
Laughter erupted from the crew around you, making your smile grow wider. You were a sucker for people laughing at you trying to be funny. 
You finally got the last of the paper off. 
“Props to whoever wrapped these. It’s very well done.” 
You opened the box and immediately started laughing. The small crowd was questioning what was in the box. You pulled the item out, which earned more laughs. 
In your hand was yet another pair of Lightning McQueen with Charles’s signature on them. You gave the camera a look. 
“This is like the third pair that I have currently. Arthur got me a pair last year with Charles’s signature on them as well.” 
Jemma questioned, “Do you have any guesses?” 
You thought for a moment. 
“It cannot be Lando, he does not wrap gifts this well.” 
“I heard that!” 
Your head whipped around to see the McLaren driver walking by with Jon. You raised your hand in a wave. 
“It’s true though!” 
You turned your attention back to the camera. The smaller box was in your hand. You quickly opened it up and let out a small gasp. Your fingers gently picked up a charm bracelet and you held it up for the camera. 
“What’s on it?” 
You smiled as you looked at all the charms. 
“So there’s an Italian flag, some maracas, and some dice – I’m thinking that these are for my wins – Monza, Mexico, and Las Vegas. Then there’s a little Formula 1 car, oh, is that a tiny can of Red Bull?” 
You held the bracelet to your face. 
“It is! That’s so cute. Ok, so then there’s an 8 and then a 9, probably for my number. There’s a camera, a football, a longhorn. Oh, ok, I definitely know who this is from.” 
You positioned the little charm toward the camera. 
“It’s a little chili.” 
Your eyes welled up at the thoughtful gift. 
“You know who your secret Santa is then?” 
“I’ll wait to say until I open the last present. You said there’s a card in there right?” 
“Correct.”
You quickly picked up the last big box. This time, the box was already decorated so you didn’t need to unwrap it carefully. You threw your head back with laughter once you saw what was in the box. 
Your hands grabbed it and held it to the camera. A giant blanket was on display. On said blanket was a giant Max Verstappen in all his glory. You put it around your shoulders. 
“This is just beautiful.” 
You spun around, showing the blanket off. A familiar laugh erupted from behind the camera. 
“Did you put him up to this?” 
Max looked as though he got caught before he smirked. 
“I-I can neither confirm nor deny,” he managed to get out between the laughs. 
You pulled the blanket around you, nuzzling your face into the soft fabric. By now, a lot of the guys were watching. 
Jemma reigned everyone back in. 
“Ok, do you want to say who you think it is?” 
You smirked. 
“It’s Carlos.” 
The Spaniard flashed you a giant grin. You walked up to the Ferrari driver and gave him a hug. 
“Did Charles tell you that I already had a pair of the Crocs?” 
You felt his head shake and you huffed. 
“Charles!”
“That is my cue to leave. I’ll see you all on track.” 
A flash of red quickly passed by your face. 
“Yeah, you better run!” 
Everyone laughed as you gathered your things. However, you wanted to stay for the next person, since it was the person whose name you drew. 
You watched as Lando stared with wide eyes at the giant crate that was put down before him. And then you silently laughed as the man also put a smaller box on top. 
Carlos leaned down and whispered, “You don’t have anything to do with this chica?” 
You whispered back, “I have no clue what you are talking about.” 
Your shoulders started to shake as you watched the Briton open the crate. He huffed as he looked down. 
“What is it Lando?” Jemma asked. 
The McLaren driver pulled out one singular fruit. 
“It’s a crate full of papayas. This was definitely not in the budget. How the hell does someone just get a full crate of papayas?” 
“What’s in the smaller box?” 
Lando pulled out a singular piece of paper. 
He read it, “One free drive in any one of my cars and two admissions into any country clubs I want for a full week.” 
You watched as a look of realization crossed his face. A warm smile grew as he looked right at you. 
“This is Y/n. I know it.” 
“Correct.”
“Why in the hell did you get me a crate of papayas?” 
You shrugged behind the camera. 
“Because you always complain that I call the McLaren color orange.” 
Lando rolled his eyes but waved the makeshift coupon. 
“I will be driving your Apollo though.”  
You pretended to grimace. However, it turned into a smile. You knew that he was going to pick that car, so you didn’t even try to stop him by writing ‘any car except the apollo.’ He would have whined and whined until you let him do it anyway. You watched as they rolled the crate away, signaling that they were done filming in this area. 
“Did you read the card chica?” Carlos asked as he walked you back to your garage. 
You pulled the piece of paper from your pocket. 
It read: 
Dear Chica, 
When I heard that Checo was retiring, I was kind of hoping that I might have been able to get the Red Bull seat back. I knew that Ferrari would change things for 2025, and I knew that you were on their radar. (Also, Charles can’t keep a secret.) 
You giggled but kept reading. 
However, seeing you grow on the track this year made me realize how special you truly are. No one is lying when they say that you will be World Champion one day. I hope that I’m still on the grid to see it. 
No one knows, but I will be returning to the grid in 2025 for Audi. (Please keep it a secret unlike Charles – I didn’t tell him because then he would tell Pierre and Max, who would then tell the entire grid.) 
If you ever need to come eat spicy food, I’ll have the guest house ready for you in Spain. We’ll go to the beach and tan while Max and Charles burn like lobsters. Maybe this time I’ll be willing to play mermaids with you. 
You’re going to go far Chica. Keep driving fast and with your heart. It only goes up from here. 
Love, 
Carlos 
Your eyes were watering by the time that you finished reading. You turned and put your head on Carlos’s chest as his arms wrapped around you. Sniffled escaped as you squeezed into the hug. 
“You know, the press is going to think that I’m not conspiring with you on how to take Charles out of the race.” 
You felt Carlos shake as he laughed. You bid your goodbyes as you headed back to your garage. You quickly placed your gifts in your driver’s room before changing from the Santa suit into your fireproofs and race suit. Since you had only let a rookie drive your car once, you and Max were able to just hang out during FP1. 
“Ok, so who did you get and what did you give? And what did you get from who?” 
Max sighed, a smile on his face. 
“So, I picked Charles.” 
“Oh no.” 
Max’s smile turned into a smirk. 
“So I got him one of those Inchident shirts from Etsy or wherever. And then I signed the shirt and said it was for my biggest fan.”  
The Dutchman smiled as he heard your giggles. 
“And then I just got him a gift card to some restaurant back home. But he said he’s going to wear the shirt next time we play paddle. He said something about creating an Inchident 2.0.” 
“And who got you?” 
“Logan. The kid did well.” 
“Yeah?” 
Max jerked his head behind him. “He got me three cheesecakes from The Cheesecake Factory and then a football. He also got me a book of dad jokes, saying that since I call you kid, I need to up my dad-joke game.” 
Your eyes landed on the three boxes, the book, and the brown, egg-shaped ball. 
“Can I have some cheesecake after the race.” 
“No.” 
redbullracing has posted
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redbullracing max didn't get the memo? at least y/n can bring him everywhere now!
liked by y/n.89, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 4,204,981 others
y/n.nation the video was so cuteeeeee - I was so happy when Carlos picked her! And Max totally understood the assignment with Charles's gift
formulala_delulu the gifts this year was top tier! glad Charles didn't gift another calendar
maxverstappen1 I guess you're stuck with me kid
landonorris will you finally share this blanket?
y/n.89 maybe - depends on how I'm feeling.
charles_lecerlc when you get to an inchident competition but your opponent is a 27 year old Dutchman who can't let go of the past 👊😔
maxverstappen1 I mean...I'll take the shirt back then
charles_leclerc TOO BAD I'M ALREADY WEARING IT - GET YOUR OWN
y/n.89 chill shawty, no one wants the shirt anyway
box_box_express stoooppp I'm going to miss this grid!
y/n&co y/n is going to win - mark my words!
On Sunday, you were practically vibrating. Only a few points separated you and Charles. You needed to score higher than a P3 and needed fastest lap. 
However, Charles only needed a P3 and fastest lap to come out in second place. Qualifying was not in your favor as you were starting P9. Max and Charles vacated the first row. Standing by your car, they seemed so far away. 
Yet, as you sat in the seat, going over a few more details, you knew you could do it. 
“Final radio check kid for 2024.” 
“Mitch, I think it’s time.” 
“Time for what?” 
“An overtake masterclass.” 
“Right. Any song requests for the end?” 
You sighed as you looked around you. You knew that people were wanting a song from you, as you did after ever season closer. But this time, you really didn’t have a song that fit well. 
“Not this time Mitch.” 
“Ok. Lights out in 15 seconds.” 
You turned the radio off for the remainder of the time. You basked in the silence, finally welcoming it to think. 
The formation lap went well and no one ran into the barriers, letting everyone be able to line up to go. 
You watched as the lights started to count down. 
Five. 
Four. 
Three. 
Two. 
One.  
“And it’s lights out and away we go for the final time in 2024!” 
Your foot hit the throttle and off you went. Like always, your car felt alive. 
Woman and machine as one. 
“Now, Y/n L/n has to make her way back up to P3 while also trying to go for the fastest lap to be able to win the second place of the driver’s championship. We talked to her earlier and she said that she would be trying her hardest to also possibly get one more win for this season to complete her glorious rookie campaign.” 
“Yes, David, she has had the best rookie season since Lewis Hamilton. Even if she doesn’t win this race, she has blown his point record out of the water. She would tie him with wins during a rookie year, but she wouldn’t beat his place holder of second in the driver’s championship.” 
“And there she goes around the outside, getting by Oscar Piastri.” 
“Another overtake for L/n as she gets out ahead of Carlos Sainz in turn 3.” 
“It’s a double pass for the rookie on the straight. She is now in P5 as she gets around both Mercedes going into turn 1.” 
“I don’t know what classes she is taking, but this is a advanced one as she now overtakes Lando Norris.” 
“It’s P3 for L/n in 23 laps. Incredible! Truly an Overtake Master Class.”  
Your voice shook as you came on the radio. 
“I need to box. Something is wrong with the left tyre.” 
You had only been able to scrap back up to P3 when something felt off. 
Mitch responded quickly. “If you pit, this is the only one you get. Can you get to the end?” 
You knew that the one stop strategy might not work the best with the car for this circuit. You sighed, mulling over your options. 
If you did mediums, the tyre degradation might be too severe to even be on the podium. But, the hards would take forever to warm up. 
“Box, box.” 
“Looks like L/n is boxing early. Is Red Bull undercutting their team?” 
“What the hell is wrong?” Max voiced over his radio. Where they undercutting him? 
GP responded. “Something wrong with her front tyre. The nuts weren’t in enough and she would have had a major accident if we hadn’t boxed her. She will come out in P2, so you will hold the position.” 
The Dutchman sighed in relief. You’d be safer if they did undercut him. 
“Ok.” 
“Copy Max. Let’s just try to bring it home.” 
With the early pit stop and a fresh set of hard tyres, you were back out in P2, just able to get by Charles. 
The rest of the race, you sat back and fought as hard as you could. Only 30 more laps to go. When your tyres finally heated up, you were slowly gaining on Max. Before he or you knew it, you were now fighting for first place. 
“Ok, Max, it’s a free for all. Just don’t take each other out please.” 
“Copy GP.”
“Y/n, we’re letting you and Max fight it out. He is not pitting again. Keep it safe and bring it home.” 
“Who has fastest lap currently?”
“Leclerc.”
“Shit. Ok. What should I go for Mitch?” 
“What matters most to you?” 
An answer from your radio never came. 
“L/n and Verstappen have been given the green flag to just race. We are seeing two of the best of this generation fight it out at the last circuit.” 
“And that is a lock up from Verstappen! Does he get the lead back? Yes he does. He maintains the lead in front of his teammate.” 
“L/n is going to try to go around the outside, and she gets the lead going into turn 4, but loses it coming out of it.” 
“The rookie and the World Champion, what a duo these two have been.” 
“Fastest lap?” 
“You currently have it.” 
“Right on.” 
“And we are down to the final lap of the race. Will L/n be able to get a lead on her teammate and be able to keep it? That is what it is down to. We have seen these two brilliant drivers dance with each other, but L/n has not been able to keep a lead going out of a turn.” 
“You know who she reminds me of David? Sebastian Vettel. It’s the hunger and the passion for the sport.” 
“I absolutely agree with you. Vettel was a four time world champion. If she is anything like him, she will be world champion before we know it. Her driving style is so close to his, it’s like see him back in his Red Bull glory days. Truly unbelievable.”  
“MAX VERSTAPPEN GOES WIDE AND THROUGH GOES L/N TAKING THE LEAD AND SHE IS RUNNING WITH IT!” 
“L/N WINS HER FOURTH RACE OF THE SEASON IN ABU DHABI. Ending a perfect rookie year on a high!” 
You sighed as you crossed the line in P1. 
“Fastest lap Mitch?” 
Please, oh please. 
“Sorry kid. Leclerc got you in the last sector.” 
A frown wanted to grow on your face, yet you didn’t let it. You were a three time race winner and you wouldn’t let that be ruined. Your head turned as you saw Max pull up near you. You gave him a wave that was reciprocated. 
You watched as his finger went in a little circle and you nodded in agreement. A red car was now in your mirrors. You stuck your hand out the halo to give Charles the signal that the Dutchman gave you to. You saw as he stuck a thumbs up as well. 
Once the cars were in position, you took the lead for the burnouts. Laughter erupted from your throat as you spun your car. Above, fireworks went off in the sky. As your burn out ended, you pulled into the P1 spot. 
You quickly got out of the car and fell on your knees. Your helmet lowered to the ground as you put your hands on the tyres in a mock bow. You leaned back and just sat for a moment. Your visor was still down as you took it all in. You hit the pavement before getting back on your feet. 
Yet, it didn’t take long for Max to barrel into you. You almost fell over, but he kept you up. You were starting to jump up and down in excitement. 
“You did so well Geitje! So fucking proud of you. That was such good racing!” 
“I thought you had me! Like we were all vroom, and then you locked up, but kept it, and then I was all like ‘Waahhhhh’, and I saw you went wide and I was like, I’m going to get him,” you kept rambling to him as the two of you got weighed and then went to get interviewed. You stopped Charles on his way, though, when he passed to go to the cool down room.
“Charlie! I thought I had you!” 
A laugh escaped the Monegasque as he brought you in for a hug. You just leaned into him and sighed in content. You felt Charles put his head down against yours. His hands were tightly wound around your shoulders while yours were around his waist. 
“You did good Gosse, you did good. I am so proud of you.” 
You pouted against him. “But I couldn’t get second.” 
Charles removed you and put you at arm’s length. 
“Y/n, you cannot even begin to fathom what you’ve done this season. As a rookie, you have beaten a four-time world champion. You’ve beaten Ferrari. You’ve beaten everyone’s expectations. You’ve done it all, and that should be something to be proud of. And if you’re worried about a placing, you just confirmed that Red Bull won the constructors championship.” 
