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vettelsvee · 20 hours

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SHE'S NOT HANNA | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | history series masterlist | season 1

summary: seb overhears di talking with her sister only for him to find out her birthday is next monday... and that he has confused feelings about the intern

word count: 3507

warnings: bad language. mention to threesomes. much disrespect towards diana from a certain driver. narrated on seb's pov. i remind you this is a fictional work and everything you read here is not real.

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe @formulaonebuff] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

feedback, as well as reblogs and comments, are truly appreciated!

2009 Bahrain Grand Prix Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir

April 25th

Saturday

Sebastian

The qualifying session in Bahrain went well, but it could have gone much better. That third place on the grid for the race the next day could have been a pole position if Rocky hadn't insisted on using the same amount of fuel we would start the race with tomorrow. Even Diana had said that with about two liters less it would have been better!

There was still some tension in the garage because our results hadn't been as expected, but I tried not to dwell on it as I watched the sun begin to set on the horizon, listening to my engineer's analysis and the deafening noises of the mechanics, whom I admired for working tirelessly on Mark's car and mine. The conversation Rocky and I were engrossed in was so fruitful that, to our surprise, we had been analyzing every single piece of data we could extract from the other drivers and, especially, discussing the improvements that could be made the next day for nearly three hours.

Di had been with us for most of the time, with a concentration that pleasantly surprised us. When her phone started ringing, the engineer's insistence that she answer the call, despite her attempts to insist it wasn't important, finally made a move a few meters away from us to take it.

I tried not to pay attention in what the blonde was talking about. After all, it was probably related to her personal life. As I studied the graphs and numbers in front of me, I couldn't help but get distracted when her soft voice, speaking in German, rose slightly:

"Yes, Ame, I understand," she tried to whisper calmly, failing miserably. Many of those present began to look at her curiously, wanting to know what my teammate's call was about. "Don't worry, okay? I'll be home on Monday night so don't get your hopes up too much... it's not like Dad is going to behave differently now that I'm away from home most of the time."

As much as I wished the latter hadn't made me want to know more about Wagner's personal life, I made every effort to focus my gaze and open my ears to the data I was being given, but it was totally impossible.

I hated myself because I couldn't forget about her, especially when all she did was raise her voice more and more, even catching Helmut's attention, who seemed to be in a bad mood.

"It's just another day," she continued, breathing in and out for relaxation. "Don't get me wrong: I know it's my birthday, but after so many years without celebrating it, I feel like it's just another day. Besides," she added, "it's good for me because I can focus on studying during the flight back home."

Listening to that made me completely stop paying attention to the conversation with Rocky, and I blatantly stared at the girl, who was still on the phone. I didn't know how to react to that, but I also couldn't find out much more about what she was saying because, as if she had realized that we were all paying attention to her, she switched to what sounded like Spanish. A perfect Spanish that not even Fernando spoke.

I might have been born to drive because it was the only thing I managed to do well, but... why did she do everything right?

"Seb, are you listening?"

"Uh... yeah."

My response was as calm as possible, but I realized I had failed miserably as the man in front of me began shaking his head, continuing to talk to me about things that had stopped mattering to me several minutes ago. My mind couldn't stop thinking about Di's birthday. Knowing that she hadn't celebrated it for a long time, for whatever reason, made me feel quite sorry, especially when I looked back at the last celebration Hanna and my mother had prepared for me at home.

Seeing that my mind was increasingly wandering, Rocky decided to let me go, but not without reminding me that I should be as calm as possible that afternoon so as not to interfere with tomorrow's results.

That's what he thought, because I certainly didn't plan to end the day in the calmest way.

Quickly, I got up from my seat and headed towards the entrance of the box from the pit lane, running. Seeing Mark standing with his mechanics, his arms slightly crossed and covered in grease up to his elbows, relaxed me a little for some reason; although, deep down, I was dying of nerves to tell him about the idea that had occurred to me and that I knew made no sense, but that I would still like to carry out.

At least someone would rid me of the birds my head had created.

"I know you don't care, but I think I have a very good idea."

"Do you know how to screw over the rest of the teams so we can at least win the constructors championship?"

Was this guy okay, or was stress making him say such nonsense?

"What? No!" I quickly replied while laughing, trying to get to the point and not beat around the bush. "Listen to me, and then you can say whatever you want, okay?" The Australian nodded, so I didn't hesitate to speak. "Monday is Di's birthday, and we're going to throw her a surprise party after the race," I affirmed, convincing myself that everything would go according to my sudden plans.

Webber looked confused, possibly because he was either surprised by my decision or completely agreed with it.

"Have you talked to anyone about this? Is Britta okay with you getting carried away? Are you sure Hanna won't mind? Does Diana know that you know her birthday in on Monday?"

His voice didn't stop for a moment, and I could even hear him getting breathless because he didn't pause for a second to catch his breath. His constant questions were making me more uneasy than I already was, so I didn't hesitate to cut him off.

"No," I began answering each of his questions. "No, and I don't care. Hanna is very understanding about the whole Diana thing, and she's the only thing that matters here; just because my girlfriend isn't the center of my life for once doesn't mean anything, Di deserves it."

"Okay..." my teammate replied, not very convinced, exerting more force in his crossed arms. "What do you need help with?"

Dam., I hadn't prepared anything because I hadn't planned to get to the point where Mark Webber actually agreed with me and wanted to help me with a crazy idea.

"Well... I thought we could do it at the hotel, right after the race," I explained as my mind projected a beautiful party with lots of balloons, a huge cake, and many gifts. "In a calm way, you know Di isn't usually into big parties," I clarified, remembering all the times she had been offered to come party with us, but she had politely declined, not limiting herself to making excuses. "I have to talk to other drivers first to see if they agree. What do you think?"

"Once we're in trouble, do things right," he replied. "Don't worry about anything now. Go talk to whoever you need to, and in the meantime, I'll call the hotel to reserve a large hall where we can all fit and you can fill it with confetti and stuff."

While my relationship with the light brown-eyed man was good, and I knew I could partly be myself when I spent time with him, I hadn't reached the point of trust to beg him for help with something. I suppose he thought the same of me, and now he would surely want to kill me for the mess I had just gotten him into; but he hid it perfectly because his smile never left his face.

"Thanks, Mark," I replied sincerely. "This means a lot to me, and I'm sure it does to Di too."

"Don't mention it, Seb. I'm happy to help you make your favorite paddock girl happy," he said, using the phrase I usually referred to the girl with, giving me a pat on the shoulder.

Immediately afterward, after several more glances and making sure the Australian didn't reveal the plan in front of the blonde, I began my journey through the paddock. Although at first I was a little worried about how reluctant people might be to my proposal, I ended up surprising myself because the vast majority of team bosses, drivers, and various members of the staff from the different teams agreed to come the next day to celebrate Di's twenty-first birthday.

Throughout all that hustle and bustle I avoided Britta, whom I ran into a couple of times. I felt guilty for not telling her what I was planning, but I was aware that she was going to give me hell as soon as she had the chance, and she was going to call me everything but nice. I knew that lately she had gotten much closer to the Austrian, and they had made some plans together, but there were still certain topics that my public relations and I were still avoiding, and that at the least opportune moment were going to come up.

Lewis and Fernando were the most excited to hear the proposal, even encouraging me to keep spreading the news. Others, like Rosberg, almost made me lose my nerves.

"We have to do something that surprises her! Man, it's Di's birthday, and if you say she hasn't celebrated it in forever, we have to make it even more unforgettable!"

Nico was so excited that it seemed like the celebration was for him. He kept raising his arms and that, along with the fact that he didn't stop using the nickname I had given to the girl, just made me angrier and angrier.

I was overreacting, and I couldn't deny that I was getting jealous because of the close relationship he seemed to have with the blonde. The affection with which he spoke about her was by no means similar to the one I had for, for example, Karina.

"Can you calm down for once?" I whispered angrily as I tried to calm his gestures. "You're not five years old and someone just gave you a Tamagotchi, damn it."

"Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Vettel?"

I felt Nico's penetrating gaze analyzing my expression, which was probably a mess. His words, totally contrary to what I thought he was going to say, were loaded with insinuation and provocation, and he knew it perfectly; I was smarter than him, and I wasn't going to play his game.

Before answering him, I clenched my teeth and forced myself to take a deep breath as I slowly counted to ten, trying to keep my calm as best as I could despite the growing anger that was quickly building up inside me.