Your eyes lit up by that, and you brought Charles back into a quick hug before going to the interview. A smile grew on your face as you saw Arthur standing with a very sweet smile of his own. The younger Monegasque loved to see you getting along with his brother. It was only solidifying that he made the right choice with you. 
He watched you walk up to him as you took a microphone. 
“Y/n, that was some racing! Starting from all the way from P9 and making your way up to a race win. How are you feeling?” 
You exhaled before answering. 
“Well, you know, it was exhilarating. I would have been happy with P3, but then my left tyre wasn’t doing too well, so I had to box early. I think that’s what was able to position me just right to get a placement on Max.” 
Arthur smiled. “So, in terms of a rookie year, you have had one of the best campaigns since Lewis Hamilton. How do you feel to know that you have broken so many records?” 
“Well Arthur, it feels great. I just really wanted to prove that I could do this and show people that Red Bull made the right choice with me.” 
“One last thing. I was hearing Crofty on the livestream and he was making some connections between you and Sebastian Vettel. I’ve also seen many videos calling you a Vettel Reincarnate. Thoughts on that?” 
Your eyebrows pinched. 
“Well, Seb isn’t dead, so I don’t know how I could be his reincarnation.” 
The two of you laughed at that. 
“But I am honored to be compared to one of the greats. I know that people always compare drivers, but I really am proud to know Sebastian personally and to be great at driving to the point that people want to say that I remind them of him.” 
The interview was wrapped up after that. Since you took a little more time, you weren’t able to get to the cool down room. Thankfully, Max had a water bottle or two for you when you got to the podium. 
You guzzled one down as you watched Charles and Max walk out. You were able to follow them, but someone tapped you on the back. It was a man holding your nation’s flag. 
“I know that this celebration is normally reserved for World Champions, but we thought you’d like this.” 
You took the flag without hesitation and wrapped it around your shoulders. You stood proud with it as your anthem rang out. 
The two male drivers watched as you hummed along to the anthem, swaying back and forth. The flag almost fell as you raised the trophy, yet, you held the trophy with one hand and then flag in your other. 
As Charles and Max were spraying you with champagne, your mind began to wander. You’d be on this top step at some point. But that time, it would be as world champion. 
The champagne seemed to freeze in the air as you took everything in. You finally felt as though you could breathe easy. You had made it. You had a contract renewal coming way before your contract would even expire. You had your family here with you. 
Everything was perfect. 
redbullracing has posted
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redbullracing rookie and champ - logging out one last time 💙
liked by arthur_leclerc, y/n.89, maxverstappen1, formula_fan, and 5,210,756 others
y/n.nation SO THAT'S IT???? WHY AM I CRYING 😭
box_box_express thankful to have been here since the beginning. y/n deserves everything that she has done and more
y/n.89 FANS ARE CRYING - I'M CRYING - WHY IS THIS ENDING???
maxverstappen1 there's next season? 🤨
y/n.89 OH YEAHHHHHHHH
maxverstappen1 this kid I swear
formula1_4ever this season was phenomenal - the amount of racing that we got to see and multiple drivers winning, I'd go back to rewatch it all again
wholesomef1 tell me why this season is going to go down in history
rookie&co while I'm sad for winter break - I'm gearing up for next year!
y/n.89 has posted
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y/n.89 wow, there were just so many moments this season that had me in a loop, so - here are some pictures from my favorites album 1. the first time I truly witnesses Lestappen in all it's glory 2. me and thur when he visited my apartment in the UK 3. for the Charlie girlies - looking ethereal in Vegas 4. my first podium in Abu Dhabi!! 5. for the Oscar girlies - (he was looking at lando) 6. Lewis and my son 7. Logan when he had to come find me after getting lost in the trains 8. my parents trying raising canes for the first time 9. this glorious picture of me from VEGAS 10. my boyfriend looking SCRUMDILLYICIOUS (hard launch who?) 11. George in Mexico after I gave him a sombrero 12. Lando wanting to punch me after I gave him a crate of papayas
thank you 2024 season - you will be one I never forget!!
liked by oscarpiastri, y/n.nation, formula1fan, rookie&co, and 2,049,148 others
y/n.nation this was so sweet 🥺
landonorris did me dirty bug
y/n.89 it's what you get
lewishamilton your son? 🤨
y/n.89 yes, my son
maxverstappen1 when did you take the first picture??
y/n.89 vegas 2023 - you look so in love maximillian
charles_leclerc awwww you do 🥰
maxverstappen1 gag.
box_box_express stop stop stop all of these are so cute
fanof_1681 Charles/Oscar girlies we rise
alex_albon why that picture?? I know you had like 5 others
y/n.89 cause lily looked the best in that one - duh
rookie&co I guess this means I have to change my username :(
formulala_delulu oh to just go back in time and rewatch the entire season again for the first time
It took a while to get back to your drivers room. You took just a minute to just feel. Feel the trophy, feel the champagne in your suit, feel the emotions. You didn't bother to sit on the little bed, so you were on the floor leaning against the couch.
You let your mind wander.
In reality, you were thankful for your past. Arthur, Vito, Stella back at Dams, maybe even your parents. It’s because they all pushed you to be the best. 
But you’d continue to show them how truly great you were. You’d put your name in the hall of fame if it was the last thing you did. 
As you looked at the pictures in your room, your eyes landed on one., You were bunched in with Max, Charles, and Mitch at Vegas. Just looking at it gave you shivers as you thought of what was to come. However, right now, you could only wait for the future. A future full of championships and families. Deep down, you second guessed yourself, wondering if it ever would come true.
But it’d come true. You knew it would. 
World Champion. 
Because, for all it is, it's just wishful thinking. 
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six-eyed-samurai · 3 days
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AGAIN AND AGAIN - A REINCARNATION AU
Help, what have I done? Sorry if this doesn't fit the characters, I was writing it sleep deprived and as neutral as possible. Support me and my poetry (that I came up with in the shower)
Heavens blessed me with you
The Knight, who when your parents announced you would marry you off to some elderly Lord, kept true to his word and took you away, escaping into the clashing colors of freedom and love in another kingdom far, far away, only for your world to darken into black and white once more when your enraged parents caught up and had him executed; it was now your turn to keep your side of the oath and join him in the afterlife when you drank the poisoned chalice.
In every rebirth
The Roman General who passed by you, lashing out any "potential buyer" when he walked disgusted through the slave market - he bought you freedom and yet somehow you stayed with him forever willingly cuffed by shackles of affection...until he died of an assassination and you were hung for having an "affair" with someone of higher class, but not before you both screamed to whatever god that would listen to come back to each other once more.
I promise I'll find you
The Baker who's never cared a penny about the other air headed girls from his small British village until you, a young noble lady recently moved into the old Baskerville Manor, turned up requesting his help in setting a banquet. Excuses after excuses pile up from both sides in an attempt to extend your brief time together but soon, oh, too soon, you leave as per your family's orders and he's left to wonder how you're doing now, because after years and years of searching they refused to let him in.
Through tears, death, dreams and mirth
The White American who finds you working day in day out at the laundry lady's for little to no pay, so from his not so small tips grew to slipping love letters through the pockets of his clothes, but soon you're fired and bade to leave for your skin colour and he's still bitterly cursing the townspeople for their blind racism.
And I know it's just a gamble
The Hockey player who grins at you who always shows up to his games in every match until he asks you out on an ice skating date, but alas, how could he have known that the day you finally showed up in his jersey, much to his delight, would be the day a crazed fan clubbed you on the head with his own hockey stick, much to your doom? He left the industry as cold as the rink.
Unfair, repeated roll of dice
The F1 Racer who whines about the most ridiculous problems happening to his car and making bad impressions of the other drivers just to see his beloved mechanic even crack a smile - no oil or dirt stained on you could ever dim that brilliant smile when you both went on a joyride together into the sunset...oh, wait, his death on the track did.
But in this temporary, fleeting
The Roommate who knows exactly what you want for breakfast every morning, and soon it spiraled into having a meal together for lunch and dinner too, especially when he added candles and rose petals! You still make your coffee the same way he did even after your studies took you abroad and both of you decided it was for the best to break up.
Moment in fast ending time
The Landlord who did NOT expect such a cute little you to move on when he decided to make a little cash on the side renting out his spare room...never mind, it's still on rent because now you've moved into his room. He managed to save your photo album from the charred remains of your house though...although he couldn't save you.
Tell me, oh tell me
The Drug dealer who just recently entered your big brother's gang, who protected you with his scrawny body every time any sexually frustrated asshole came to harass you. Your declarations of love didn't come in heartfelt words or gifts but a smoked joint with each other. You both didn't get delusional, because why should you when your fantasies were right in front? It was the same when you overdosed after someone ratted him out and sent him to a life sentence in prison.
Darling love of mine
The Mafioso who charms you with his suave words and cool under fire attitude, causing you to giggle and kick your feet whenever he came back to your door with flirtations and blood on his face from those who disrespected the mob boss's goddaughter. It was the classic romantic Italian dinner when he got down one one knee...except for the part when his rivals arrived to gun him down and you're left staring at his broken body and shattered ring.
You're just as lost
The Neighbour who had no idea the babysitter for the kids next door would be so goddamned FINE - if only he hadn't fumbled and stumbled over his words in the elevator! But that's alright, even little Ray and Katie are rooting for him and you! Your first date might not be fancy, but he was more starstruck in awe of you than he was of the night sky as you sat on top of the roof.
In paradise
"I feel like I've know you all my life."
"In every lifetime?"
"Maybe!"
And somewhere deep inside, you both knew it for certain: the endless cycles of pain were finally broken.
"I'm so glad of whatever karma that I did in my previous life got me to meet you!"
"You better continue it in this life so I can see you in the next one!"
Not karma, actually, but a series of broken promises finally repaired.
***
Sukuna, Giyuu, Kokushibo, Gojo, Takemitchy, Mikey, Ranpo, Nikolai, Kirishima, Hawks, Kakashi, Nishinoya, Kuroo, Toji, Kazutora, Nanami, Eren Yeager, Gyutaro, Kunikida, Zuko, Yuta, Inumaki, Levi, your favourites!
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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 84
Part 1 Part 83
Eddie drives. He’s got no destination in mind, but away. Away from the screams. Away from the trap Steve had sprung. No, no, not Steve. Never Steve. That thing inside of him that hijacked his body and has been taking it for a joy ride. Away from the bodies that thing had left behind. Just –
Away.
His hands are shaking enough that the car shakes along with it.
***
His hands are shaking. There’s so much blood. What did he do? There’s so much –
***
“Eddie, sweetie.” He darts his gaze to the side quickly before pulling them back to the road. Mama Byers hovers in the space between driver and passenger seats, hand outstretched like she wants to put her hand over his on the wheel. “Pull over, okay?”
Eddie nods, jerky, wheel jerking with it, but it takes a minute before he can get his foot to move from gas to brake pedal. It’s an abrupt stop.
He doesn’t even pull to the side. Just, stops.
For a second, he thinks the car is still moving. The road in front of him shakes and blurs, like an earthquake in rain, but it’s Eddie shaking. Mama Byers uses soft fingers to brush tears away, smiling up at him even as new ones take their place.
“Let me drive for you,” she says, quiet. “Okay, hun?”
Eddie nods – doesn’t move. He continues to not move until Mama Byers reaches down and pulls him up, small arms straining to pull him to the back and settle him down on the carpet.
He doesn’t want to be back here, with a Steve who both is and isn’t.  But he sits, letting Will snuggle into his side like they’re just in the trailer for another movie night. Eddie keeps his eyes closed and lets himself imagine.
They’re sitting on the couch, fighting over overdue video rentals, slapping them out of each other’s hands, hoping none of the plastic cracks on impact.
They’re cuddled up on the couch, and Steve is still Steve, and they’re tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths, movie forgotten entirely.
Steve and Will are asleep on the couch, heads and bodies pooling onto Eddie as he tries his best not to move. Sleep never comes easy to any of them anymore.
They’re safe. Danger looms behind them, not in front.
But then Will says, “where are we going?” and Eddie opens his eyes.
Steve’s not looking at him. He’s looking up past the dashboard like he’s trying to answer that same question.
Uncle Wayne grunts out a quiet, “don’t say it aloud,” before levering himself up to kneel in front of Steve.
***
Blink. Give them proof of life. Just – blink. Do something. Do anything. It’s so dark. Please  
***
Shrugging his favorite red flannel off his back, Wayne uses the sleeves to tie it securely around Steve’s head, obscuring his blank eyes. “Soon as he knows, he’ll lead ‘em right atop us.”
“A spy,” Will says, nodding like it all makes sense. Eddie still feels his brain just ticking and stalling. A spy. “If Steve knows, he knows.”
Wayne nods. Mama Byers drives. Eddie stalls out.
It’s the Byers house they end up at, gravel crunching beneath their tires. Once the car is parked, and turned off, silence bleeds into the spaces between them. No one moves. What’s the point? When there’s no action plan, no moves to take. Nothing to send them propelling forward.
No life-saving throw of the dice to pull Steve back into himself and yank the shadows out.
So, they sit.
And they wait.
It’s Will who moves first. He rushes out of the van and into the house without a word. They all just stare after him.
“I’ll go check on him,” Eddie says, sighing as he shuffles, hands and knees past the bench Steve sits atop, and out the same door Will had left ajar.
But Will comes rushing back out before he makes it to his feet, dashing back to the van and sliding over and past Eddie, knee hitting him painfully in the hip.
“Watch it!”
“Sorry,” Will replies.
Eddie turns, laying on his back on the hard metal of the van’s floor. Even the creature comfort of a scratchy carpet denied to him at this, his lowest of lows.
Will’s hovering in front of Steve. There’s a familiar walkie talkie now sticking out of his pocket, and a pair of bulky headphones in his hands. He settles them gently over Steve’s ears. Even in moments like this, Will’s the gentlest of them.
Will switches on the off-brand cassette player he’s got in his hands. Steve jerks as something moody and too-loud blares out from the headphones.
“You’re gonna make ‘im deaf,” Wayne says, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the bench across from Steve.
“Better deaf than dead,” Will says, but he’s grimacing looks he’s not sure if that’s true. “Now, he can’t hear what we say.”
Steve’s gone placid again as the music washes over him. Eddie can’t help but wonder if music, the most human thing of all, could bring Steve back into himself. But then he recognizes the sound of The Clash, and the thought falls right back out of his head. Even if the transformative power of music could save Steve from the abyss, he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to this moody shit.
“We should still plan our next moves away from him,” Mama Byers says, punctuating her words by opening the driver-side door and stepping out.
Everyone else scrambles out after her. Eddie takes an extra second, staring at the little bit of Steve’s placid face that’s visible past the make-shift blindfold and headphones.
He studies the shape of his mouth, the curve of his cheekbones, the breadth of his shoulders, memorizing his shape, as if everything that is Steve Harrington isn’t already branded into his mind. As if Steve Harrington hasn’t made himself home in his heart and mind, rooted deep enough that Eddie couldn’t carve him out even if he wanted to.
“Ed!” Wayne calls.
Eddie goes.
It’s quiet. Eyes shifting back and forth, placing pressure on person to person to come with any sort of plan for this.
“We should call Dr. Owens,” Mama Byers says, looking at Wayne already, like Eddie and Will’s opinions are the lesser in the situation.
“No way in hell!” Wayne snaps, glaring. “You think they’ll take kindly to that boy when they realize he led so many of their own to their deaths?”
“It wasn’t him!”
“I know that!” Wayne replies, heated the way he only is when he’s worried about his kids. “Do you think a bunch ‘a government goons are gonna give two shits?”
It’s like every planning session they have, they’re working to beat the last one for the worst ideas in the world. Or in the case of not having any ideas at all, passing off the responsibility to someone they in no way should.
Eddie tunes it all out, looking back toward the van, pulling, pulling, pulling on the line between them. It’s still there. Steve’s still there.
“He tried to save us,” Eddie says, quiet voice cutting through the arguing. He doesn’t look to see what everyone’s face looks like, too afraid to find pity there. Or worse, sympathy. “He tried to save us.”
He’s looking at the van, swears he can see Steve sitting, bound, and blindfolded, and deaf to the world around him, even through all that metal.
“He’s still in there.”
Something settles into him like conviction.
He storms to the van, ignoring the calls to stop, to explain. It’s like he’s being pulled to where he belongs – at Steve’s side. Always. ‘til death do they part.
Steve’s cheek is scratchy beneath his palm, the way he never lets it get. Not since being trapped in the Upside-Down with no usable water or razors. He rubs his fingers against it, watches the skin redden.
He leaves the flannel where it is, sleeves trailing down and tickling his arms. He takes the headphones off, doesn’t turn the player off, just lets it ring quietly through the van, a terrible soundtrack to this terrible moment.
“Remember that first night?” Eddie says, clutching Steve’s face harder, trying to push the memories back into him. “You saved me from the Demogorgon, pulled me into your bedroom, and hid me away with you.”
He ignores the sounds of the rest of the group clattering into the van behind him. They’re not here at all. Neither is he. Steve and Eddie are still in that closet, tucked away and safe from the dangers of the world.
Eddie smiles, undeniably fond of what had then been the scariest moment of his life. “Even when you were an asshole, you were still a good dude.”
Will moves up beside him, pushing him to the side and sliding one of his hands beneath Eddie’s so he can cradle the left side of Steve’s face while Eddie cradles the right.
“Remember when we first met?” Will asks, quiet, reverent. “You saved me from the Demogorgon, too.” He bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s but doesn’t look away from Steve. “Guess that’s just something you do.” He laughs, wet but real. “And then you just kept saving me.”
As if the weight of the words are settling too heavily into him, Will’s head drops down, chin settling onto his own chest, free hand clenching uselessly. “Now it’s my turn, and I don’t know how to save you.”
***
“– to save you.” The words echo through him. There’s reverb through his whole body (How does he know that word? How does know that voice? Who is –
***
There’s a flicker, so faint Eddie’s not sure he felt it at all. But Will gasps, hand clenching his sternum in the same place Eddie feels the connection between them all.
“Steve?” Eddie calls, breathless. It doesn’t flicker again.
Wayne drops down, bullying his way between them to look up at Steve’s obscured face. “I remember the first time I saw ya,” he says gruffly. “You were half-dead, and still kicking up a big ol’ fuss.” He clears his throat. “I knew right when ya opened your eyes in that hospital room that you were as good as my own boy.” His voice breaks around the word boy, and Eddie’s heart breaks along with it.
***
“—as good as my boy.” …who?
***
Flicker. Tug.
Mama Byers kneels slightly behind Will, the room in front of Steve all taken up with their bodies stacked one on top of the other. “You saved my Will,” she says with that quiet conviction that always rings through her voice when she knows she’s right. “You’re a sweet boy, and you need to come back. Okay?”
***
“—come back. Okay?” Where? It’s dark. Where is he supposed to go?
***
Flicker. Tug.
Eddie scoots impossibly closer, Steve’s knees digging uncomfortably into his ribs. He wants to kiss him. He wants to merge their bodies until they’ll never be separated again. He wants Steve back. He just— wants.
“Angel,” he says, voice thick with all the things he’s never said. “I have loved you—”
***
“—I have loved you—”
***
“—since the first time I thought I’d lost you.” He hears Will’s quiet gasp. The words had come out, truthful and sure, but he wonders, just for a second, if this is the moment he loses Will. But then he remembers the reverence he’d looked up at Steve with when he’d been bathed in all that light. The way he talks about Mike Wheeler of all people like he hung the moon in the sky.
Wayne leans into him on one side, Will on the other, Steve in front, and he lets that pressure settle into him. Enough that he opens his mouth to continue speaking.
“I never want to lose you again,” he chokes out, warbling over the words as the tears, never far from his eyes these days, spring free once more. “Please.”
***
“Please.” He wants to go to the voice, that begs in the dark. Wants to…wants to…but it’s cold. And he’s lost.
But someone’s thrown him a line, no two. They’re glowing, a beacon of light in the darkness. Something to hold onto. So, he does. He takes hold and pull, hoping against all that cold nothing that it’ll lead him home.
***
“No, it was even before that.” Eddie says, smiling despite it all. They’ve always been the people to find that bright spot of light in all the darkness, him and Steve and Will. It’s a skill they curated in the musty red of a world they’d been sent to die in. They’d had to.
“You remember when we saw the lights in the Upside-Down for the first time in Mama Byers house?” Everyone’s quiet breathing shores him up, lets him linger in that bright spot of ethereal joy. “They surrounded you, like you were on fire.”
He hears a grunt from Will, wonders if he’s picturing that moment, too. If he can remember the way the light had haloed Steve’s face just as clearly.
***
“You looked like an angel, Stevie.” Stevie? He follows the line, follows the voice, wants out of this darkness. “I’ve been falling—”
***
“—for you ever since.” The words linger. Eddie lowers his hands, Will’s coming down with it, to look up at Steve’s inflamed cheeks, wishing it was a blush from Eddie’s words and not his body heat burning him up.
He wants Steve to say it back, to tell him he doesn’t feel the same, to punch him in the face, anything as long as it’s Steve. But he doesn’t. Because Steve’s still not there.
***
That voice. That— Eddie? He repeats it like a mantra, never wanting to forget again. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. The words are warm, they linger. Reverb in this dark place. He clutches the ties that bind and holds on. Eddie, and…
And…
And…
But then the warmth fades. It’s dark. And cold. And he’s so very alone.
Part 85
Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb
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linisiane · 6 months
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The Self-Aware Player of Harry Du Bois
It's fascinating to me to think about how satire is used as the 'touch grass' or 'be fucking for real' genre. Oftentimes it's making fun of tropes/conventions by humorously contrasting them with reality, which is exactly what Disco Elysium is doing with the RPG!
It goes hand in hand with the idea of RPGs as escapist power fantasy. RPGs are often thought of as the ultimate self-insert fantasy by its detractors or worst players, ahem looking at all those DND horror stories about entitled mangsty murderhobos.
One of the most infamous criticisms of Disco Elysium is its lackluster combat.
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ID A screenshot of a random forum discussion post by dungeon master Zed Duke of Banville. It reads: "Disco Elysium has neither combat nor exploration, and therefore is missing two of the three fundamental components (or sets of components) that define the RPG genre." End ID
The game has essentially bordered off your ability to make Harry into a power fantasy murderhobo because you just are physically unable to equip an longsword or cuisse to murder your average citizen on the street of Martinaise.
But even on a less mangsty level, it subverts a lot of the basic expectations of RPGs.
Like the encounter with the racist lorry driver! You never get the ability or quest to change his mind, you only choose how you react to him.
Where other RPGs might let you act as the white savior or the white knight of chivalric romance, no questions asked, you're changing the minds of everybody who's wrong so we can all get along, Disco Elysium really makes you confront your ability to whiteknight, makes you confront if whiteknighting is even helpful, and why you wanted to whiteknight in the first place.
It’s part of the fun/humor experience of Disco Elysium that you at first expect to solve the world’s problems with a couple quests and lines of ‘good’ dialogue and then get socked in the faced with the fact that yeah, you can’t do much, you’re one person, what did you expect, asshole? Cuno doesn't fucking care!
By subverting our RPG expectations, it forces us to become more aware that these expectations even exist and how they fall short of reality. Yet, despite this subversion, the world of Disco Elysium feels so much realer to us.
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ID a screenshot of Disco Elysium dialogue YOU - "Don't call it a dump, you've made it nice and cosy here." NOVELTY DICEMAKER - "Yeah." She stares out of the window, not really hearing your words. "Or maybe it's the entire world that's cursed? It's such a precarious place. Nothing ever works out the way you wanted." "That's why people like role-playing games. You can be whoever you want to be. You can try again. Still, there's something inherently violent even about dice rolls." "It's like every time you cast a die, something disappears. Some alternative ending, or an entirely different world...." She picks up a pair of dice from the table and examines them under the light. End ID
Like, Neha is highlighting this little meta element of how you can stack your Harry in any RPG to pursue a certain ending or situation, but the actual outcome is still influenced by a dice roll out of your control.
A lot of the satirical humor in Disco Elysium comes from the absurdity that you can do everything right or everything wrong, and the dice can still fuck it up or save it for you—not just for things like high-fantasy attacks, but mundane things like remembering your name.
The dice are, at their core, about how RPGs aren't just for the control fantasy, of winning high-fantasy battles, but also can represent life as it is, mundane and uncontrollable.
Similarly, Harry is clearly written—complete with all the 'lore' that this would entail—to couch his RPG protagonist nature in the real.
If RPG characters are blank slates? Let's give ours amnesia! Need fast travel?! Kim teases the 41st Precinct for constantly running everywhere by calling it the Jamrock Shuffle. He needs to have deep and intimate conversations with everyone, even when they're strangers? Yeah, that's so weird we gave him the name 'Human Can-Opener,' and everybody remarks on his uncanny manipulation skills.
It's commenting on difference between controlling an RPG avatar and navigating in a human body.
As Kurvits said: “In reality we do not have control, or complete control, of our minds. Just like our body, it is something that we give-not even commands wishes to, and we hope it's gonna do it. We hope it's not gonna break down, we hope it's not gonna rebel against us.”
In one type of RPG fantasy, we don't even question our total control and even assume the joy is from the control.
But in Disco Elysium, we lack control and find joy in it anyway. That is the fun of the game making us, the players, 'self-aware' about its RPG elements, and it especially resonates with anybody not able-bodied, anybody neurodivergent.
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thewriterg · 5 months
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𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥
pairing(s); tom holland x fem!reader, sub!tom x dom!reader
summary; Tom hadn’t been to a costume party since he was in college but thanks to his brother Harry he’s broken his record but the actor quite say he regret making a deal with the devil —kinktober day; 21—
word count; 1.5k
warning(s); SMUT, spanking, face riding, oral (f receiving), tail job?, edging, kisses, pet names, and language
playlist; glory box by portishead
A/n:—GIFs; @ffckedup & @erensbitch— It’s kink mf tober
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“Oh fuck you Harry” Tom muttered watching the banquet come into his view and suddenly his urge to crawl up into a ball and have his driver that was made to sure he entered the establishment by his dear brother of course take him back home while he inched closer to the party it was VIP, invite, and celebs only but the didn’t seem to make the brunette go jump off a cliff any less
If anything it could make the urge stronger
“Is there a problem Mr Holland?” The chauffeur questioned as he opened the brunettes door a little underlying urge to his voice and the actor took the hint stepping out of the black Porsche patting the man on his suit covered shoulder shaking his head with a small smile
“No, thank you” Suddenly not really so for the suit secure on his toned body not expecting the familiar white flashing lights shoved into his face as multiple questions were thrown his way he tight lipped the pap before getting rushed into the building flashing changing colored lights and blaring music taking over his senses and he heard different greetings from all over the place
“Spidey!”
“Oh Tom hi!”
“Is that the real suit man!?”