"What are you talking about, Nico?" I asked, using the same tactic he was using and fixing my eyes on his.

I didn't understand why he was asking that, especially when he had no idea about my personal life, except that Prater was my girlfriend, of course. Everyone knew that except Diana, and I hoped it would stay that way until I found the right moment to tell her, or until they met each other.

"This whole surprise party for Diana," he continued, not abandoning the provocative tone that was bothering me so much. "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?" he repeated threateningly.

What right did this guy have to question what I was doing or not doing with my personal life? If Roeske barely controlled anything about me, even though that was his job, this jerk wasn't going to do it.

"It's none of your business, Rosberg," I replied flippantly.

My compatriot smiled as if he had gotten what he wanted: to anger me and make me snap.

"I don't know. I just wonder what Hanna would think if she found out about all this. Do you think she would be happy to see you bending over backward to have a stranger kneeled in front of you?"

The mention of my girlfriend made something stir in my stomach.

He knew perfectly well how I was feeling at that moment, and as much as my angry gaze was begging him to stop, he didn't seem willing to.

"And what do you think Diana would say if your girlfriend showed up unexpectedly at her birthday party? They would finally know about each other's existence, and it would be a perfect gift for your little pet!"

The blond's provocations were starting to go too far. I could feel my jaw tensing and my fists clenching. I was trying to keep my composure, God or whatever exists knew it well, but I couldn't take it anymore. Not anymore.

"Don't you dare talk about Di like that, Nico. You're crossing the line."

"I think I know what surprise you're preparing for Wagner after the party: a threesome with her and Hanna," he continued. "Well, that would be more to make you happy than them."

That comment was the last straw. I wasn't going to allow him to speak badly of either of the two girls, but I wasn't going to say anything at the moment because I knew that the punch I could receive in the face from Rosberg would cause me more problems than, if I was honest with myself, I didn't give a damn about.

Therefore, without saying another word, I turned around and headed towards the parking lot at the same time I heard the comments from the Williams driver calling me a coward, unfaithful, idiot, and a bunch of insults that I tried not to care about but definitely were affecting me more than I wanted them to. I realized this when I reached my car and kicked one of the bins next to it so hard that it was hard for me to walk the few meters that separated it from the driver's door.

On my way to the mall, doubts began to torment me. It was the first time I gave myself the opportunity to think about myself and what it seemed I was experiencing.

Was I being a good boyfriend to Hanna, or was I just behaving like a jerk who sometimes thought of another girl when he saw her? Was that fair to Di, or was it totally normal given the admiration I had for the Austrian?

As I made my way through the streets of Bahrain, what I was most afraid to ask myself was what had begun to flood my mind in a worrying way: did I truly love Hanna, or our relationship had become a habit that I couldn't break out due to the fear of the unknown?

I tried not to think too much about it because she didn't deserve it, but I couldn't avoid it anymore. Since Diana had come into my life in a closer way, I had been avoiding my feelings, and now, now that I finally seemed to recognize that something was wrong with myself, the mental block began to make itself present, along with the tears streaming down my cheeks as I drove in silence except for the constant echo in my head of Nico Rosberg's insults, which hadn't stopped since I lost sight of him.

When I arrived at the mall and parked the car clumsily, in a position that didn't even correspond to the white lines drawn on the asphalt, I took out my cell phone and saw that, in addition to a call from my partner, along with several text messages from her, there were a multitude of voicemail messages from Britta, possibly from missed calls. That only made me feel worse: the woman had only tried to communicate with me for, surely, something important.

I called her, and she didn't take long to answer. Her voice sounded really worried, but I didn't give her the opportunity to talk much because I felt the need to unload everything that had been inside me for so long:

"Britta... I need to talk to you because you are my mother when I don't have mine by my side," I murmured, my voice breaking because I couldn't contain my emotion. "I have so many doubts in my head, and I don't know what to do anymore."

"Of course, I'm here to listen to you. What's wrong? I saw you today in the paddock very excited preparing the party that I found out you're going to throw for Diana tomorrow."

I sighed, defeated and, why not say it, excited by her calm, calm voice, and by her last sentence. My words flowed in such a way that it seemed like I had been preparing them for days, and I ended up revealing more things than I had planned to do at first, including my biggest doubt. She listened attentively, nodding with small articulations as I shared my concerns.

"If I'm in a relationship, and I wanted to punch Diana's father when I found out they didn't celebrate her birthday, it's for a reason, right?"

"Is that what's bothering you?" the blonde wanted to know. "Do you think I didn't already know?"

I tensed up at what I suspected. Sometimes I was worried about how much Britta knew me.

"I know you've been thinking a lot about her, Seb," she revealed, "just as I know that's exactly what's been going through your head for longer than you'd like."

Yes, since the Saturday before the race in Monza, when I accidentally fell asleep in Di's bed.

"I don't know if I'm doing the right thing," I finally confessed. "I don't know if this is fair to Hanna."

"Before you're honest with her, you have to be honest with yourself. You can't pretend to have feelings you don't have, and if that's what's making you doubt, you need to clear your mind, slowly, but surely."

She was right, but saying it was easier than doing it. Nor could I afford to think about my love life in the middle of a Formula 1 season that, let's face it, was going pretty well for me.

"Di is different, and I won't deny that I'm attracted to her," I continued to explain, praying that she wouldn't judge my feelings, "but it's in a totally different way than Hanna."

"How so different?" Roeske asked curiously. "Different in what way, Seb?"

"In every way," I replied with determination. "It's as if at the same time they're the same, but at the same time, so different... She's not Hanna, Britta."

A muffled scream on the other end of the phone made me tense up in my seat. At the same time, I began to hear more noise, but I didn't decide to steer the conversation to find out where Britta was so that such a noise could be heard.

"I mean, Di is unique," I continued, trying to explain myself a little better, "and I can't compare her to anyone else. It's going to sound very selfish, but..."

"Say it," the woman demanded.

"I want to find out if what I feel for her is real.”

If even I was impressed by what I had just said, surely the woman on the other end of the call was too.

"Sebastian Vettel," if Britta Roeske said my full name, it wasn't a good sign, "I need you to listen to this carefully," indeed, she was right. "Sometimes, in life, we have to take risks to find out what we want and, moreover, what’s actually made for us."

"What do you mean?"

"That you should be honest and, especially, be careful with your feelings and those of the people you love, or say you love," she added. "If you think what you feel for Diana is more than just a whim, you really love her, and you think that the right thing to do is to fight for her, do it without fear."

If only the answer were easier than a simple yes or a simple no…

I hadn't even hung up on Roeske and I was already in a whirlwind of emotions, fighting with myself about my feelings. There was no doubt that, as much as Britta's words kept swirling in my mind, there was no better advice than one's own.

I didn't want to hurt anyone, and I was afraid of losing people who had become a fundamental pillar in my life over a simple slip-up that would eventually turn into a mistake.

Perhaps, for the sake of the mental health of more than one person, it was best to ignore how much, more and more, I cared about Diana Wagner, and settle for the love I believed was meant for me.

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vroomian · 28 days

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Ollie's an absolute heartthrob. Especially with the short hair. And super built, I am swooning! She popular in Hell?

oh there were a few moments in the beginning where she had to fend off Val's offers for a job. Unfortunately for him, Ollie is a homebody who stays in her workshop, and has her maid/assistant Thea do her outside errands.

(I'm thinking despite her appearance Ollie is actually a very gifted technomancer/artificer. She can fix or create just about anything with enough time. which is how Alastor and her meet at first!

someone's gotta fix his microphone after all!)

Ollie's actually very intimidating to most demons, just from her size and build. But yeah she is verrrry popular, especially with the ladies lol.

#she was a mechanic and engineer in her life #plus she was somehow sent to the wrong universe's after life??? she's pretty sure??? everyone's got four fingers not five???#also toying with making her something of an earthbender #but she's got crazy strength and hella defense and she can make the ground swallow you whole #so you can see why i was going hmmm mary sue??? but then i stopped caring because competency is sexy #also why would alastor be interested in someone who /couldn't/ crush the v tower with a single motion????#i am. tired. of the weak little prey animal oc for pairing with him unfortunately.#you've got questions we've got answers #any listening animal

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jibunwo · 7 months

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also robot girl thinks her mother was the coolest person on the planet. and shes right

#mother was like. butch lesbian engineer/mechanic who designed most of the system the new world runs on. she retired after an accident at a #build site injured her and killed her wife and then got into coding in order to make a friend for herself.#she started with a definitely illegal but not bad enough that anyone would ever call her out on it puppy (file name ‘companion’) and then #got really into it and tried to make a second version of companion but #something about the material #god tumblr keeps cutting off my tags. die #anyway something about it brought the code to life and instead of an upgraded companion she made ‘daughter’ (EXTREMELY illegal)#lots of ‘you were an accident’ jokes. robot girl is like yes mom i remember i was there…#mine #oc

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inkoutsidethelines · 1 year

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Thinking about how I would write an adult Scooby-Doo series, because I think it can be done.

The first thing I’d do is make the characters actually be adults. Still young, but adults, in the mid to late 20s range. Mystery Inc. is a private detective type business that they run together. In this universe, the supernatural/ghosts/etc are real, but not necessarily common, so when they take on a case, the culprit might be a person disguised as a monster, or it might actually be a real ghost. The stakes can be higher; sometimes a bad guy is legitimately trying to kill them. Sometimes the mystery they’re trying to solve is a murder. Sometimes they actually get hurt on their cases.

Fred: the core of Fred’s character should be that he’s incredibly kind. Like, give a stranger the shirt off his back kind. The “Fred can’t talk to potential clients because he might take a case for free and we need to eat” kind. He’s an honest and good person and sometimes gets himself into trouble because he assumes other people are too. While he’s not very good at reading people or noticing ulterior motives, he’s brilliant when it comes to mechanical or engineering type stuff, so he’s the one who keeps the mystery machine running, builds their gadgets, and of course, designs the traps.

Daphne: she comes from old money, and her parents absolutely despise her life choices, to the point where they haven’t officially disowned her, but they have basically cut her off, so she doesn’t actually have access to any family money. Growing up wealthy has granted her a variety of skills, including speaking multiple languages, horseback riding, and fencing. She’s very into fashion and jewelry (even if she can’t afford it anymore) and has extensive knowledge of both that can occasionally provide a vital clue in a case. And even though her parents have cut her off, Daphne still has a wide network of contacts she can ask for favors sometimes, because she’s personable, and people tend to like her. Daphne is also very emotionally intelligent, and is usually the one who can spot when someone is lying to them.

Side note - I ship Fred and Daphne, so I think I would start them off as an established couple for this universe. Dating, engaged, married, I don’t care. They are stupidly in love, ride or die for each other. There’s no will they, won’t they, no worries about cheating. They are in a healthy, happy, loving relationship, and no one (not even Daphne’s disapproving parents) are going to mess that up for them.

Velma: she is the forensics nerd who sometimes gets super excited about the wrong thing at the wrong time (”He was mummified in seconds? That’s so cool!” “Velma! His wife is standing right there!” “Oh. Sorry.”). She’s not purposely insensitive, she just gets laser focused on her work and forgets to filter herself sometimes. She’s also the one who can get so fixated on solving whatever mystery they’re working on, she’s willing to bend or maybe break laws. Is breaking and entering really so bad? Not if it gets them answers.

Shaggy: he is still the comic relief, but he’s the comic relief by being the only person in the group that actually has common sense. He manages the business’s finances, he’s the only one who knows how to cook, and the others tease him for being a coward sometimes, but Shaggy maintains that if a ghost with an axe is coming for you, running is the only sensible option. He should also have a range of random knowledge that sounds useless, but sometimes saves the day (ex ventriloquism, origami, the history of spoons, etc).

Scooby: as this is a universe where supernatural creatures exist, Scooby is an ancient eldritch type being that took a shine to Shaggy when he was a kid, and took the form of a talking dog to befriend and hang out with him. Aside from the talking dog bit and not aging, he never uses his powers in a way that anyone notices. The audience is not told upfront that Scooby is an ancient eldritch being; it should slowly be hinted at throughout the series so the audience put it together, but the characters never realize it. Scooby genuinely considers Shaggy to be his best friend, and cares about the rest of the gang too.

#ink speaks #scooby doo #i like the vibes of a grown up scooby doo #where they're part of a mystery solving business #it needs to be a monster of the week type deal #so that it can play around with the character dynamics #because i think that's fun #long post

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soarrenbluejay · 2 months

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Since I’ve been encouraged to actually share my funny little blorbo ideas here’s another one gang;

Danny moves to Gotham on scholarship for engineering, because the Fentons may be infamous but they’re also insanely brilliant and besides both he and Jazz are showing every sign of embarrassed child of a super genius syndrome, so while the bats are keeping a close eye on him Just In Case, duke is also thinking of introducing him to the Our Parents Are Maniacs But Anyway club maybe after the first month or so.

Gotham does not go for standard dorm living bc of his ‘condition’ and lack of wanting to constantly spook/gaslight a roommate. Besides, living with two small children is a dorm sounds like a disaster in action.

So Danny signs up as a mechanic in Crime Alley, buys himself a teeny weensy lil apartment and Makes It Work. He has been all year after showing up with a de aged Dani and Dan in Amnity after all, and that had gone,,, fine? (The entire town, observing how Danny had been getting increasingly more uncomfortable around his godfather prior to the cloning incident, then just dropped off the face of the earth for several months, the first two weeks stuck in Vlad’s basement enduring horrors and the next Too Many desperately fapping around in the Ghost Zone to get everything handled. All the clones live, all 13 of them. Bunch of them are stuck in the Ghost Zone due to constant need for ectoplasm, but eh, plenty of Zone born never leave, so. One, in the future, apprentices under a green warrior lady on Pandora’s suggestion, another is working in the Eternal Library with Ghost Writer, etc etc. so Danny eventually came back to Amnity with one small child under each arm very obviously traumatized by Somethingn with vlad and doesn’t like being alone with him,,, or touched without warning,, and immediately and passionately proclaims the kids his but struggles to explain how or why,, look some very reasonable assumptions are drawn okay. So the town does the very reasonable thing and does the midwestern equivilant of excommunicating Vlad, except it’s a lot more run him out with pitchforks vibes since he’s the Mayor. Anyway)

He is immediately loved, because while non Gothamites are usually more of a pain than they’re worth, everyone in a while someone even from out of town will just fit in so nicely it’s uncanny for everyone involved. Addams family vibes, it’s referred to as ‘making it home’, just personal hc. He is protective of all the kids playing in the parks and street girls that can totally take care of themselves on their corners but find it HILARIOUS when he just tackles a dick like a wild animal full force no warning. He can fix anything it seems, but refuses to work with weapons. Reasonable enough, people get twitchy about gangs sometimes. Danny mentions being not against Hood or anything, but he’s not going to work for him, littles to take care of and all, but had past experience with ‘Dora and that inheritance mess with her brother he was being a real prick about’ so everyone assumes it’s the equivilant of him having Done His Time and being plenty good for a life time and respects it as long as none of that petty midwestern small town hotshots bring any of that shit over here. And they don’t, because said individuals are on the other side of the mortal veil, so happy day.

See I really love deaged!Dan because he’s just a grumpy lil guy. But he’s also killed millions. He’s so protective of his loved ones, but held back by blending in and also being Smol that it comes off more bitey kitten than anything else. Dani, of course, is a terror, so she fits right in with the crowd.

And sorry gang, but a bunch of kids on their own in Gotham in a poor side of the city just isn’t going to get any attention: that’s just business as usual really. What first gets attention on Danny is not his ‘condition’ or being mistaken for a meta (which he legally probs has an argument for even without the gene bc like these bitches don’t know how metaism works anyway so) or alien (I’m 90% sure he’d be covered by the alien protection act by virtue of being half ‘not from earth’), but because Danny despite best efforts is a Weird Guy.

He grew up in what could only be described as a low level villain level and spent most of high school dealing with smack downs and spiritual invasion. He’s never really processed that any of that is not in fact Normal. Also, he’s capable of making Anything if given the insides of a toaster, blender and alarm clock, and could probably rewrite the circuits of the apartment blindfolded and improve them 1000% even if it ABSOLUTELY would not be up to code.

And sure, things slip every once in a while, bits of spectral ice here, small floating incident there, but everyone just Minds Their Buisness ya know? You really gunna mess with the guy that personally ensured that when your car got flattened by a fight with Killer Croc, you were still able to get in to work the next day by some wizardry? Really?