it was definitely college nostalgia to say the least
He smiled and waved at all of who he could making his way toward the bar a whiskey on the rocks imbedded in his mind greatly he had been mingling for less than twenty minutes and he already wanted to leave the least he could do is indulge in a little drink to treat himself for not already crawling under a rock
“Need a drink?” Tom heard a voice directly by his ear and when he turned to his head to look at the direction of sound just to turn around and find nothing before he reset to his usual position you were in front of him horns coming from your forehead your eyes crimson fangs peaking through as you spoke
“Pretty boy can’t handle loud noises and flashing lights?” You questioned lowly a teasing underlying tone thick on your tongue as you took a glass from the counter setting a cube in the glass and pouring Jack Daniels in the glass passing it to the brunette swiftly
“That’s cute, well aren’t you adorable” He hummed before taking a swallow of the bitter liquid falling into his mouth and down his throat eyebrows furrowing when he looked up from his glass and you weren’t there in front of him like you were
“Willing to make a deal with the devil Tommy?” You hummed in the actors ear making him shiver his mouth agape at the sudden change his eyes darting from behind the counter back towards where you’re standing now his heartbeat staring to beat a bit faster
“I-I um, guess I’ll roll that dice” He whispered before jumping in his seat as something wrapped around his leg before retreating and looked down to see a very realistic looking tail swinging back and forth at his feet before you were walking away a dramatic sway in your hips
“That one’s a looker who’s your designer? Woah where you going darling?” Tom was out of his seat following after you dodging dancing bodies until the music was dying down in his ears the lights no longer flashing in his eyes the actor felt a fog take over him clouding his senses until he was somewhere he completely didn’t recognize
“Gonna ask you one more time, willing to make a deal with the devil” He could see you fully now his head spinning his sense fully clouded of you his pupils dilated and his control felt compelled to you
“Whatever you want.. Miss whatever you want” He uttered dropping to his knees in front of you while your tail swayed against the back of your calves while you circled the brunette your heels clicking against the floor before you took a seat behind him your head tilting at the sight of his toned back
“You’ve done this before?” You interrogate him not moving from your position on the end of the giant bed frame while pressing a heel on the surface of his back pushing him to all fours while he goes down without a protest
“Yes mam” You hummed in response he’s obedient and pure with just with a little dark underlying it was… refreshing to say the least
“Go across the room strip I want everything off and then, crawl back to me” The brunette scurried away and he thanked the years of rushing in and out of the suit all over the world while he heard you heels against the floor the sound imbedded in his mind while crouching back down to his knees slowly returning to the spot he once was this time his carved face looking up into yours with those doe brown eyes filled with just about zero thoughts, jaw sharp enough to cut a sheet of glass, and the slight bump on his nose that would hit the spot
“You’ve ever been punished Tommy?” You whispered and he felt the presence of your tail against him again this time a thousand more times pleasurable causing him to let out an uncontrollable moan slipping from his lips his cheeks heating up tinting a soft pink before he could open his mouth for a response something whipped down on his lower back and the crack of his ass a whimper tangling in the brunettes tongue his curls sticking to his forehead
“I asked you a question” You hissed patience wearing blatantly thin
“Yes miss I have” He winced at the crop coming back down on his ass the sting subtle at first before cracking a burning punch and it continues tears brought to his eyes dripping onto the floor his backside battered and bruised and the actor knew sitting down would be a challenge for the next few days to come
“You think you should apologize for your manners pup?” You come into his view now only in a set of black lace that didn’t cover much he could feel himself salivating in his mouth
“Yes, please let me I’ll make it right I swear- I’ll do anythin-” He quiets at the look of you hand in the air aiding him to stop your presence demanding attention and affection God by the looks of it to Tom you deserve to be prayed to a temple built directly off of your body You slip down the pair of underwear your cunt bared to him while you took striding steps towards his frame and the pale boy took a small second to dart out his tongue to wet his lips before you hovering directly over his face like a dog with a bone
“Look at you finally learning being a real good boy, stay, stay, eat.” You hummed as he dived into your clit at your call his tongue dipping into you fold collecting the build up of arousal and your hand slithers up to his head and into his hair pulling and tugging roughly causing Tom to whine coyly the vibrations shooting up your spleen causing you to close your thighs on his head a borderline pornographic moan spilling from you while your rolled you hips against his face the bump in his nose hitting your clotting causing your hips to stutter
Toms hips suddenly bucked up into nothing a muffled groan that would’ve shook the room otherwise coming from his throat your tail wrapped around his cock stroking him the same pace he was stroking your clit with his tongue and the brunette began to come to the realization that it really wasn’t a prosthetic as he circled your clit flattening his tongue against your bundle of nerves while you hissed in pleasure your knees shaking on either side of his head he takes this time to finally attack your bud like a shark in a pool with a drop of blood and your eyes snap open while you let out a scream your coating rushing down to Tom’s tongue dribbling down his chin while he lapped up all the juices he scientifically could and then some the action riding you through your high almost putting you into overstimulation until you finally lift up your knees a little wobbly and your stance a little more slouched and the look you explain on the man’s face is drunk to say the least
You smirk while he whines your tail coming of his flushed cock his release slipping through his fingers like sand
“Didn’t think it’d be that easy did you?”
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©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.
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persefolli · 6 months
Text
𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧
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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐢𝐦𝐩!𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐃𝐮𝐛𝐜𝐨𝐧, 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @xylianasblog, @scarasbaefy, @sukunasbigtiddiewifey, @the-mourning-moon, @childofgod-05
𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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Frozen in place you held your sore cheek with tears in your eyes. You looked up at Toji, with glossy eyes and a pout.
“Five fucking hundred. Five hundred short.”
“Toji I-”
He held his hand up, shushing you. He shook his head and set the crumpled bills on the table. “How fucking dumb do you have to be to lose 500.”
“M’sorry Toji..I was- Maybe he was lying-.”
“You didn’t count the fucking money?!” He yelled. “You just took his word for it? You were so eager to spread your fucking legs you just believed him?”
The tears that threatened your waterline came spilling down your cheeks. At this Toji grumbled, running his hand down his face to refrain from hitting you again. 
“He usually gives me the right amount.” You whimpered. In hindsight, yes you should've counted, but you let your guard down. This was one of your frequent customers, and he’d never skimmed you before.
“Shut- Shut the fuck up Y/n.” He yelled and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He pondered for a moment, before turning and looking at you with a bored expression.
“We’re going to the club.”
“Toji-”
He stormed up to you and pressed his chest against you, shutting you up and intimidating you. “I won't repeat myself. And we won't come back until you have my money. You will fuck every guy you lay your eyes on if that's what it'll take.”
You stammered but ultimately gave up. He grabbed his car keys off the table and snatched you by your wrists, pulling you along with him. He practically threw you into the passenger seat of his car and got in the driver's seat, pulling out of his driveway.
Toji was a reckless driver, gripping the steering wheel and swerving around every car that stopped him from going over 100. He sped past red lights and nearly missed pedestrians. Your stomach was flipping, and you held on tightly to the dashboard of the car. After what felt like seconds, he came to a screeching stop in front of a restaurant, where a lot of men were sitting at a table outside, drinking and laughing.
“Watch, and learn your lesson.” He said before stepping out of the car.
You watched nervously as he circled the car and approached the table of men. You noticed your customer, the man who scammed you laughing along with the people at the table. Toji snatched up the drunken man and began laying blows on his face. You watched in fear as he beat him down in public, yelling expletives and drawing blood.
The man fell to the ground, and Toji reached down for his wallet, pulling out a wad of cash and counting it, before spitting on the man and returning to the car. 
You sniffled, wiping the now dried tears from your face. “I got my money back. But you still owe me 500.” He said.
He pulled the stick shift and began driving again. You began to grow nervous again, recognizing the route he was taking. He was taking you to one of his clubs, the one he sent his girls to when they got in trouble. Toji’s clubs in Tokyo were a no man’s land. Anything could fly there, as long as it wasnt disrespecting him, or his name. In your case, it was a brothel. 
Pulling into the club, the car door was opened and you were helped out by one of the valet workers. Toji walked behind you and pushed you forward, leading  you inside. Through the lobby, the dance floor, and to the back part of the club where the high-rollers chilled.
You recognized a few of them from the other times you came to the club, but never had to interact with one since you were usually in Toji's lap. “You better work your magic.” He said threateningly in your ear. You departed from him, walking towards a drunk man who was rolling dice and laughing while drinking champagne.
“What a pretty little thing.” The man scooted forward taking notice of you. You knew of him,  being married but having fat pockets. A session with him would get you back into Toji’s good graces quickly.
The man scooted forward. “Your name is?”
“Y/n.” You said meekly.
The man looked you up and down before smiling. “You one of Toji’s girls.” He tilted his head. “Must be my lucky day, he doesn't let me touch any of you. Like what you see?”
You internally screamed, gagging and cringing at the fact that he thought you willingly wanted him.
You smiled and nodded. He pulled you into his lap and he began groping at your breasts, squeezing tightly and groaning. You kept your composure as he had his way, grabbing and pinching at your flesh.
“Why don’t we take this to the back.” You suggested. In Toji’s clubs, he had plenty of rooms people could use for their ‘activities’. Meetings, drug dealings, strippers, and sex. Toji’s clubs was a safe space for the people who lived on the dark side of Tokyo.
Once in the room, he pulled you back onto his lap, running his hand down the navel of your chest, trialing it back up and giving your left breast a squeeze. He let out a low hum, looking back up at you for your approval. 
You gave him a smile before reciting your- well, Toji’s rules. “No biting, no bruises, no hair pulling.” 
“Well that's no fun sweetheart.” 
“You know the rules.” You responded sternly.
The man rolled his eyes and let out a groan. He worked off your jacket, and pulled at the straps of your dress, ravaging your breasts, licking and sucking at your nipples like there was no tomorrow.
You yelped as the man quickly pinned you against the couch, hovering over you as he continued his attack on your neck. It felt strange, you could tell he wanted to actually indulge in you, but the fear of Toji was instilled in him, so he held back. He looped his finger around your underwear and pulled them down, before moving to unbuckle his black, leather belt. 
You turned your head to avoid the drunken man's gaze, but he grabbed your chin to face him. “I’ve only been able to dream of fucking you.” He pulled out his member, which was decently sized, but never as big as Toji. “The least you can do is…look at me.” He grunted as he sank into you. You gasped, gaping your mouth wide feeling the stretch. He propped himself up, using his hands and dropped his head, not even looking at you like he was before. The man thrusted into you, whimpering and groaning as he fucked you.
You let out short moans, satisfactory for him. When you had sex with clients, or at least when you used to, you learned to detach, often not seeking a climax. The only man who made you orgasm was Toji, which was another reason you were so attached to him.
You projected your moans, making them pornographic. The more dramatic you sounded, the more they paid. It was funny how much you could boost a man’s ego by moaning loudly. 
“Fuck im gonna-” The man grunted on top of you, coming and reaching his climax. That didn’t take long. He collapsed onto you and panting into the crook of your neck. You pulled yourself from underneath him and pulled up your underwear quickly. 
“Man that was amazing.” The man sat up and pulled his boxers on. WIthout concern for his pants, he grabbed his wallet and grabbed a wad of cash. He didn’t even count before handing it to you. You flicked through the bills and counted mentally, sighing in relief at the total.
You didn’t say goodbye to him before leaving the room. You scrambled down the hall, looking for Toji. As usual, you found him in the private room that also doubled as his ‘office’. It gave him a full view of the dance floor and club below.
“What's this hm?” he questioned as you entered his office. You set the wad of cash on his desk and he sat up, taking the bills. 
“Come here.” He motioned for you to come behind his desk.  
He didn’t have to instruct you further. You knew  what he wanted you to do while he counted your earnings. You got on your knees and unzipped his pants, pulling out his member and stroking it.
He let out a low hum and began flipping through the bills himself.
You began throating and sucking on his member, closing your eyes and savoring his taste. You knew you’d stressed him out in the past few hours, so this was your way of apologizing. You closed your eyes and gagged around him, drooling all over his shaft so he slid in and out easier.
“1200, " he said, shifting and setting the money on his desk. “You outdid your- fuck.”
He placed his large hand over your head and guided you along his length. Toji bucked his hips and bit his lip to suppress his moans. He was a shameless sex addict, so he took pride in being vocal.
“Im gonna- Oh fuck girl, you swallow it.” He pushed his rough hands against your head, and wormed his hips around, spilling his load into your mouth. You swallowed with ease, and when you pulled away, Toji used his thumb to wipe the excess off the corner of your lip. 
Toji pat your head silently before standing up and readjusting himself. He took a part of the stack of cash and stuck it in your bra, where he always put it. When his back was turned you counted out the bills. $300. 
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bitten-fruit · 2 months
Text
you invite him inside
It's Summer 2007, and you're on your way home from a party in Edinburgh. You encounter an exceptionally forward Scottish stranger with a buzzed head and a brow ring, calling himself Soap - you roll the dice, and let him walk you home.
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18+ MDNI - cw: reader is drunk - 5k words
tags: Indie Sleaze(!!) Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x f!Reader, teasing & denial, flirting & banter
a/n: this is (some) of the first chapter of my longfic Trainspotting on A03, bitterfruit. I thought I'd share on here since I'm working on a part 2!! ♡
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You carve through the beating crowd of the house party; sloshing drinks and drunken hands intercept you as you attempt to navigate your way to the front door. MGMT’s Kids thunders from the speakers in the hallway, its deafening volume only exacerbated by the passionate chanting of the dancers that hover around it.
Control yourself! Take only what you neeeed from it!
Your friend Katie, who had brought you as a plus-one, had long disappeared with some boy she had been all over - taking your coat with her - leaving you to make your way home in nothing but your needlessly skimpy playboy bunny costume.
Finally stumbling out of the dense jungle of partygoers, you burst through the front door as if you’d just been birthed, sweaty and panting. 
Just a fifteen-minute walk.
With your arms crossed, you trudge down the steps in the stiletto pumps you had borrowed from Katie – glossy, sharp, and a size too small. Fuck, they ache. Before you even make it past the gate, you throw in the towel and unstuff your feet from their latex trappings; holding the shoes with two fingers hooked at the heels, doing your best to avoid stepping on the broken glass on the footpath.
As your distance from the house party grows and the echoes of Paper Planes begin to fade, it dawns on you that you’re far drunker than you had believed yourself to be. Being surrounded by students two boxes and three pingers deep has the tendency to make you feel staunchly sober by comparison.
Still, you feel the slabs of concrete wobbling beneath your feet, your head starts to spin like you’ve stepped off a carousel if you shut your eyes for too long. The streets are utterly quiet, devoid of cars or people, despite the neighbourhood’s proximity to the CBD. You may well have found it off-putting if you were sober, but in truth, you’re just thanking Christ there’s nobody around to see you trotting down the road in nothing but a bodysuit and fishnets. You imagine a car might pull up alongside you, rolling slowly on its wheels as the driver asks through his window, “how much for an hour?”
And that would almost be preferable to what you actually encounter once you’re halfway home – crossing the street, stumbling in your bare feet as you walk past shops with steel shutters blocking their doors and windows.
You hear the distinctive thuds of sprinting feet from far behind you; the soles of sneakers slamming hard on the footpath, in a rapid enough pace that the person might as well be an Olympian runner. As they get louder, closer, your first instinct is to flee – but before you even have the chance to turn to look over your shoulder, the sprinter has come to a screeching halt beside you, tearing off their jacket and tossing it over your shoulders as if it were a cape.
“What the fu–” You yelp, hastily cut short.
“Shh – shut up, pretend y’know me.”
A man, and a local, evidently – the kind of Scottish accent so thick you can barely distinguish the beginning of one word from the end of another. 
“Get away fr–”
He interrupts you once again, tossing an arm over your shoulder as he walks alongside you, shoving his other fist into the pocket of his loose black jeans. “Please, lassie, do me a favour and just go with it.”
Amidst his breathlessness he sounds quite desperate – voice deep and warm, oozing sincerity despite the edge in his tone. So you weigh your options, whether or not to trust him, or to help him, or to scream and flee. You tilt your head just enough to take a peek at him; he hunches over, shoulders shrugging high as if keeping his neck warm, head low like it might hide his buzzcut from whoever may be chasing him.
You quickly discover that there are, in fact, people chasing him – more echoes from further down the road of multiple sets of running feet. You hear an enraged roar from a man behind you; your body tenses on instinct, head twisting further in the hopes of checking how close they are to you.
“Don’t look at ‘em,” he instructs you pointedly, under his breath.
More indistinguishable yelling erupts from his pursuers, though they no longer seem to be approaching. “Cheap fucken’ trick, ye fucken’ coward!”
“Keep walkin’ with me,” he mutters, tugging you along with his heaving arm draped around the back of your neck, forcing you to accelerate so that you can keep up with him.
Adrenaline throbbing hotly in your ears, you try to steal glances at the controlling stranger, not able to see much of him in your periphery. You realise now that the gifting of his jacket was not a chivalrous gesture, but a failed attempt to trick his pursuers. “Sounds like they’ve spotted you,” you whisper-yell, facing ahead.  
“Aye,” he grunts, “but they won’t touch me if there’s a witness.”