But Gotham is a city so cursed it’s probably in the exponents countwise, so of course there is a) a flourishing community of magic users and assorted supernatural weirdos and b) a whole lot of shit for Mega Overpowered Ghost King Danny to idly pick at day to day in order to help with his protecting other Obsession. Gotham has plenty of heroes, but by god do they need the spiritual equivilant of an electrician/priest.

Still, Danny, as a baby ancient under a facet of Kronos and KING OF THE DEAD is like, way, way out of their scope to be able to grok, so it mostly just comes off as you know, a family of banshees or something. When asked, Danny very haltingly says he was briefly dead but then revived, which neatly explains his Weird Ass aura and makes it SPECTACULARLY AWKWARD to ask further about. So everyone nods politely, and goes back to their lives after double checking no nefarious bullshit was being pulled.

Then, of course, Vlad finally tracks them down. The whole neighborhood is altered in short order because he doesn’t bother trying to hide being a Rich Bitch or how he’s sneering down his nose at people on the sidewalk. Every connects the dots when Danny paniks. Dani and Dan’s daycare are staffed with some extra, very buff set of hands within the hour. Jerry, Hood’s third in command, personally shows up to the garage Danny is working at to talk things out with him bc he knows he does t like the deal with this stuff due to past unspecified circumstances but well, they guys had already started fucking with him, you see. Stole his tires, spray painted the windows, pickpocketed him blind, and when he retreated tipped off the police to the drugs they’d planted in the glove box.

Danny might not have been born in Gotham, but he was one of them. And the Alley takes care of it own.

#basically I want a fic where it’s not the Batfam but Gotham itself latching onto Danny #also more angy lil baby man Dan in big puffy coats being protective #dp x dc #dc x dp #gotham

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call-me-strega · 3 months

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Dc x DP Prompt #8: Best Friend’s Brother