“I don’t want to be a witness,” you squeak, nervous terror in your throat.
He chuckles breathily, gives a single shake of his head. “Too late.”
“Next time I see ye, yer a fucken’ dead man, hear me? With or without yer hoor!”
The stranger groans as he scoops you around a corner, keeping a hurried pace, shooting looks over his shoulder to ensure he’s no longer being followed. Fortunately – or, unfortunately – this was the corner you would have taken anyway.
“Did he just call me a whore?” You whisper, still in shock.
He chortles at you again, sliding his weighty arm from your shoulders and releasing you at long last. “Ignore ‘em. Fucken' wankers.”
You finally have the opportunity to turn around fully to check behind you, seeing only empty, silent street.
“They won’t follow us,” he assures you, still walking alongside you, arrogant in his assumption that you won’t tell him to fuck off.
But you don’t, not yet. “Why – why were they chasing you?”
“Nosy wee thing, aren’t ye?” He smiles, crossing his arms, and you finally get a good look at him.
Hair buzzed short, the sort of job he likely did himself over his sink with an electric clipper plugged into the wall. A curved barbel pierces through the tail of his left eyebrow, almost as flashy as the sharp grey eyes pointing down at you from beneath it. His grin pushes dimples into his densely stubbled cheeks, revealing charmingly crooked teeth, and a golden crown on his right canine.
There’s something tired, jaded about him, dark eyes and low brows; face speckled with a variety of little scars, one white slash through his right eyebrow, a few pink lines carving over his temple and through his shaven scalp.
You blink, reminding yourself to speak.
“Nosy?” You snap, “you brought me into this!”
He tilts his head, appearing to acquiesce. “Aye, true. They’re just mad ‘cos I short-changed ‘em.”
As he shrugs, the hem of his cropped t-shirt tugs up on his stomach, revealing the hem of plaid boxers sticking out from his baggy trousers, a sliver of firm abdomen, a dusting of curly hair trailing down from his navel. You swallow.
“Hm. For what?” You pester.
“Now yer bein’ nosy.”
You huff, crossing your arms underneath the cape of his jacket, checking over your shoulder one last time to be certain you’re no longer being stalked.
“Fine,” you pout. After a beat of silence, you decide to add; “I’m not a prostitute, by the way.”
He snickers hoarsely, “’course not. Prostitutes are much more subtle. You’d be the first I’ve ever seen dressed as a – a what, a bunny?”
He reaches behind you, the cocky prick, lifting the back of his cloaking jacket and flicking the puffball pinned to your ass. You gawk at him, a surge of adrenaline buzzing within your chest – curious, that it’s not out of fear but fascination.
“See a lot of prostitutes, do you?” You sneer, noting how briefly his gaze lingers on your backside before it flits to your face.
“Not ‘round this side of town,” he chortles. You suspect he’s joking, but who’s to say? “So… why a bunny?”
“Playboy bunny,” you correct him, turning your head to glance at him; he just looks bewildered. “Pimps and hoes party.”
He laughs, richly, lurching forward as he does. “Ha! Had no idea they still did those.”
“Sure do,” you say, failing to suppress your grin. “Too old for them, are you?”
“Aye, for house parties full o’ students,” he admits, “but not too old to party. M’only twenty-six.”
You smile. “Good for you.”
“Got no girlie-mates to walk ye home?” He changes the subject.
Peeking at him, you squint. “You’re not supposed to ask a girl if she’s alone, you know.” 
“Oh,” he frowns, “why’s that?”
“Like, stranger danger.”
“Yeah?” He chuckles deeply. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”
You turn to look at him, running your eyes from his cocksure grin, down to his Chucks and back again. He certainly looks the part. Rough around the edges. You wonder if you would have avoided him, had he not approached you so blithely.
“Very,” you nod. “Plus, you’re following me.”
“Am I?” He jibes, “well, love, if ye want me to leave y’alone, tell me and I’ll try to leave ye be.”
Your pout shifts into a girlish smirk despite your dire efforts to contain it. “You’ll try?”
“Mm. Might be easier said than done,” he ribs, leering down at you. Your quiet titter only serves to embolden him. “It’s probably for the best that I found ye.”
“You reckon?”
“Mm. Not very bright o’ye to be walking home by yerself at this hour. And in that.”
You click your tongue impatiently. “You sound like my mum.”
“Then she’s a smart woman,” he says, with a sternness that leaves you taken aback.
You peer up at him, scrutinising. For fuck’s sake, you curse at yourself, get a grip. All better judgement, your guardian angel, screams at you to stop flirting with this bizarre studded stranger and hurry your ass home. But the little devil on your other shoulder is far more interested in seeing how this unusual interaction plays out.
“You gonna protect me, are ya?” You probe.
“Naturally,” he chuffs.
“Walking me home, then?”
A devilish grin stretches in his lips. “Happily.”
“Promise you’re not a psychopath or something?”
He inhales deeply, blowing a raspberry as he puts his hands on his hips. “No promises.”
“Mm. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised,” you say, “only psychopaths would roam the streets at three-a.m.”
“Yeah? What does that make you?”
You giggle. “Shit. You got me.”
“You bet I do. What kind of psycho wears a fucken’ outfit like that ‘on the streets at 3-a.m.’?”
Taking a peek down at yourself, you’re confronted immediately by your obnoxious cleavage, unsure how you could have forgotten it was there. You decide to slip your arms into the roomy sleeves of his jacket, wearing it properly rather than as a cloak – much warmer.
“What’s wrong with it?” You wonder in jest, feigning offence.
“Yer jokin’.” He scoffs.
“What?” You gaze at him, with a cock of your brow; he unashamedly glowers at you, vibrantly grey eyes raking from your lips to your feet before climbing back to your stare.
He huffs petulantly. “I could see yer tits from across the street,” he murmurs, “don’t make me say something about the stockings.”
You laugh coyly, feeling your cheeks burn hot and red. Seems like you got the answer you wanted. “S’that why you ran up to me, huh?”
He shakes his head. “Nae. That was just dumb luck.”
“Ah. Lucky you.”
“Mhm,” he rumbles, voice low, “very lucky.”
Why is your heart fluttering? Why are you suddenly hanging on his every word like a fucking teenage girl? You blame the cherry-flavoured RTDs you were knocking back every ten minutes while you were at that party. They’ve made your cheeks all pink and your tongue all wet.
Yet in the current quiet, strolling nonchalantly down an empty street at half-past three in the morning, you don’t feel any awkwardness in the silence. You just smile at your feet like an idiot.
“What’s yer name, then?” He asks casually, both fists in his pockets.
You hum in thought, “hmm. I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“You’re a stranger, remember?”
“So?” He disputes, grinning and playfully biting his bottom lip with his top teeth, brandishing that glistening golden canine.
You shake your head. “Who knows what you could do with my name! You could be a stalker for all I know,” you explain defensively, “you might find out where I work on MySpace, or something.”
He snickers. “Wouldn’t need MySpace to figure that out, lass.”
Frowning, you give him a disapproving smirk. “You’re proving my point.”
“Ye really won’t tell me?”
“Nope.”
He huffs disappointedly. “Alright, then, I’ll just have to call ye the bunny I found on the street.”
“Fine by me,” you declare proudly. “What can I call you, then? The playboy?”
With a chuckle, he purses his lips in contemplation. “The playboy to yer bunny, I like that,” he says. “But, pals call me Soap.”
“Soap?” You question incredulously, “seriously?”
“Aye. If I can’t have yer name, y'can’t have mine.”
You snort. “Is it meant to be ironic?”
“Can’t be,” he refutes, quick to detect your insult, “I’m clean as a whistle.”
As you open your mouth to offer back some snippy response, you spot your mailbox, number eighteen, three terraced townhouses down – you had lost track of how long the walk was, your charming stranger having sponged up every last drop of your attention.  
You find yourself disappointed, unjustifiably; you even consider, briefly, not mentioning that you had arrived home just so you can keep walking with him. God, you’re pathetic.
But imagining yourself having to eventually turn around, having to admit that you purposefully missed your stop – you begrudgingly decide to be a good girl and put yourself to bed.
“This is me,” you say flatly, slowing your steps before you come to a stop.
“Ah,” he stops beside you and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Bugger.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, mindlessly slipping your hands into the pockets of his jacket, preceding a reluctant silence. “Well, um... thanks for walking me home. Who knows what danger I could’ve gotten into.”
He waves away your jocose gratitude. “Oh, ‘course,” he says, “had to make sure ye didn’t get tricked into a chase by some strange gadgie.”
You snicker. “Oh, yeah. That would be terrifying.”
Crossing his arms, her gives you a wide but wistful grin. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, hen.”
“Okay,” you nod, chewing your lip, you feel something in his pocket – rolling it between your fingers, feels like a wad of paper. Cash? A receipt? You start to wonder what he might have ‘short-changed’ those thugs for. Don’t be nosy. “Oh – your jacket.”
As you slip it off your shoulders, he disputes; “don’t wanna keep it as a memento?”
You chuckle, frowning, shaking your head in bemusement. Memento? What a peculiar bloke. “No. It sorta smells.”
“Bollocks,” he retorts, reaching to take the jacket from you – a brown leather bomber, now that you can see it properly. “I smell divine.”
God, he does. Like patchouli and sweat and leather; some sort of earthy masculine concoction, the kind of scent that’s probably entirely accidental – underpinned, you note, by something strangely chemical, like he had just taken a walk through a hospital. Still, so delightfully distinct from the stench of Axe body spray that the boys at your university gassed themselves with daily.
You pass him the bomber, shivering once your scantily clad body is once again exposed to the chilly air of the night. He’s quite shameless, this stranger, eyes almost bulging as they comb brazenly over you – legs, hips, tits – finally getting a good look at you, he takes his time.
“Eyes up here, playboy,” you chide.
He smirks, piercing gaze jumping to yours while his head remains tilted down; you’re almost intimidated the intensity of his eye contact from under his brow. “Aye. They’re just as pretty.”
“Alright, alright,” you giggle, face glowing hot. “I’d better turn in.”
“Yes, you’d better.”
Before you bring yourself to turn around, his hand reaches toward you, plucking the bunny-eared headband from the top of your head.
“Oi!” You bark, smoothing your disturbed hair; watching in confusion as he meticulously sits them on his head, flicking one of the fuzzy white ears with a pleased grin stretched in his lips.
“I want a memento,” he explains boldly. “Never know when I'm dreamin’ these days.”
You stare at him in bewilderment, amused and oddly endeared. He slips on his jacket, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging it over his shoulders.
“Fine, all yours,” you capitulate, smiling meekly, once again letting a pregnant silence linger while you resist a goodbye. “Um. Alright. Goodnight. Soap.”
He nods. “G’night, wee bunny.”
You nod, too, finally turning on your bare feet and walking up the stairs of your flat’s brick stoop. Fumbling around in your handbag, you pluck out your keys – jingling loudly with all of your various keychains as you unlock the painted white door.
You hear his footsteps as he strolls away, slowly, growing duller as the distance grows. You find yourself frozen in the open doorway, staring into the dark abyss of your foyer, facing solitude. Bouncing in dispute with yourself, you exert all strength to bite your tongue. Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.
He starts to whistle, some obscure tune from just down the street, as if he is purposefully reminding you he’s still in earshot – a smug little prompt.
Fuck it.
Spinning around to face the road, you lean out of the door, and call out; “Hey!”
As though he had expected it, he stops in his tracks, twirling on his heel to face you with his hands still in his pockets. Had lit himself a cigarette already, in the thirty seconds since you had bid him farewell.
“Hm? Want the ears back after all?”
“Um–” You scramble to come up with an excuse. “Those guys won’t be looking for you, will they?”
He grins. “Oh, they could well be.”
“What’ll they do if they find you?”
“Who knows,” he huffs. “Probably kill me. Might gimme one o’ those Glasgow smiles.”
“That would be pretty terrible,” you remark solemnly.
“Aye. It sure would.”
You chew the inside of your cheek, battling with your drunken little demon. “Maybe you should hide out here for the night.” You daft bitch.
“Hm,” he ponders aloud, sauntering slowly back towards your stairs, squinting in thought. “Sounds like a bad idea.”
“How come?” You challenge, tapping the inside of the doorframe with shy fingers.
He creeps up your short footpath. “Never know what might happen.”
Your lips curl into an impish smirk. “That’s the best part.”
He laughs, plucking the cigarette from his teeth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “How drunk are ye. On a scale one-through-ten.”
“Um,” you muse, biting your lip. “I’m not that drunk.”
“Well, hen, you must be steamed. ‘Cos that’s not a number.”
You snicker, then groan impatiently. “Four.”
“Only four, eh?” He asks dubiously, standing at the base of your stairs, he gazes up at you devilishly. “You gonna remember in the mornin’ that you asked me to come in?”
“’Course,” you say. “I want you to come inside.”
He sneers. Filthy boy. “Don’t wanna get in trouble,” he refutes.
“I want you to come in,” you insist, correcting your wording just slightly.
He hums, feigning deep thought, as if he hasn’t been hoping you’d ask. “Alright,” he surrenders. “Why not.”
You do your best to conceal your glee, nodding, grinning, you turn to step inside and you hear him follow you.
“Ye live alone?” He asks, as he looks around the empty hallway, shrouded in darkness.
Shutting the door behind you and locking it, you tut at him. “Still shouldn’t ask that.”  
“You’ve already invited me in,” he jeers, “if you’re worried I’ll hurt ye, you’ve made it well easy for me.”
“I s’pose so,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you go to switch on the light hanging in the centre of the foyer. Christ, it’s a tip – you and Katie are equally dishevelled, leaving shoes and lip gloss and hair ties and clothes in your wake wherever you venture. “Can’t be too careful,” you add – very aware of how uncareful you are being.
“Do I scare ye?” He asks coyly, taking a raffish drag of his cigarette.
“I dunno,” you answer frankly, leaning bashfully against your front door with your hands tucked behind you. “Should I be scared of you?”
“Mm,” he shrugs, “probably.”
You purse your lips and nod. “Stranger danger,” you remind yourself.
“I reckon you’re a lot more dangerous than me,” he grins.
You frown. “Why’s that?”
He puts his cigarette between his lips, holding it with a pinch, taking a puff as he eyes you scrupulously. “Look at you.”
You suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fucking hell.
“I have a flatmate,” you finally answer his initial question, and change the subject. “But she’s not home tonight.”
“Good,” he says, milky smoke spilling from his smile.
“Um,” you make noises to fill your flustered silence. “Want to go upstairs?”
He cocks his eyebrows. “Lead the way.”
Pushing yourself from the door, you slip past him and trot up the staircase that sits flush with the panelled wall. The old oak creaks and moans under the weight of his heavy steps, he follows you steadily.