Preface: this prompt can be used with different characters but I’m writing it as Dead on Main bc that’s my favorite. Also the colleges I mention are real colleges from the DCU

~~~

Danny Fenton was 18 when he moved to Gotham for college.

It was the only place with a half decent engineering program that would take a kid with his record; drop in grades, unexplained absences, missing class, a disciplinary record, etc. Plus there was a decent saturation of both magic and ectoplasm in Gotham’s air. After he got accepted he decided to tell his parents he was Phantom. They reacted surprisingly well all things considered. They were horrified to learn they’d been hunting their son but it quickly turned into acceptance to listen to what he had to tell them. Now they turned their obsession from hunting ghosts to learning more about ghost more humanely. He also managed to get his former rouges to agree to call off any major shenanigans in favor of less destructive outlets. (He got Ember a TikTok and a YouTube channel, he set up a drag racing circuit in the realms for Johnny and Kitty, let Technus enter the internet as long as he stayed within Amity’s grid or help Ember manage her stuff, allowed Desiree grant wishes for Make a Wish Foundation kids so long as she didn’t horribly twist them, etc.)

Now with the town not at constant risk of danger and his parents agreeing to really handle any rouge ghosts, Danny could leave Amity with a clear conscience. His friends were also growing up and heading to their own colleges. Tucker was heading to Ivy University in New England, which rivaled MIT in terms technological prestige, and Sam decided on Vandermeer University in Pittsburg, which had a reputation for being a very liberal, anti-authority campus. Although their trio would be spread out, Danny found comfort in the fact that they’d all moved from the Midwest to the Northeast.

With promises to stay in touch a visit. Danny got set up in GCU’s dorms, ready to move into the next chapter of his life.

Danny Fenton was 20 when Tim Drake (age 19 but nearing 20) officially became one of his best friends.

They had been introduced to each other by their mutual friend Sebastian Ives for a new Warlocks and Warriors campaign. Their friendship extended beyond WnW when they ended up on the same Applied Physics and Mechanics class. It was cemented when they got pair up for a project in class and had to spend lots of time around each other.

Danny didn’t mind that Tim tended to be a bit flaky and Tim didn’t mind that Danny was possibly not 100% human. They didn’t ask each other too many questions about that stuff. They knew the other had something odd about him and that was fine with them. It was nice to have a causal friend they could be normal with, without being questioned about their more peculiar behaviors.

They officially became best friends when the built a Rube Goldberg machine with a working trebuchet within an hour of the three they had to complete it for their Applied Phys-Mech final. Danny introduced Tim to Sam, Tucker and Jazz. Tim introduced him to Steph, Tam, and Cass. They texted and hung out fairly often. They truly did consider each other one their best friends.

Danny Fenton is 22 when he meets Tim’s family.

Tim’s 21st birthday is coming up and he has plans with his family the day of and is going out with his friends, including a couple from out of town, that night. They want to take him out for his first drink and it’s fortunate timing since it’s the weekend so nobody has to worry about classes. Everyone who was going was already informed that Tim would be spending most of the day with his family before Steph and Cass would bring to the club everyone was meeting up at. Which is why it’s purely a coincidence when he runs into them at BatBurger during the lunch rush.

Danny had just picked up the part-time job to earn a little extra cash to pay for his hobbies. Tim new about it but didn’t know the exact location he worked. That’s why they were both presently surprised when they heard each others voices in the drive through. When they pulled up to window Danny saw his friend leaning over a tired looking black-haired man, trying to stick his head out of the drivers window to give Danny a maniacal grin.

He quickly introduced the other passengers of the car as his dad, Bruce, and three of his brothers Dick, Jason, and Duke. He mentioned he had a fourth brother, Damian, who was still at home. Danny couldn’t really see everyone all that well on account of they were inside a car but he happily greeted them as well. They laughed and Danny wished Tim a happy birthday saying he’d see him at his celebration later tonight before handing them their food. He could the rowdy boys ribbing their brother as the car drove away and Danny resumed his work.

That incident seemed to have opened a gate because now Tim felt more comfortable inviting him over when his brothers were still around the house. He occasionally talked about his family more and Danny returned the favor letting snippets of his own family spill a little more. Occasionally, he’d see Tim’s family outside of his interactions with Tim.

He’d run into Damian, and sometimes Bruce or Dick was with him, at the museum or in the park while the younger had been walking his dog and stopped to say hi a couple of times. He chatted with Dick a couple of times when they were both in line to get coffee at a cafe. He saw Duke on a college tour once and waved at him.

The family member he probably saw the most other that Tim (and by extension Cass) was actually Jason. He’d ended up ditching BatBurger to get some more practical experience at an apprenticeship at the auto shop Jason went to to get his motorcycle serviced. The two of them got along pretty well and would often make conversation when Jason was waiting on his bike to be ready or to get his bill.

At first is was small talk about little things like how he and Tim were doing in class or how their days were going but they soon grew to have genuine interests in each other. Jason let Danny talk about space and mechanics and even gave his own thoughts sometimes, once helping Danny realize he was over complicating the circuit board of the device he was building. In return Danny let Jason ramble to him about literature, even taking the initiative to read a book Jason mentioned so he could talk to him about it better. Their conversation tended to be on the briefer side but were always enjoyable to both parties.

Danny actually liked being around Jason a lot but didn’t really bring that fact up a lot around Tim as it didn’t seem necessary. Tim was pretty glad that Danny got along with his family but he preferred to keep them in separate places in his mind. Danny knew and respected that, only really mentioning that he’d seen them recently and that they’d told him to say hi on their behalf (or die in Damian’s case occasionally).

Tim Drake was 22 when he came to a horrific realization.

Well, perhaps horrific was a bit of an exaggeration. Tim wasn’t necessarily horrified by the revelation. In all honesty he didn’t know how to feel. He felt an odd mixture of protectiveness, possessiveness, confusion, and optimism(?).

You see, Tim and Danny had been hanging out in the campus center, studying and goofing off when he got a text from Jason saying he was coming to pick him up for family dinner at the manor since he was closest and Dick was busy picking up Duke and Damian from their after school clubs.

“What’s up?” Danny asked him curiously.

Tim set his phone on the table and started putting his stuff away. “My brother is coming to pick me up for family dinner so I gotta head out soon.”

“Ah well I should probably get going too. Tell Dick I said hi.”

“Actually, it’s Jason. Dick is picking up Duke and Damian,” he said shoving his textbook into his bag.

“Oh? That’s nice of him. Hey do you wanna just head out together?” Danny asked, fidgeting with his hoodie strings.

Tim noticed a slight strain in Danny’s voice at the mention of Jason but didn’t comment. He just nodded his head sure and walked outside with Danny. They got out to the street when Tim realized he’d left his phone in the library. He faced palmed and asked Danny if he could hold his stuff so it wouldn’t slow him down as he ran back to the campus center to get his phone. Danny agreed to and hold his stuff and wait for Jason while Tim went back.

After getting his phone Tim started heading back to where he left Danny when he saw that Jason had arrived that Jason had arrived and was talking to Danny. He was about to call out to them when he noticed several things in quick succession. Danny was fidgeting with his hoodie, something he tended to do when nervous. The tips of Danny’s ears were a light shade of pink (it isn’t cold out yet?). Danny looked deeply absorbed in his conversation with Jason in a way that reminded Tim of how he talked about space. And Jason seemed just as absorbed in the conversation as well.

The gears in Tim’s head went into overdrive and he realized ‘Ah- Danny has a crush on Jason’. His eyes widened as his head whipped around to examine Jason again. He saw a look of genuine fondness in his eyes. Thus Tim was confronted with the aforementioned horrific realization and complicated feelings. Tim didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both.

‘My dumbass best friend has a crush on my brother. And worse(?), my idiot brother returns those feelings.’

#dc x dp #long post #dead on main #danny fenton #tim drake #jason todd #jason todd x danny fenton #danny and tim are bffs #Danny has a crush on his best friends older brother #he hasn’t realized this quite yet #Tim isn’t sure how to feel about this #Jason probably likes Danny too but also doesn’t realize it #Tim is the only one who is aware and suffering #he has to make a choice:#wingman his idiot friend and idiot brother #or hoard his friend to himself #Strega’s dc x dp prompt

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fillinforlater · 4 months

Text

Maknae Royale

Male Reader x Jang Wonyoung, Wang Yiren, Lee Gahyeon, Park Sujin (Swan), Jeon Somi, Shin Yuna, Kim Yerim (Yeri), Im Yeojin (9some)

Length: 10.000 words

Tags: live action porn, porn game, fucking for points, Team Battle Royale, squirting kink, edging kink, bimbofication, brat taming, doggy, fingering, face riding, blue balling, jerking you off, titfuck, standing sex, step-bro I'm stuck, anal, creampie, anal creampie, eating out, blowjob, face fucking, deep throat, rough sex, missionary, full nelson, against the wall, piledriver, mating press, overstimulation, porn_star!you / porn_rookies!idols

TW: even after editing, this is messy and chaotic and pure sex lol

Inspiration: the idea of a Maknae focused fic is not new, but I just went all in. This is also based on this vote I send out a while ago lol. I think I can name drop @writerpeach cuz I remember him saying sth like that.

Credit: @erospandemos for the cover art! Thabk you very much!

(A/N: One year after C.Ollection, I'm trying my best to celebrate and repeat that craziness, have fun! The beginning is a reference to Labyrinth of the Six. This is the same universe but not a sequel!)

"I was looking for copper and I found gold!"

You turn off the purring engine of your car. It is clearly not as nice as the purring of the girl you were in balls deep mere minutes ago, but let's be honest, those purrs should not be compared; one is mechanical, the other borderline maniacal. You let out a sigh as you kill the annoying lights in your car to focus on the call you just accepted.

"Hi, is this really how you're greeting me?" you respond, letting your fingers glide over the steering wheel as you watch a single car pass by in the middle of this warm, humid night.