Rushing to get to your room before he can see it, you scuttle across to your bedroom door from the landing, hoping he ignores the kaleidoscope of peeling stickers you’ve tacked above the handle. You shove it open, quickly kicking aside a pair of twisted up panties you had left on your red shag rug.
In a blink he’s behind you, standing in the doorframe, a terrifyingly tall and bulky silhouette against the dim glow emerging from downstairs – made uniquely funny by the rabbit ears sticking up from his head.
You step over the piles of discarded outfit options and switch on the lamp by your bed; the yellow bulb glows coral pink from behind the vintage fabric lampshade. Looking back at him, he’s already perusing your room like it’s a museum.
He picks up and analyses the assortment of trinkets on your shelves and chest-of-drawers (old jewellery, empty lighters, some strange ceramic babies you once picked up at a flea market), and admires the mosaic of posters on your wall (Gorillaz, Feist, The Killers, MGMT,  Arcade Fire, The Strokes, Peter Bjorn and John – careful cherry-picks of your favourite bands, in the hopes you’d one day impress some hot guy with taste as good as yours).
“Bit of an artiste, are ye?” He queries, nodding at the easel against your wall – housing a half-finished and long-hated painting of yours, an attempt at a masterwork copy of Monet; sitting amongst a bombsite of palettes, brushes in dirty cups, and curled-up tubes of oil paint.
“Guess so,” you answer. “It’s my degree.”
He leans into your hideous painting, taking a drag but careful not to stain the canvas with the smoke. “Still studying, then?”
“Yeah, uh, my Master’s.”
He nods. “If you’re already this good, what does a Master’s in painting get ye?”
You snort. “Good fuckin’ question.”
Feeling suddenly shy, you venture to busy yourself, electing to pull the curtains shut over your window.
You hear him chuckle while you aren’t looking. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
You spin on the ball of your foot, and freeze instantly – stare caught on your grape-coloured vibrator, held comfortably in the palm of his hand, he tosses it and catches it again. You had left it on your bed, a rookie mistake. You fucking idiot!
Your hand shoots to cover your mouth, fire burns white-hot behind your cheeks; but you can only giggle, humiliated. “Put that down,” you plead into your palm.
Ignoring you, he inspects it, quickly finding the button to turn it on; its buzzing rings out obnoxiously loud into the cripplingly awkward silence, forcing you to grimace. He doesn’t seem to find it awkward at all, holding the end of the purple rod into his other hand, curling his lips in disapproval as he evidently evaluates the vibration against his skin.
“Never understood why you girls like these things,” he remarks insouciantly.
“Please put it down,” you cry, staring at the ceiling as if it might hide you from the embarrassment.
He only sniggers. “Cannae compare to the real thing.”
You cover your eyes. “It fills the void,” you quietly admit.
He finally switches it off, but continues to fiddle with it as he ambles towards you. “Mustn’t do a very good job o’ that.”
Uncovering your face, finally, you jolt when you see how close he is to you – only a foot between you, you can feel the heat of him from where you stand. You do your utter best to prevent your eyes from jumping to the vibrator in his grip, but he still toys with it, as if just to taunt you.
“What makes you say that?”
He gazes down at you, lips stretched into a smug grin. “Why’d you invite me in, eh?”
You swallow, stifling a giggle – you look around capriciously, anywhere but his drilling stare. “Just wanted to help you out.”
“Help me out?” He interrogates you, inching forward, forcing you to step onto your back foot.
You’re suddenly short of breath. “I didn’t want you to get stabbed.”
He gleams that cheshire smile, suddenly his canines seem sharper. “You’re a bad liar, wee bunny.”
“Am I?” You utter, shambling back further has he continues to encroach.
“Took me to yer bedroom straight away… didn’t even offer me a drink…” he teases, “I’m thinkin’ ye want me to help you out.”
You feel a sudden bump as your back hits the door of your cupboard, shrinking as he leans over you, closing the gap. Your eyes catch on his lips as he again places his cigarette in between them, its smoke drifting softly over your face, your stare lingers.
“Dunno where you got that idea,” you breathe, entranced by the cloud that’s left in his mouth once he tugs the roll out again.
Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid.
Ignoring any remaining shred of common sense, you step up on your tiptoes to slam your lips against his, sucking down the smoke lingering behind his teeth deep into your chest. He matches you with no hint of hesitation, leaning into you with the full weight of his body, you hear him finally drop the vibrator as it lands on the carpet with a dull thud.
Fuck, his tongue tastes good – like tobacco and peppermint chewing gum, soft and hungry as it writhes against yours. He does what he can with his one free hand, starting tastefully with a cup of your cheek, then a hold of the side of your neck, down to your shoulder – before plunging into a greedy handful of your breast, kneading it like dough.
His wet and eager lips drag along from yours, taking soft bites out of your cheek, hot tongue licking from your jaw to your neck, where he burrows his teeth. You let out a breathy whimper, fervid fingers clutch and claw at his chest through his t-shirt, using the fabric to pull him closer. His busy hand ventures along your waist, taking a palmful of your hip and tugging it only slightly towards him.
Impatient, ravenous, your fingers slither down his firm stomach to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling to get his button undone; you feel him smile against your skin, a breathy chuckle, before his other hand moves to stop you with a hold of your wrist.
He releases your neck from his maw, standing upright with a fucking cocky and self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. You let go of his button and return your hands to your sides, worried you’d been too eager, put him off with your fervour.
“Glad to know it’s this easy to get ye hot n’ bothered,” he drawls, taking another drag of what is now nearly just the butt.
“No idea what you mean,” you pant, utterly breathless, you sweep some stray hair from your forehead with your palm.  “I’m not hot and bothered.”
“Aren’t you?” He goads, and the hand that clutches your hip sneaks towards your centre, prompting you to hold your breath; he snakes it over your mound, gliding it brazenly between your closed legs.
His shrewd eyes watch you, arrogantly, as he palms your aching pussy through the thin fabric of your bodysuit – under which you wore no panties, you wonder if he can feel how damp it is. He pushes a coaxing pressure against your covered clit with the heel of his palm, forcing you to whine in desperation; your insatiable hands return to his chest, balling the fabric of his t-shirt into your fists – and he only chortles.
“I could fry an egg on that,” he says.
And suddenly you snort, breaking into cackling laughter as you shove him away with both hands. “God, you’re disgusting!”
He laughs with you, proud of himself, he finally takes off the fucking bunny ears.
“I could hang a towel on that,” you jab, eyes suddenly caught on the frightening tent pitched in his roomy trousers. That can’t be real.
“You could hang a lot on it,” he agrees rakishly, chuckling, palming the length under his pants to tuck it away.
You try to contain your giggles as you push yourself upright, attempting to un-fluster yourself by smoothing your hair and wiping the dampness of his saliva from your neck. You feel the slippery wetness of your cunt with a step. “You’re evil,” you spit, still throbbing from his attention.
“Cannae fuck you yet,” he declares bluntly, turning to dump the end of his cigarette into your paintbrush cup full of brown water.
“Why not?” You pout, whingeing like a spoilt brat.
He returns with a debonair grin. “Gotta give you a reason to see me again.”
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manykinsmen · 5 months
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okay, here is what kind of dnd characters i think the drivers would play.
daniel: horny bard, obvs. probably a half-elf ‘cause he wants to be a little special but also he can’t get past the fact he genuinely thinks humans are sexiest. chaotic good.
charles: sorceror. he doesn’t understand the magic system and has made this so, so hard for himself. probably an elf because they’re the sexiest to him. neutral good.
carlos: he’s weirdly good at keeping track of all the rules, but isn’t playing a magical character himself (unless you count all the help he’s giving charles). some kind of monk, speciality race. maybe a kenku. lawful good.
max: rules monkey, in deep into the lore. he’s the only one who knows what a gith is and he’s head over heels for them. extreme minmaxer wizard. lawful neutral.
kevin: sticks to what he knows, which is bashing stuff (and frequently has to be reminded this isn’t pvp). on the rare occasion he isn’t just bashing stuff he brings out academy award winning character scenes. dwarf barbarian. chaotic neutral.
alex: forever cleric. his and george’s characters have a slow burn romance. firbolg, neutral good.
lando: daniel built his for him when he slept through session zero. goblin fighter. chaotic evil.
checo: well he was playing a true neutral tabaxi rogue but he dropped out after the first session because trying to parent at the same time was too difficult.
guanyu: a very shiny silver dragonborn paladin. really comes out of his shell and gets into the role play. lawful good.
george: playing a girl, just don’t read into it okay. she’s a dramatic ass drow warlock who gets sassy with her patron a lot and frequently has her powers suspended. chaotic neutral.
lewis: absolutely no idea what he’s doing, existing purely on vibes. always asking valtteri what he thinks he should do. half-orc fighter (keeping it simpleish for himself). neutral good.
fernando: are you kidding? this is shakespeare when nando is in the party. will take the decisions that actively damage the party for character reasons. chaotic neutral drow rogue.
yuki: this man has tiefling written all over him and steals from inside the party. started out chaotic good but got slowly demoted to chaotic evil. also way too excited to do the blood hunger werewolf transformation.
esteban: mischief incarnate. comes out with the most outrageous puns. gnome bard. chaotic neutral.
pierre: trying desperately to keep the party (especially yuki) on task. took shifter after yuki got excited about being werewolves together. ranger. true neutral.
valtteri: chillest motherfucker at the table. his character doesn’t talk often but when he does it’s sheer wisdom. went for a “less common” combination on purpose. goliath druid with a pet wolf. neutral good.
logan: was very very late to session zero and dan had already made him an arakocra paladin. long suffering, his ideas are great but overshadowed by dumbassery. lawful good.
lance: has not once rolled well on anything he has bonuses in. wanted to make a dramatic character and has slowly accepted that it will only ever be comedy from his dice. aasimir sorcerer, lawful neutral.
oscar: actually pretty fucking good at this shit. could probably take the boss fights and missions all by himself. human rogue, true neutral.
nico: just wanted to play a robot. wishes kevin’s character would stop using his as a training dummy. warforged paladin. neutral good.
bonus
seb: forever dm
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pastryland · 7 months
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charlos completed fic recommendations
If any of the authors of the fics mentioned here or are tagged and don't want their fics to be here, please let me know and I'll remove it!
Will update this list periodically
❤️ = favorite
⭐️ = I love fics by this author in general
❌ = triggering themes
🔥 = explicit
punctuated all wrong - 7k - ❤️ ⭐️
Prompt: "I don’t know if someone else agrees with me but I’m a sucker for the whole person A falls in love with person B but they think they don’t deserve person B’s love trope and I’d love to see how it would play out with charlos (not saying who’s person A and who person B, even though that should be pretty obvious)"
head over heels - 44k - ❤️ 🔥
“Oh, really, you think that you, Carlos Sainz, somehow have a kink so fucked up that I wouldn’t be able to handle it, do tell me what it is”, he says, “is it spanking maybe, I’m sure you think that’s beyond taboo, you want to drape me over your lap, punish me for being a bad boy?”, Carlos shakes his head, a small glint in his eye, “Bondage then? Do you want to tie me up?”, another shake of the head, “Whips? Paddles? Feathers?”, Carlos continues shaking his head and so Charles leans in further, his voice dipping lower as he continues. “Maybe you’re into age play then”, he pushes closer, so their faces are only inches apart, “do you want me to call you daddy?”, the air between them feels like it’s on fire as Carlos breathes out a hot laugh, giving another miniscule shake off the head. “Then tell me”, Charles demands and waits as Carlos seems to consider him for a moment, before leaning forwards so his lips are next to his ear, his breath hot against his skin, sending shivers cascading down his body. “Love”.
i feel so much, i feel so numb - 23k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
As long as he’s known what a soulmate is, he’s known his soulmate’s name. Carlos. Scrawled along the delicate skin of his right wrist.
can't sleep 'til i feel your touch - 8k - ⭐️ 🔥
“I could...” Carlos trails off, and Charles drops his hands from his temples, looking at him curiously. “You could, what?” “...give you a hand.” He says it so casually that it takes Charles a minute to even attempt at understanding what he means. ~ ~ OR: Charles develops insomnia, and the only thing that helps is...Carlos?
the trials of 2022 - 33k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
A partial summary of the 2022 season, as told by Charles or Carlos, following each race.
dice che ti ama (ma lo sai che mente) - 2k - ⭐️ 🔥
But Charles smiled, dimples out and about, back against the wall of Carlos’ driver’s room. Like he knew he wasn’t in danger. Like he hadn’t entered a lions’ den looking like a three course meal. (Like he knew Carlos was all bark and no bite, and toying with the metaphorical rubber band —stretch, stretch, stretching— wouldn’t ever make it snap into his straight nose.)
Almost Total Wreck - 2k - 🔥 - also has Pierre/Charles
He imagines telling Pierre about it: he spat right in my face and I came like that it was so good, and he’s already replacing the man’s orgasm with his own, making his wounded sounds as he drags it out kicking and screaming, so that by the time he’s done his stomach hurts with it, his head pounds like a fever, more ache than pleasure but that’s what pleasure is, isn’t it?
worthy is the lamb (thank you for the price you paid) - 12k - ⭐️ ❌ 🔥
Predestined (adjective): [ˌpriːˈdes.tɪnd] If you say that something was predestined, you mean that it could not have been prevented or changed because it had already been decided by a power such as God or fate.
my blood is singing with your voice (the saints can't help me now) - 13k - ⭐️ 🔥
He was there. (God was also there.) Carlos walked towards the altarpiece (and the back with the white t-shirt) breathing through his nose like a bull. The cross on his chest wasn’t warm because it got a little chilly at night. He turned. “Carlos.” “Hey, Charles.” “You say my name weird.” Carlos swallowed. “Oh—” “I like it.”
all the king's horses, all the king's men - 38k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥
Carlos Sainz was eight years old when he fell in love. (For the first time.) It was at a race track. (It wouldn’t be the last time.)
little of your love - 5k - ⭐️ 🔥
in which Charles gets accidentally knocked up by Pierre, and he’s determined to raise the baby himself. Carlos is having none of that.