"Oh, man, stop complaining!" the director says and laughs. You can hear him type something on an old keyboard, each tap of his fingers obnoxiously loud. "I'm going to give you the opportunity of a lifetime—something this great, it needs no greeting."

You rub your nose, then the inside of your eyes filled with tiredness and exhaustion. She was needy tonight, you gave her two rounds, 140 minutes of a hard pounding until the clock struck a merciless 3am. Yes, you were counting the minutes, it was necessary. Otherwise Jiwon’s cunt would have drained you early, which is unbecoming of a porn actor of your caliber.

"Look," you halt the director's enthusiasm with a groan. "I'm doing good right now. Money—I got enough; my love-life is good too. Maybe I'll take a break for a couple of months until my next—"

"No, listen!" he shouts in absolute excitement, like he has been enlightened by the truth. "This script, it's so fucking good! It lit a fire in me, I can already see the setting, the actresses, you—it's perfect. This can even top your Labyrinth performance—you remember, the six hotties—"

"Of course I do!" There you go. Your heart beat is picking up in tempo. How could you forget the pleasure, the absolute thrill of having sex with six gorgeous women at the same time? Don’t kid yourself, this already felt like one in a million—to flat out reject another offer that could be of this magnitude would be absolutely foolish. “Fuck it. Send me the script, I’ll get back to you.”

“Oh, you will,” the director says, absolutely certain that you will accept in a heartbeat after reading this ominous script. “I’ll start looking for actresses.”

The script is complex, wild, otherworldly—implementing it took weeks of preparation. Luckily, your part in this clusterfuck is rather simple: be hard, go hard and stay hard. The first two are deeply rooted within you. Seeing the girls’ incredible faces and even greater bodies has you ready to get a raging erection at any time, while some of their slutty mannerisms and lewd words dripping from their tongues like venomous drool urge you to go as hard and rough as you can. Hell, they’ll basically beg for you—why would you hold back?

The only issue is that there are too many of them. No matter how hot they are or how horny you are, at some point there is nothing left. You will be drained and there is no shame in admitting defeat to them. So once again, you’ll have to resort to some performance enhancers to stay hard like a diamond while drilling into cave after cave. It’s a pink pill this time, tiny, you barely notice it, both in the palm of your hand and in your throat. Take a deep breath and feel it surely doing its job already.

You open your eyes in the midst of a studio room that looks like a submarine. Dim light, large, black holes around you, each with a large porthole-like door in the middle; it feels gloomy, mysterious, unsettling. A single camera is pointed at you, live streaming each droplet of sweat running down your face. Feel the artificial warmth of a nearby heater creep up your thin clothes, giving you chills. It cannot match the heat within you.

The red light atop the camera turns off. Sixty seconds from now, one of the portholes will open. The glass in them is blurry, obscuring any view of the chaos happening behind them. You of course know the script inside out, but the girls’ are still somewhat unknown. You’ve never seen them face to face, only in zoom calls, their bodies looked fantastic and because they are rookies, they should also be tight, but you don’t know how they will handle the pressure, all the eyes on them, the revealing outfits, the unbridled sex—

Around thirty seconds now. You grab your trousers and feel blood rushing out of your legs. Feet tingle, the tips of your fingers as well. This pill, it has your heart racing somewhere, racing from something, to anything. Eyes tremble, vision blurrier than the glass before you, behind you, around you.

You’ve never felt more alive and dead at the same time.

With a loud hiss, the porthole to your left swings open, wide open, flooding your entirely empty room with copious amounts of fog and the smell of fresh fruits. The vibrant color scheme of pastel pink, magenta, light purple and white fills your view as you step into what looks like Princess Peach’s private castle, its kitchen, living room and bedroom. It’s like one explosion of cuteness and innocence, quite charming, very fake.

“Oh, he’s already here. Look, Barbie!”

“That’s not my name, Yiren. Hello, handsome stranger!”

The two girls fit the concept of the room perfectly. Such bright smiles, happiness pouring from their cute little faces; you knew they would nail this performance the moment you saw their pictures and heard their voices. Wonyoung, the tall girl with her incredibly long legs truly looks like a Barbie doll: tiny ribbons adorn her endless chocolate hair while the pink crop top and straight denim skirt make you want to play with her all night, undress her everywhere.

Yiren on the other hand blends in with the room to such a degree, you’d assume they cannot be sold separately. The chinese girl boasts hair the color of peaches, her tight white dress sparkles because of small, silver details spread across it, while her face leaves no doubt that she is, in fact, a princess.

The two get closer to you, before Wonyoung starts to speak up again, her voice in a sassy, yet genuinely adorable pitch.

“Aw, are you shy? No need to be, we’re all here to have fun. Isn’t that right, Yiren?”

“You’re right, Barbie. Let’s play some games and make it a night we won’t forget,” Yiren adds, quieter and calmer than Wonyoung, with a smile that warms the heart.

“S-sure,” you respond to the two girls bouncing up and down in front of you like hyped up kangaroos. “B-but what are we going to play?”

“You see,” Wonyoung starts. “Yiren and I are a team and we have a mission to fulfill. Can you help us?”

“I’d love to, but what is the mission?”

Yiren turns towards Wonyoung, who’s already grinning at her. They share a nod and Yiren suddenly wraps herself around one of your arms, while Wonyoung occupies the other. Feel their slender bodies rub on your limbs, their natural heat and rapid heartbeats working towards your own, increasing it with every step they guide you towards a bed in the corner of the room. It’s at least double queensized, filled with pillows, blankets and stuffed animals.

“Let me explain it to you,” Wonyoung says and climbs atop the purple sheets. “Our mission is to make this bed as wet as possible.”

“Well that sounds easy,” you respond. “Just get some tap water and dump it on here.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Yiren whispers in your ear and suddenly places her hands all over your back and chest.

“No tap water, only natural juices are allowed,” Wonyoung hums and her hands casually open her skirt. It falls on the bed and she is quick to kick it away. She looks even more tempting and ruinable in her tiny tight panties with a wet teddy bear on the front. “We need your help to get these juices out of us, pretty please?”

“Yes, pretty please?” Yiren adds and cups the bulge in your pants. “It will be so much fun, I promise. Doesn’t Barbie look tight? Don’t you want to fuck her until she bursts?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Splendid,” Wonyoung laughs and throws away her crop top as well. Meanwhile Yiren finds the hem of your pants and tugs them down oh-so easily, the only resistance is your hard member, which Yiren promptly points at her team partner who has her legs spread invitingly.

She’s so hot.

As if she read your mind, Yiren tempts you into finally going hard:

“She looks so hot. Go fuck her.”

Like a tiger desperate for food, you crawl onto the bed and tackle your prey into a mountain of teddy bears. Your fingers find the very specific teddy bear on Wonyoung’s panties, you push it to the side to find a pink slit. A final look at her glistening eyes before you press your cock onto her equally glistening slit and after some adjustments, you enter her.

Wonyoung shrieks cutely, her thin fingers wrap around your biceps’ and she holds onto them as you start to slowly pump into her. The two of you need time to realize where you are, what you’re doing, how you’re doing it. All acting for the camera is gone in this bliss, at least for a couple of seconds. Then it all comes back with Yiren, eagerly who jumps on the bed as well.

“You need to hurry up, we don’t have forever.”

You slip a hand under Yiren’s dress to quickly shut her up. No panties.

“How about you start helping, princess,” you fight back. “Go rub Wonyoung’s clit while you ride my fingers. Oh, and Wonyoung.”

“Ye-yes?” the young girl moans.

“Open your mouth wide. I need you to drool on these.”

Both Yiren’s pussy lips and Wonyoung’s normal lips—though their lusciousness and thickness is far from mere ‘normal’—part as soon as your fingers graze them. The latter is quick to slobber all over them while you recklessly pump them into her; Yiren still has reservations and instead opts to look at you with adorable glassy eyes.

“I-I feel so full,” she moans, shivers throughout her entire body. You softly smile at her and start to curl your fingers, purposefully dragging them alongside her walls while your palm reaches her clit. “Ah, i-it feels—”

Holy shit. Whatever chemical they put into this pill, it has a tendency to just kill your patience. In what can only be described as a loss of all control, your body only moves towards fulfilling the mission. Your fingers start to violently pump into Yiren’s pussy and Wonyoung’s mouth, both quickly spilling liquids out of them. Especially Wonyoung, the Barbie girl below you, becomes a dispenser of juices when you violently fuck into her tight pussy.

“Too fast, ah!” Yiren screams, her hands wrapped around your wrist, unable to prevent the surge of lust in your body.

“Fuck, sorry. I can’t stop me.” You groan, not really sorry about the stuff happening to you, to them and—oh God! Wonyoung’s tiny frame, those cute hard abs, get bulged by your massive erection. A bit of skin and muscles, pushed up by your relentless thrusts, and she is also seeing it. Is she panicking, losing her mind to how you violate almost her entire body?

Her pussy is quick to give you an answer: like a broken, public fountain, she shoots water at you, suddenly soaking your body in her warm pussy juices. With their strong, lewd smell they are the perfect liquid to stain the sheets, more than your balls or her drool can produce. Much to your dismay, most of the nectar gets stuck on you.

“Fuck, turn around,” you command the thin fuckdoll and because she is too enamored by her heavy orgasm—her tiny thighs and long legs trembling up high in the air—you grab her hips and spin her around. Now in Doggy, you keep her upright by pulling her chestnut colored hair and plunge back into her still twitching cunt.

Wonyoung is completely overwhelmed. Instead of the cute, girlie moans you’d expect from her pretty lips, she grunts uncontrollably, her voice still hoarse from your fingers that played with her mouth. The grunts, however, are nothing compared to the wet sounds coming from her pussy as you thrust into the warm cavern, desperate to get more out of it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” both you and Wonyoung groan. The tips of her fingers dig deep into a soft stuffed toy while yours knead her soft butt. The sight of it is amazing; not a big dumpy, like you’ve seen on countless actresses, but so flawlessly smooth with an impossibly tiny asshole you one day need to get your tongue into.

“Pl-please, me-me too.”