I Fell for Your Magic - 10k - 🔥
Charles had been the one to decide the sun rose and set with Carlos Sainz Jr. And it was Charles who had unexpectedly fallen in love with his teammate over the last couple years.
last night - 24k - ⭐️ 🔥
Rule #1: When you go to America, don't lose your virginity to your best friend's roommate. Charles fails Rule #1.
internal mechanics - 15k - ⭐️ 🔥
"Charles was with someone at the gym," Carlos hisses into the phone.
are we out of the woods yet? - 10k
Charles takes a few moments to consider it. It doesn’t sound like him at all. “So I really wanted it.” “Yes,” Carlos repeats, and then frowns. “Do you think–” His voice hardens just the slightest bit, leaning into… something that Charles can’t really place. “I didn’t make you do it.” Charles shifts away from him, staring at the other wall instead. “Of course. But anyway, I don’t know. I don’t remember it anyway.”
mind over matter is magic - 6k - ⭐️ 🔥
Carlos leaned on the side of the pool that overlooked Singapore at night. Arms crossed over the ledge — Carlos almost wanted to look down below. Feel the swoop in his stomach at the realization of how high up they were, relish on it. But, he rationalized, looking at Charles Leclerc usually had the same effect.
the hours i lost - 3k
Charles thinks he was foolish to be afraid of this, of Carlos. He thinks he was foolish to let himself get this far. He thinks he should have given in years ago. He thinks he’ll regret everything once he’s sober.
all the same old places - 13k - ⭐️
Charles stares at Carlos, then. Right at him. His eyes haven't changed, either. They're still the same shade of green - almost blue, even more so in the warm light of the sun. For reasons unknown, Carlos feels like smiling.
Pouring - 10k
At the age of ten, it's easy to talk about how his soulmate will be someone tall and certainly a brunette, because no one really knows what to expect until the moment they actually meet them.
Ballad of a Thin Place - 39k - ⭐️ 🔥
Thrust into the aristocracy after marrying a baronet's daughter, Charles, now a lord, struggles to adapt to the quiet life of an estate in the English countryside. Desperate for the connection and compassion that is lacking from his wife, he pursues a torrid affair with the handsome gamekeeper on their estate, a man who has a past he's trying to escape...
you bring me back to life - 1.8k
Charles said nothing, instead opting to ask him how he had been doing in his racing career. Arthur excitedly relayed everything that he could remember, from paddock gossip to results from race to race. It felt good to be surrounded by family. Not for the first time, he wished that he would have stayed. It is too late anyway. If he dwells on the past he’ll lose his present.
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evilscuderia · 2 months
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i could've almost felt bad for carlos sainz if it weren't for the blackmail attempt. being a mid driver who thinks he's all that i could've partially forgiven but thinking you can shoehorn scuderia ferrari into a contract because of who your family is is como se dice mmmm a piece of shit move! rest in piss bozo
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dogwithbird · 8 months
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I'm on Fire
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Only you can cool my desire / Oh, oh, oh, I'm on fire
After you lose your job, you temporarily move back home with your parents. They're having their house renovated, and Joel and Tommy Miller are at your house daily, working in the backyard under the hot sun. You'd been harboring a secret crush on Joel for some time, frequently fantasizing about him.
While your parents are out of town on a trip, you go out with some old friends and drink more than you'd intended to. You end up locked out of your house, and Joel is the only one who might have a key. He's gracious enough to help you out.
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Joel Miller x Reader/You, pre-outbreak/no outbreak AU
Rating: Explicit 18+
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: PIV unprotected sex, oral sex, praise kink, begging, voyeurism kind of, orgasm denial, vague age difference (10ish year age difference is mentioned but no specific ages), drinking and drunk sex, minimal plot, no Y/N
A/N: This is the first fan fiction I've written; I originally posted only on AO3 but I realized there's a great community on Tumblr so I figured I'd crosspost! This is a standalone, but I'm working on at least one more installment. I don't foresee it being a whole series but I enjoy writing Joel.
Read on AO3 or below
You were in your hometown for the first time in years, begrudgingly staying with your parents after you got laid off from your job. It had pained you to move back, but you were finding it impossible to land another job and your rent had almost doubled since the last time you signed your lease. It was hard enough to swallow your pride and move back in with your parents, but they hadn't changed as much as you hoped they would over the years. They were constantly arguing, fighting, and bickering. You always wondered why they didn't just divorce, especially after you and your brother were both out of the house and they were fully-fledged empty nesters. According to your brother, their dramatic tendencies had only increased since your arrival.
Luckily for you, your parents were out of town for the weekend - off at some bullshit couples retreat for people going through midlife crises - so you had the house to yourself. Since coming home a month ago, it was the first time you'd truly had alone time, and you were thoroughly enjoying it.
A few of your high school friends were in town and had roped you into going for a drink. A drink had turned into a couple of drinks, which turned into a lot of drinks, and by the time you decided to head home, well after midnight, you were blissfully tipsy and teetering on the edge of drunkenness. After climbing out of your Uber, you searched your bag for your house keys - and you couldn't find them. Fuck. You looked back to the curb, hoping maybe you'd left them in the car, but the driver had already left. Motherfucker. "Think, you idiot," you muttered to yourself, looking around for where your parents might keep a spare key. Under a rock? No. In the toolbox on the porch? No. You stumbled to the back door, praying you'd somehow managed to leave it unlocked. No dice. Fuuuuuuck. Of course, all of the windows were locked, too. You racked your brain to think where else a spare key might be and came up with nothing. The only person you could think of who might have a key, god dammit, was Joel Miller.
Joel Miller, the contractor who was working on building the addition for your parents' house. Per their midlife crises, they'd decided that they needed to remodel and expand their house to "make room for grandbabies." Your brother had just gotten married earlier in the spring and your parents were anxiously waiting for their first grandchild. Luckily for you, they knew better than to expect any from you anytime soon.
Joel and his brother, Tommy, had started the first phase of the project - a new master suite - shortly after you moved back home and were making swift progress. Both brothers were undeniably good-looking, but there was something about Joel that did it for you. He was taller, older, and was starting to get the tiniest bit of salt and pepper in his hair, right by his temples. You knew he had a teenage daughter; you'd overheard him telling your dad that he was trying to teach her how to drive. Joel was one of those men that wore a simple t-shirt and jeans remarkably well. The way his arms and back muscles moved while he worked, his tan, and the gap between the bottom of his shirt and his jeans when he reached upwards were all enough to make your mind wander. Since coming home, you weren't seriously trying to maintain any sort of dating life, and the lack of human contact started to come to a head. You’d scan dating apps, swiping left on almost everyone. You wondered if Joel was on any of these soul-sucking apps, but never saw him.
You barely knew Joel, only speaking a few times. You first met him when you were out back taking advantage of your parents' pool, tanning your back on a lawn chair, headphones blasting music into your ears, and dark sunglasses covering your eyes. You didn't notice him until he cleared his throat. You jumped, hastily removing your headphones.
"Christ, you scared me!" you’d exclaimed, sitting up and brushing your hair back from your face. All you knew then was that he was a contractor your parents had hired; you'd only seen him one other morning since you got back home.
"Sorry about that, ma'am," he said, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "we've gotta cut off the water for a few minutes, digging around a line and just need to stay safe, that alright?" He gazed down at you on the lounge chair and you felt his eyes flickering over your body. His eyes wrinkled as he squinted in the bright sun, his cap that read "MILLER CONTRACTING" in bold red letters ineffective in shading them. You only nodded in response, eyes lingering on him as he smiled in appreciation and went back to work. Since that day, you tried to lay out back as often as you could; he never reacted beyond letting his gaze linger along your waistband or scanning the curve of your ass.
Naturally, you tried to brainstorm more ways to catch Joel's eye. Most mornings, Joel got to the house before Tommy did. You didn't know exactly when he usually got there; he was usually hard at work by the time you woke up. That was likely more of a reflection on the leisurely life of an unemployed 20-something than him, though. Your bedroom was on the second floor and faced down into the backyard, right where the addition was being built. A few mornings, you'd gotten undressed with the curtains drawn back. You'd linger in front of the window, sifting through your dresser and contemplating long and hard about what to wear that day, excited at the thought of Joel seeing you. He probably didn't even notice, though. That didn't stop you from fantasizing about what he'd do to you if he did notice.
Now, standing in front of your parents' house locked out and desperate for a way in, Joel was the only option you had left. Your parents had made him a copy in case of emergency or if he needed to get into the house to fuss with something while they were out for the day. You would be mortified for him to see you like this. Not only were you on the cusp of drunkenness, but you were wearing a dress you dug out of your closet that was shorter than you remembered it being, and you were certain your makeup was a disaster. Plus, it was late, and you didn't want to risk waking him or interrupting whatever he was doing. But unless you broke a window, you'd be sleeping outside for the night. The heat and humidity were enough to force you to swallow your pride and call him. Thankfully, your mom forwarded you his number earlier today "just in case."
The phone rang and you held your breath. You weren't sure what was worse, him answering or it going to voicemail.
"Mhm?" Joel finally picked up. Shit, it sounded like you'd woken him up.
"Hi, uh, is this Joel?" You spoke into the phone, feeling your cheeks flush.
"Yeah, why're you calling me so late, kid?" he replied, his voice deep and unmistakably groggy. You were taken aback that he had your phone number saved - your parents must've given it to him at some point - and you weren't quite sure how to interpret him calling you kid.
"Oh, uh, this is, uh, sorry, this is kind of embarrassing, but I lost my house key and my parents are out of town," you sputtered, cringing at how you sounded. It was absurd how flustered Joel could make you just over the phone. "But, uh, I think my parents mentioned they gave you a key, or maybe they gave one to Tommy, and I'd be so, so, so grateful," you continued, sure he could tell you'd had a couple of drinks, "if you or Tommy could please, please, please, just swing by and let me in."
Joel paused for a moment, and you heard him shuffling around, presumably getting out of bed. "Yeah, sure, give me twenty," he said, his voice clearing up and becoming more alert.
"Thank you so, so, much, Joel. I'll... I'll make it up to you, I promise." Joel hung up and you sat on the porch swing, feeling a mixture of excitement and embarrassment after literally begging Joel to come over. The air was so thick with heat and moisture that you were almost starting to cool down from the sweat accumulating on your body; the alcohol you drank was starting to leave your system.
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It must have been twenty minutes on the dot when you saw the bright headlights on his truck pull into your parents' driveway. You stood up from the porch swing and tried to compose yourself, knowing Joel would soon be standing in front of you. When he stepped out of his truck, you felt your heartbeat quicken. He wore a simple t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans - his usual attire, minus the sweat and the tool belt. He looked you up and down, taking in your disheveled appearance and the short length of your dress. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the way he was looking at you.
Joel walked up to you, his eyes meeting yours. "You look like you've had quite the night," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You blushed, feeling embarrassed at the state you were in. "Yeah, I, uh, had a few drinks with some of my old friends from high school," you responded.
Even in the faint porch light, moths buzzing around the bulb, his skin looked soft, warm, and inviting. His tan, a result of those long days working on the house, emanated even more heat. The things you'd do for him to touch you, just once, even just an accidental brush against your arm. Christ, you were so deprived of human contact that you were fantasizing about Joel accidentally touching you.
"Thanks so much for coming, I don't know how I lost my keys, I'm so stupid, I-" you rambled on and on as he inserted his key into the door. He just shook his head and told you it was no problem, that he didn't mind. He opened the door and you turned on the hall lamp, bringing light to the house. The hit of the cool air conditioning brought goosebumps to your skin.
"Alright, you all set then?" Joel lingered in the doorway behind you, stuffing the key back into his pocket. Logically, you knew he'd just want to turn around and go back home. However, you weren't currently thinking logically. You were tipsy, horny, and desperate for Joel to stick around just a little longer so you racked your brain for something to keep him just a little longer.
"Uh, why don't you let me get you a drink or a bite to eat or something," you started to walk towards the kitchen, hoping he'd follow you, "it's really the least I can do after you drove all the way out here so late." You turned your head to see Joel still lingering in the doorway, deciding whether to go back home to bed or follow you. You kicked your heels off, feet aching, and opened the fridge to look for something to eat. The front door clicked shut, and you froze. Footsteps. Your stomach dropped as you heard Joel walking in behind you.
You grabbed two beers out of the fridge, popped off their caps, and set them on the kitchen island.
"Dunno if it's a good idea for you to be drinking any more than you've already had, kid," Joel said, taking a sip of the bottle you'd opened for him. You rolled your eyes at him, sipping the beer but also filling up a glass of water for yourself.
"I'm not a kid, you know," you said in between sips, "I don't even think you've got ten years on me."
"Same difference."
You downed the rest of your water, turning to fill it back up at the tap. When you turned back towards Joel, his eyes were still fixed on you, and you caught his eyes flitting up from your hemline to yours to re-establish contact. His eyes narrowed like he was agitated. Maybe mad. Maybe just tired. It must've been one o'clock by now, or close to it.
“Did I wake you up when I called you?” You asked Joel, though his messy hair and tired eyes already betrayed the truth.
“I was trying, couldn’t though,” he shook his head, “had too much on my mind.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his bicep flexing. It was pure torture to be standing right across from him and not be able to reach out and touch him. 
“You really don't need to hang around, I'm sure you want to get back home."
Joel didn't say anything, just looked at you, eyes scanning back down to the hem of your dress. You felt like his gaze was burning you like he somehow had x-ray vision and could see through your dress. It was impossible, of course, but the way his lip twitched ever so slightly when you started to feel your panties start dampening was quite a coincidence.
You cleared your throat, breaking the tension. "Joel, are you okay?" you asked, concern lacing your words. His silence was making you nervous.
He cleared his throat and took a step closer to you. "I'm fine, kid," he said, his voice low and husky. "I just...I have to admit, I'm having a hard time concentrating right now."
Your heart skipped a beat. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? He took another step towards you. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He reached out and traced a finger along the hem of your dress, the touch sending shivers up your spine. "Do you really think I haven't noticed what you've been doing, honey?" You swallowed hard, suddenly mortified. A hot blush spread across your cheeks and you stepped back from him. You wanted to deny it, opening your mouth, but no words came out.
"Going around your room naked every goddamn morning. Laying by the pool in that tiny bikini. Calling me past midnight when you're in that little dress?" He walked closer to you. You were still stunned, not sure whether you were more embarrassed that he noticed or glad that you weren't entirely delusional this whole time.
"What, you think I lost my house key just so I could lure you over here and offer you a beer?" You scoffed as if you had any plausible deniability.
"No. But I don't think you'd have invited Tommy in for a drink if I sent him over instead."
He was right about that. You had eyes for Joel and only Joel.
"And I think there's a reason you didn't send Tommy over," you countered.
You could feel the heat radiating off his body; his breath was hot on your face. You felt your heart pounding in anticipation as you leaned in, eyes locked on his. His lips seemed to call out to you, begging for a kiss, and despite the uncertainty swirling in your chest, you pressed yours against his. For a moment he resisted, but then he caved, his lips melting against yours. You ran your hands up and down his chest, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him and deepening the kiss. You moaned into his mouth as he ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, begging for entrance.
As you kissed, you felt his hands greedily roving over your body, exploring every curve, snaking under your dress and palming your ass. He broke the kiss and leaned in to whisper in your ear. "I didn't send Tommy," he exhaled and planted wet kisses down your neck, "because I knew I was going to fuck you tonight."