Yiren crawls closer to you, her skirt pulled up, her cunt a leaking mess that needs something inside it. The live action fucking in front of her has her on the edge, ready to do her part to fulfill the mission, but you are too mesmerized by Wonyoung.

“Wony, lick her pussy. Get your tongue into her, fuck!” you shout, lost in your frenzy.

The barely thinking, barely functioning Barbie gets her hands onto Yiren’s thighs, at first only breathing, hissing, moaning into the princess’ crotch. It’s enough for Yiren to finally take the lead, forcing Wonyoung’s face straight onto her puffy lips, and the younger surrenders. She kisses and licks all over Yiren’s delicious cunt, the bundle of nerves atop it never left out. Yiren shudders.

“Oh God, oh Go~d, fuck!”

Yiren is louder than a fucking bomb when she explodes onto Wonyoung’s face and more importantly, the bed. Her nectar splashes all over the sheets, their color darkening beneath her knees. Finally, the three of you have made significant progress, and you are eager to make more. Especially Wonyoung seems to be more turned on than before; her pussy is even tighter, her walls ripple as she continues to eat Yiren out.

“You like that, huh? Your face deep in her pussy?” you ask her and give her cute ass a firm spank. “Such a dirty princess!”

“Yesh!” Wonyoung shouts, pressing her behind into your pistoning cock.

“You like my cock fucking you senseless, getting into your insides? You want it all, deeper?”

“Yesh, pleash!”

“Try to push me out, Wonyoung, squeeze me with your stupid little pussy!”

“Ah, shit, fuck! I’m—”

Yiren shuts her team partner up by grinding on her face. It’s enough to send Wonyoung into an orgasmic frenzy—again—and the moment you pull out, she squirts—again—everywhere. It was amazing, absolute bliss for you, but you are not there yet. You need to cum, inside a hot, clenching hole and so you disrupt the two princess’ love making.

Yiren fits perfectly into your hand. She is almost as light as Wonyoung, so you pick her up and place her on the head of the bed. The young woman is still frozen in surprise, her eyes uncertain, then shocked when you spread her legs wide and align your cock with her pussy.

“Oh God, it’s t-too big,” she whines even before you’re inside her.

“You can take it, Yiren, you’re such a good and pretty princess,” you mindlessly groan as you stare at her, then her nipple peeking out above her increasingly bunched up dress. “Now cum all over me.”

Yiren is too easy. Only a few strokes of your cock alongside her velvety walls and her entire body ripples. It starts with her cunt, soon goes to her torso and limbs, before she squirts like a broken garden hose. If the bed was a garden, countless flowers would bloom in it—and Wonyoung wants to make sure you stay to help them.

“You have to stay,” she whines. “Stay inside her and make her cum again.” She pushes you, forces you to almost slip inside Yiren again. From the corner of your eye however you see a red light, the indicator that you have to switch scenes right now.

“I think I did enough.” You pull away Wonyoung’s slender arms and Yiren’s feet trying to get you back inside her. “Get some toys or use your fingers. I’m not playing for your team, you need to play together.”

Yeah, sure, something like that was in the script. Luckily, even these two remember that the show must go on. At least Wonyoung does. The Barbie gets handsy, waving you goodbye while plunging her beautiful, long fingers into Yiren's cunt. What a waste that you won’t cum on those digits tonight.

"Have fun~" Wonyoung cheers as you disappear from her view, towards the next porthole which is already open.

Before you can take in the next setting fully, a nude, masked woman greets you by pulling your face down into her sizable cleavage.

"Quick, get him in here," another voice, feminine yet deep, straightforward yet mysterious, calls and you feel hands all over your body, as they drag you into the room. You only catch glimpses of its interior, a dark, unsettling dungeon with iron bars and cold, smooth walls, akin to the setting of certain Japanese videos you—a friend of yours—used to watch—for scientific reasons.

"Here, pin him down."

That voice just now is truly incredible, if only you could see who it belongs to. Unluckily, you only get to see the ceiling as four hands throw you onto a table. Those two are strong, you think, because your back hurts at the impact.

Suddenly, your view gets replaced by a smooth pussy and jiggly thighs trapping your head on the wooden surface. You take deep breaths, the strong smell of arousal quickly filling your nose. A finger boldly flicks your cockhead.

"Oh, you're really turning him on, Gah," the other woman says, your pulsating cock in her fist. "Ride his face, and I think we’ll get our first points soon."

"Wh-who are you?" you barely squeeze out, words drowned out by drowning in Gahyeon's pussy juice.

"I'm Swan, but we don't have time for that. We need to win this game, which is why you have to suffer.

"Sorry, by the way."

Before you can respond, Swan's fist goes up and down your length with the violence and speed of a raging tiger, ready to fucking destroy you. Tears spawn in your eyes, precum at your tip. She drives you to the edge and keeps you there with rhythmic pumps while you imagine her face in horny delight.

"Is he there yet?" Gahyeon asks, her voice raspy and cruel.

"Why don't you ask him?" Swan responds and twirls her tongue around your balls. You twitch.

Gahyeon lifts a leg and her deadly eyes stare through a terrifying mask right at you. "Tell me when you're about to explode,” she snarks and to put emphasis on her following words, she presses a long finger nail into your abdomen. “If not, I'll kill you.

“And start licking, for fucks sake.”

She plants herself back down before you can answer. She can live with your eager tongue on her thick folds as an analogical agreement. Through Gahyeon’s almost soundproof thighs you hear her passionate groans and Swan’s continuous spitting in her hands and on your cock to get you wet and ready for more of her soft hands.

You can’t deny that they are excellent. Yiren and Wonyoung both had tight, cozy holes, but something about Swan grabbing your dick and mercilessly pumping and twisting it makes your spine tingle. She quickly gets you to arch your back and moan into Gahyeon’s pussy, which has started to glide back and forth over your visage.

“Such a nice cock,” Swan moans. “Look at it, Gah! The head is already burning, I can feel that he’s close.”

Swan puts her second hand on your base and presses her lubed up palm on your underside while she starts to destroy your tip with violent pumps. She is a vicious succubus, trying to get your seed out efficiently without care for your sensitivity. With Gahyeon using your face like a saddle, your mind is left on hold when you loudly tap the table to signal your imminent arrival.

“Swan, now!”

The moment Gahyeon shouts, Swan is gone. No more delicate fingers to hold you, no more fists to jerk you, nothing to stimulate you. You thrust your hips up into air, unable to cum, unable to get your well-deserved release. Those fleeting seconds where you want only one thing are absolutely ruined by not getting this one thing—and then it’s over. You come back down with a devastated sigh.

“That’s one,” Gahyeon says and looks down at you in between her legs. “But we need more.”

“I agree,” Swan says, adjusting her position in between your shivering legs. “Get him to cooperate, I’ll do the rest.”

Gahyeon once again is faster than your attempts at remonstration. She puts her small hand on your throat and carefully increases the amount of weight on it. You gasp in dread before Swan places your still hard cock in the valley of her enormous tits. The valley then turns to a compressed trap where only your glans peeks out.

'Oh fuck', you want to, need to scream but it's futile with Gahyeon's enthusiasm to rub her labia on your lips. Swan shows a very similar need to torture you, her hands eagerly digging into the flesh of her melons and moving them up and down—both at the same time, then at different times, faster, then slower but with more pressure—is she trying to get you killed?

Death by titfuck. That will be an eyecatching epitaph.

"Do it faster," Gahyeon orders her teammate emphatically. "We need to get the score up."

"I know," Swan says, her voice a bit strained. "It's just unfair, you know? Getting him ready again and all that. But I think, fuck, we’re getting there. Look at his tip, isn't it cute?"

Swan licks the slit on your cockhead, cleaning the precum from it and you have to tap out again. You are so close once more, but a terrible gut feeling lets you doubt that you will cover Swan's tits with your cream. You’ve never felt so sick about being right, when she pops you free from the heavens between her large breasts.

They are right there, God dammit.

"That's number two!" Swan gleefully shouts and looks at your pole, pointing at the sky, sensitive and ready to explode, but your balls turn blue again. This can't be healthy, with how frustrated it makes you.

"Use your mouth this time, Swan—"

"Oh yeah? Why don't you do something for once?"

"Huh? We agreed on this earlier! I'm doing my part! Look, he can't even say a word."

"Pl-please," you interrupt the girls' discussion. "Let me, please, let me cum already!"

"Sorry, pal." Swan's voice is soft, and her tongue on your dick is even softer. "But we need to ruin you even more. That's how we're going to win."

"Th-then ruin your own orgasms," you plead with numbness in your mouth, caused by Swan's mouth on your barely numb manhood. "Th-this is cruel."

"He's got a point," Gahyeon thinks out loud. "Ah, fuck this game. If you can get me close, boy, I'll let you escape."

This might be your only chance to get out of this vicious cycle of ruined orgasm and painful edging. So you actually channel all your focus of your lips, tongue and teeth—whatever Gahyeon likes—on her clit. It's surprisingly easy to make her thighs around your ears squirm; Gahyeon's pussy is now wetter than Swan's mouth wrapped around your cockhead.

Suddenly, Swan gives you everything. She forces you to bottom out in her mouth, grow to full hardness once more while she violently gags. She might have been in absolute control over you for the last couple of minutes, but she is perfectly able to make her mouth a slutty hole for your cock. A soft, dominant deepthroat queen with massive tits—she is going to be a super star.

In a surge of ecstasy, fueled by Gahyeon's sweet juice, you buckle your hips upwards and force Swan to choke a little longer on your length. The young woman is not irritated however. After a single breathe she is back to going up and down you cock, sucking along it until your fucking dead.

You know she's going to ruin it again and the only way to pay them back is by ruining Gahyeon's orgasm as well. You finger the pussy above you and quickly flick the blood-filled lips and nub, until she cries out. Then you stop, then Swan stops. She is the only one satisfied—another two points for her team.

You blink a couple of times. Gahyeon, groaning like an enraged bull, has the busty Swan pinned to the metal bars of this dungeon and with all her hatred, slaps the younger's wet cunt.

"Now it's your turn, bitch!"

"Ouch, stop!"

"No. I want to win and you want to win too, so you better ruin yourself on my fingers. Now!"

This is your cue to leave. The dungeon fills with Swan's deep grunts and groans as she finally gets to witness what she put you through again and again and again. You'd love to help Gahyeon; there will be no need for it though. The masked girl is willing to do whatever is necessary to win.