You barely had time to register the words before his lips found yours again, locking together as you kissed deeply. His hands worked their way up from your hips to your dress, pulling the silky fabric up along the way. You broke the kiss to let him pull the dress off of you, his breath heavy as he took in the sight of your matching bra and panties.
"Joel..." you whispered, mirroring his breathlessness and urging him to do something. His eyes met yours; his hands found the clasp of your bra and unhooked it in one smooth motion. Joel reached out to cup your breasts, massaging them with his rough hands.
"They look even better up close," he smirked, making you feel a little sheepish as you remembered all of the mornings you'd walked around your room naked, thinking he didn't even notice.
You moaned as you felt him tweak your nipples, sending a shockwave of electricity through your body. He leaned in to kiss you again, his tongue piercing your lips as he pulled you closer. Joel lifted you onto the kitchen island, the light from the hall illuminating your body for his hungry eyes. You stared into his eyes as he slowly traced his fingers over your panties, zeroing in on the growing damp patch. You shuddered and moaned, bucking your hips towards him.
"You're so wet for me, honey," he growled, his voice low and guttural, “fuck, I know you want this so bad.” The sound echoed in your ears. It was raw, animalistic. You only nodded, rendered speechless.
You moaned and writhed under his touch. You wanted him - no, needed him - inside you so badly you could barely stand it.
"Joel," you breathed. "P-please."
"Please what, baby?" he growled, still not moving.
You moaned and thrashed under his touch, desperate to feel his rough hands on every inch of your body.
"Fuck me," you moaned.
Joel pulled you in closer, "Beg."
You looked up at him, seeing a glimmer in his eye.
"Beg me to fuck you," he repeated, his voice a deep growl, "Beg me like you did on the phone." You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh as he teased you with his fingers, barely making contact. He clearly understood the effect he had over you.
"Please, Joel, fuck me," you moaned, desperate for more. He still didn't move.
"Get down on your knees and beg."
"Wh-what?"
"Get down on your knees and beg me to fuck you," he repeated unwaveringly. His gaze was intense, like a physical touch against your skin. He didn't break eye contact once as you slowly dropped to your knees and looked up at him, your eyes pleading and needy. You couldn't believe you were doing this. If any other man you'd ever been with had demanded that you beg for them on your knees, you'd tell them to get a grip.
"Please, Joel, please fuck me," you stammered. "I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me hard. Please. I - I'll do anything." You'd never been so forward before, but at this point, you were desperate. You'd never wanted anything so badly.
As you begged, Joel slowly unzipped his jeans and pulled his throbbing cock out of his boxers. Of course you imagined he was big, but the visual confirmation made you bite your tongue to stifle a gasp.
You moaned softly as his fingers brushed your jaw and your cheek, settling his thumb on your chin to manually concentrate your gaze as he spoke to you. His hands were rough and calloused from long days spent working, but he was gentle with you, as if he was afraid he would break you.
"Look at how hard you make me, baby," he whispered as he pulled your chin down, forcing your gaze with it. He was so big, so thick, and indeed - so hard. Hard for you. Joel shifted your gaze back towards his eyes.
"Do you want this?" He didn't move his hand away, his thumb still pressed on your chin as he spoke.
You nodded breathlessly. The heat of his hand burned against your skin, as if it could consume you. Then, he pulled away his hand, leaving you wanting for more.
"Show me."
With that, you ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, reveling in how quickly the power shifted back to you.
"Oh, fuck, that's it," he gasped, bracing himself against the counter and rolling his head back.
You closed your mouth around him, bobbing your head up and down. You looked up at him and caught his gaze, lip twitching as you worked him. You moaned, the vibrations teasing him and turning him on even more.
"God, you're so fucking good for me, on your knees sucking my cock," he lightly guided your head up and down his shaft, groaning with pleasure as you took him as deep as possible, your nose pushing against the base of him. You gagged and he pulled your head back, his cock slipping out and leaving a trail of saliva connecting the two of you. The look in his eyes was dark, ravenous even. His mouth drew into a smirk as he watched you gasp for air. You wanted - no, needed - more from him.
"Joel, are you going to fuck me or not?" you asked him. He'd made you beg on your knees for it, for god's sake, it was the least he could do. 
"Not yet," he whispered, a smirk curving across his lips. You wanted to scream. He brought you up off of your knees and ran his hands across the waistband of your underwear, which were surprisingly still on. "First, gonna get you ready for me." Rough hands to your chin again, Joel wordlessly instructed you to lean over the kitchen island.
He ran his hands over your ass and down your thighs, feather-light but teasingly close to where you needed them to be. You moaned in protest, but he seemed to enjoy your frustration. He squeezed your ass, and when he released his hands your underwear was caught in between your lips, clinging to the wetness. Your stomach tightened, the minor stimulation overwhelming you. Joel noticed and rubbed over your underwear, lightly circling over your clit. 
"You're so good, honey, waiting for me to do what I want with you," he whispered, taking his hands off you completely.
"Joel," you begged again, "please, this is cruel."
He didn't respond. Instead, you felt him steady himself behind you, finally pulling your panties off and running his fingers along your slit. Direct contact, finally.
"Please, what? Please fuck you? I told you, honey, gotta get you ready for me," he smirked, slowly pressing one finger inside of you. It went in so easily; you were so wet for him. You felt the heat rush to your face. It was embarrassing that a single finger had such an effect on you.
"I'm ready, Joel, stop being such a fucking tease," you whined, looking back over your shoulder at him. You were so wet you were practically dripping - what the fuck else could he possibly do to get you ready?
"Look at you," he shook his head, pushing a second finger inside of you, "it drives you wild. Now you know how I've felt for the past month." With his other hand, he used his rough thumb to circle your clit.
You moaned and writhed, but his touch was relentless. He insisted on dragging every moan, every whimper, from you. His thumb circled faster, bringing you closer, closer, closer.
"Fuck, oh my god, I'm going to-"
And then he pulled his hand away. He was so phenomenally cruel.
Joel turned you around, face to face, embracing you once again in a kiss. Your lips clashed, and despite your frustration, you moaned into his mouth as he pushed against you, this time without the barrier of clothes between you, and you felt how hard he was. You reached down, trying to direct his cock into you, so desperate to have him inside of you.
He swatted your hand away and grabbed your ass, lifting you in a single motion and placing you on the island counter.
"You're so impatient," he broke the kiss to scold you, "better behave, or you're not gonna get what you want."
You gasped while his hands explored you, his lips lingering along your body as he kissed his way down your neck, across your collarbone, and down to your breasts. He gently bit the swell of your breasts, leaving a mark.
He positioned himself between your legs and grabbed your hips. You practically jumped off the counter as you felt his cock against your clit, throbbing with anticipation. He teased you again, circling slowly and then dragging himself through your wetness. You'd never been so desperate for anything before.
"Please, Joel, please fuck me, I can't take it anymore," you couldn't help but beg him once more in hopes that he'd finally capitulate.
"Fuck," he whispered, kissing your neck, finally giving in.
With that, he thrust into you, rough and deep. You didn't need time to adjust to his size - you didn't think you'd ever been more ready in your life. You could feel Joel's cock pressed against your G-spot with every thrust. He groaned and licked his lips as he watched your face intently, his pace quickening.
"Fuck, baby, you feel so good" he groaned, pounding into you. He gripped your waist and thrust into you harder, deeper.
"Oh, god, yes, fuck, right there," you moaned, trying not to scream.
He kissed you hungrily, trailing down your neck, nipping at your shoulder as he kept his pace.
"Joel, god, please," you moaned, leaning backward ever so slightly as he moved his mouth down towards your breasts, "I want to come, please, I'm so close."
Of course, Joel pulled out, smirking as he flipped you around so you were once again leaning over the counter with your ass to him.
Jesus, you thought, how many times was he going to fuck with you? It was pure torture. You felt his hands on your ass, then his tongue, teasing you, licking you. You shivered at the sensation. You could feel him spreading you open as he licked you from behind, his tongue cascading in circles around your clit. You moaned and steadied yourself on the counter, the sensation overwhelming as your knees weakened.
"I swear to God if you-" You started to scold him, but you were cut off by Joel quickly rising back to his feet and positioning himself behind you. You gasped as he re-entered you quickly. His hands moved to your hair, holding your head in place as he thrust in and out, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck. The new angle felt even better- you could feel him even deeper inside of you.
"This what you were hoping for, baby?" he whispered, his voice husky and low, "This what you've been waiting for me to do?"
"God, yes, harder" you replied, desperate for more.
He began fucking you harder, faster, deeper. The front of your hips slammed against the countertops relentlessly. You knew you'd wake up bruised and sore but you didn't care.
"Fuck, that's it, you take me so well," he groaned, suddenly pushing you forward so your stomach laid flush with the countertop and he had a full view of your ass. You got closer with every thrust.
He grabbed your ass, giving you a light smack as he fucked into you, chasing his finish line.
"Joel, I'm close, f-fuck, I'm so close," you stuttered. He reached underneath you and circled your clit, not even bothering to tease, just rubbing you in earnest. Thank god he wasn't making you beg for it this time.
"Come on, baby, come for me," he moaned, his voice husky with desire, "You've been so good for me," With that, he was hitting your G-spot so consistently that you knew you couldn't take it for much longer. You felt yourself getting closer, closer, closer to the edge.
"Please, please, please," you gasped, terrified he'd pull out again just to keep teasing you. Joel pulled himself closer to you. His breath was hot on your neck. You reached your arm upward to pull him even closer, an effort to keep him inside you.
"Let me feel you come, honey," he whispered, and you finally felt yourself tip over the edge. In seconds, you were shouting your release, your walls pulsing around his cock so tightly that he struggled to stay inside you. He was close behind you.
"Fuck, baby, fuck," he grunted, thrusting into you as his hips stuttered. He pulled out of you at the last minute, finishing on top of your ass wordlessly, only panting into your ear. You rested your head against the cold counter, trying to catch your breath. He rested for a moment, exhausted, planting a single wet kiss on your shoulder.
You parted from each other and took a minute to catch your breath. Joel grabbed a dish towel and ran it under warm water, bringing it to clean you up. His touch, now much gentler, was such a stark contrast to how he was handling you only moments before. He turned you around, examining the redness on the front of your hips from pounding you into the counter.
He inhaled deeply and his breath tickled your ear as he started, "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to hurt you." He rubbed his thumb over the red splotches on each hip, looking down at you with soft eyes, already starting to fuel your desire for a second round.
"No," you said softly, throat hoarse from your moaning, "felt good," you leaned backward, resting against the countertop as you still attempted to catch your breath. Joel started pulling his clothes back on. You glanced at the microwave clock and it was almost two in the morning; you knew that Joel would be needing to get home and you were beyond exhausted.
"I'll see you on Monday, kid," he started to head towards the door, passing back by you, "try not to lock yourself out again between now and then." Joel took one last look at you as you stood against the counter, still naked, and planted an unexpectedly chaste kiss on your cheek.
"Bright and early," you responded, crossing your arms in a hopeless attempt to make yourself decent. You both smirked, knowing you'd be spending the day getting back at him for making you beg.
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sargeantposting · 3 months
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source: formula 3 (via wayback machine) series: f3, 2019
This feature explores the alternate side to our racing drivers. What’s always in their fridge? What do they do in their spare time? What’s on their bucket list? The drivers simply have to roll a set of dice and answer questions that link to the numbers they roll.
Logan Sargeant is up next…
6. What is your biggest fear?
I have always been a diver because of where I am from in Florida, but I don't really like sharks. I have sort of overcome that a little bit though. I tend to try and overcome my fears like that. There is sky diving as well, but I want to do that. 
4. What couldn't you live without?
I'd say racing, but that's boring, so it has to be family - without them I'd be nothing. They are back and forth from Florida so I do see them fairly often. I don't see my brother as much because he is permanently in Florida and that's a bit unfortunate. I can't forget my dog either, she is always in Florida. I probably go back once every six months, as I currently live in London. 
9. Who is your celebrity crush?
Margot Robbie, she wins. 
5. What is your guilty pleasure?
I have a thing for Ice Cream. If I am home in Florida, it is mint chocolate chip. Back in London though, it is just a mixture of vanilla and chocolate with sprinkles - that's my go to. 
1. What superpower would you most like to have?
There a couple of cool ones. I'd love to be able to teleport and then I could go home after a race a lot quicker! Or being invisible - when I wanted to be. It would be cool to be in the car, but have no one be able to see the driver.
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violetszone · 1 year
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Body Shot
Arthur Leclerc x fem!reader
Summary: Your friend takes you to a private club party in Monaco. You agree to play a game with a group of people you just met your partner in the game is the boy who has been watching you since you came to the group.
WARNINGS: Bad English (a little google translate, not edited writing),alcohol,club,high people
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The saying that Monaco would be fun at night was true, but you still couldn't get over the effects of what happened last night, you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, then your eyes went to the side of the blonde boy sleeping in the bed, you couldn't believe it.
*6 hours ago*
It's been 24 hours since you've been to Monaco but you're already starting to feel like you're from there, your friend decided to take you to a private club party and said it was a party where most celebrities would be, party and the word alcohol was enough to convince you though.
When you entered the club, everything was normal at first, you took a few shots with your friend and danced on the floor, then your friend said she wanted to introduce you to someone and took you to a little group. There were famous people you knew in this group, but especially one of them was staring at you, you knew him, but you couldn't see who he was because of the lights.
When you leaned over to your friend and asked who he is, she told you he is formula 2 driver Arthur Leclerc, my god, of course you knew him.You continued chatting in the group, finally it was decided to play a game called Body Shot, it would be fun so you decided to participate Arthur was still looking at you from time to time and he smiled when you decided to join the game now it would be even more fun
First dice rolled first players passed Arthur's turn has come  he chose you as a partner they roll the dice  it was telling him to drink liquor from your stomach he helped you to lie down on the empty table he put a piece of lime between your lips you were excited but you didn't show it, they placed the glass of liquor on your belly button and poured salt on your stomach
First he licked the salt from your stomach with his tongue, you were watching him, he never took his eyes off you, he approached your belly button and took the glass of liquor with his mouth and sewed them all at once,without wasting any time he approached your lips and took the lime from your lips threw it in his mouth and started to kiss you he helped you to stand up while kissing.
God that was so hot everyone around you was cheering and applauding  while you were kissing, everyone could have been high but you and Arthur were sober enough to know what you're doing now, You were both out of breath when you stopped kissing Arthur helped you off the table grabbed you by the waist and dragged you out of the club.
The rest of the night was even better while you were thinking about this, you heard a noise behind you and you turned there Arthur stood on the bed and looked at you "Good morning beauté  what are you doing there come back to bed" You smiled and walked over to him and sat across from him on the bed "Hi" he laughed "YN I know how naughty you're,don't be shy of what happened last night come on" you laughed and slapped him on the shoulder this is how you met Arthur Leclerc, the man of your dreams.
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