Across from the dungeon, the second to last door is already open. The room mimics a dimly lit laundromat with a dozen or so washing machines. You step inside, cock in your carefully stroking hand. After all, you’ll have to be hard for the next scene, which will be the complete opposite of the last.

“Hello? Can somebody help me?” someone cries (let’s be honest, it’s much closer to a desperate moan) from behind a pile of freshly dried laundry atop a clothes rack. There is a sincere lack of intelligence in that cry, like said person is unable to help themselves. Makes you feel chivalrous.

“Hey, how can I—help you?”

The sight you find behind the pile has your speech a bit halted, interrupted by how, in a room made for washing clothes, someone is severely lacking them: A gorgeous, busty blonde, in nothing but modest, white underwear, though you notice that the bra is at least a size too small and unable to fully carry the weight of her tits.

"Oh, please help me," she moans again. "I think I've picked the wrong bra for me. Can you help me cover so no one can see my boobies while I look for the next?"

What the fuck? This is so fucking stupid on so many levels. How could she—and why would she suggest—what is even happening? The cliche about blondes must be true, because this one is not only dumb as fuck, but also hotness at it's peak. From bust to bottom, no, even to her toes, her body is amazing and tempting.

"Uhm, sure, why not. Can I know your name first?" you politely ask while not so politely getting behind her and cupping her breasts.

"I'm Somi. Thank God your hands are so big, no one can see my boobies now, hihi."

Is it innate for her to sound this silly? If not for this setting, you’d be worried; no human can ever be this stupid, only a buffoon would act in such a way. But maybe Somi’s IQ is just a bit lower than the average person—or maybe she knows no boundaries? The rules of public decency and inappropriate, sexual exposure might be foreign to her? You don’t know. You just know that her boobs are soft and bouncy, two handfuls of pillows to rest your head upon, of stress balls to knead when you are, you know, stressed.

You seem to know a lot more than her, especially because she still tries to find a bra able to hold up her breasts in the midst of clothes which all have two things in common: they are colorful and they are skimpy. It’s like the laundry of a whorehouse with how many short and skin tight skirts, dresses, fishnet stockings you find, let alone the short tops or all the lingerie. Speaking of which, Somi has finally found a bikini top that might be able to do the deed your hands are gleefully doing.

“Do you think this one is good?” she asks, holding up a new, purple bra while you slightly press at the bottom of her tits to watch them wobble on your finger tips.

“Try it out, because I’m not so sure with your massive boobs.”

Somi giggles and tries to put on the bra. You leave enough room, really, you do, for her to tie up the thin strands, but Somi is unable to. She mewls a couple of times before you go in and securely tie up the strands yourself. You are promptly rewarded, because the blonde decides to bend down and press her ass back against your crotch, your exposed cock, rapidly hard again at the touch of her cotton panties.

“Thank you, again,” Somi says and pushes her chest up for all to see. “What do you think, is this good?”

“Somi, is it possible that you are fucking stupid?” Oh, that sounded a lot harsher than it should have. The tension is quickly palpable. You hear someone gasp from the other end of the room.

“W-why?” Somi’s question is abashed, a bit shocked; even in this state of complete bimboness, she still looks so good.

“Because these bottoms don’t fit your top,” you say and pull at the side of her panties until they snap off of her hips. “You should change them. White and purple don’t fit together all too well.”

Somi looks down at her cleavage, the purple lace engulfing her tits, then to her thighs which have been parted by your cock. The tip peaks from in between her legs and you softly groan out the pleasure her perfect gap gives you into her ear. There is no mere hint of slickness from her heat, there are ridiculous amounts of evidence of it, proof spreading all over. It’s a clear case of horniness, you better resolve the issue immediately.

“You’re right,” Somi mumbles, thighs swaying. “I should look for the right bottoms. They should be in here.” Things couldn’t get any better, because now Somi is bending over, hands in the pile of clothes, while your hands are in the plentifulness of her ass. You hold her steady, align your cock with a hole that looks so ready to get fucked and then push forward. Somi almost stumbles forward, but you save her from making an even greater mess of this place by continuing to make a mess out of her.

“Oh God,” she moans, a pink crop top in hands. “I-I can’t find it.”

“Continue, continue searching,” you groan back and slam your hips forward, then backwards, your cock entering and exiting her cunt at will—your will is strong, overpowering every small exhaustion in chase of that first true release of this messy pornographic shoot, a shoot where teams fight to win, yet this “team” does not even have a target goal.

Somi’s goal is to be stupid, oblivious to your cock gaping her pussy open time and time again, and for this being her first time on cam, she is excellent. Of course, her dumb moans can’t be deactivated, you doubt even a ball gag can fully do that, but a benevolent interpretation of this scene allows for these moans to be of desperation. Somi just really wants to find these purple bikini bottoms—your cock spreading her pussy and the camera lens on it is just a side product.

“Da-damnit, fuck,” Somi seems to give up, defeatedly grabbing the edge of the table while you hold onto her shoulders to get faster, deeper inside of her. “They are not h-here.”

“Maybe you need to take a step back and look at it from afar,” you tell her and all it takes is a pull at her shoulders and Somi stands straight up. From now on, your thrusts go upwards and Somi can casually bounce along while her dizzy eyes try to process the color purple amidst a pile so colorful, every pride parade would become envious.

Your arms instinctively wrap around Somi’s small waist. You need to keep her here, can’t let her get away, not when you are this close to finally cumming. Your balls are aching, your tip is stimulated and you know that it will be glorious. Somi’s body, from a face that could make news just for its beauty, paired with a pair of perky, large boobs, amplified by a tight, muscular midriff, killer hips and strong, full thighs, she has to be everyone’s type.

People will click on her videos millions of times, yet you are about to be the first to cream her, you can call dibs on that pussy, no male rival co-star stands a chance. Your cock is ready, your legs able to give more power into the final thrusts when suddenly—

“Oh, I found it!”

—Somi leans forward, hand stretched out, ready to grab what has always been on top of this entire pile, in your view forever, in everyone’s view forever, only Somi took forever to find it: purple panties. No, they can’t ruin your perfect orgasm. You heartlessly push Somi against the table, head first into the laundry. Her scream now muffled by a dozen of clothes in her face, you manically fuck your load into her doggy until cum floods her cavern and clothes flood the laundromat floor.

Every part of you is twitching, so is Somi and her pussy. A bit more, a bit more, she squeezes out of you, but she is full. In the midst of all this chaos, this silly, flushed bitch was able to grab the panties. You give her tits a harsh slap to awaken her from the cock induced slumber.

“Put them on, quick, before we make a bigger mess.”

Somi obliges, though shaky. You help her by holding onto her hips, her tits, all those things you could grab forever. When your shaft falls out of her pussy and you watch her catch most of your load with the tight panties, you want to push them to the side and just fuck her full pussy again. That’s when you notice someone down the aisle of washing machines—is it Somi’s teammate?

“Who the fuck is th—”

“Help, I’m stuck!”

This one is a classic. A trope so beyond stereotypical, everyone knows it. Just like the dumb blonde, this one can be found on every porn site ever. The only thing missing is that she calls you stepbro. That would be a bit too much though. Her ass sticking out of one of the washing machines while she absolutely tries to get back out of it is already cliche enough to you.

Oh yeah, she’s also completely naked.

“Oh no, Yuna is stuck!” Somi states the exposition for the viewer, who is utterly uninvolved in the engaging plot they stopped paying attention to since this video's thumbnail. “We need to help her!”

Somi waddles towards her partner. You see trails of cum running down her legs, unceremoniously dropping to the floor and making a lewd, sticky mess of it. She seems unbothered, just like you, and the camera absolutely loves it. The view then switches from this to a new, exposed and impressively large ass.

“Help, help,” Yuna shouts again, metallic reverberation unable to dampen the stupidness in her voice. You had filmed a scene like this one already, but there are no complaints whatsoever. As long as you can get your hands on Yuna’s ass, pull those cheeks apart and get the first view of those two smooth, clean holes, why would you complain?

“How did this happen, Yuna?” Somi asks worriedly, arms alongside Yuna’s frame, definitely ‘pulling’ on her teammate's waist, while your mind imagines all the ways you could rim Yuna for hours.

“I wanted to pull my underwear out of here,” she responds with a whine. “But now I am stuck!”

Go figure, she is brainless as well. Both of them are, but nature has instead given them the envy of millions of women: divine bodies that are effortlessly sexy and beautiful. Smooth skin, toned legs, curves to die for—in your admiration you notice that your energy is returning quicker than ever before.

It might not fit the story, the narrative, the game, but in this moment of bliss, you couldn’t care less. Knees bend, cock guided by your thumb, you press your tip against Yuna’s ring and find the entry into her asshole to be a lot easier than expected. Her moan bounces through the washing machine just like her boobs bounce in surprise.

Confusion has Somi frozen, her body only reacting when you put force in your thrusts, enough power to make Yuna hit her dumb head against the back of the washing drum. A profuse whimper made metallic, not that you care, but Somi seems to get back into the real world where she is still as moronic as before.

“H-how is this supposed to help Yuna?”

It’s not. Tell her that. Tell her and Somi will continue complaining like this without getting any pleasure from you. Serves her right, won’t make the scene any better though, thus you find her neck with your hand and find her eyes with yours. They sparkle knowingly.

“You really are the dumbest thing alive.”

A pull and Yuna is out of the drum. Blonde hair flows down her back, hides her frail shoulders and in the reflection of the metal drum you see her lips in a light, glistening pink. They are full and made for sucking. In the sea of her endless, golden hair, your hand twists and twists until Yuna voluntarily raises herself from the ground and arches her back towards you. Your goal is not to kiss her lips (though that would be one hell of an experience) but to drown her in Somi’s cleavage.

“What are you—Yuna! No, don’t pull it down, I-I just found it.”

Sweat evaporates from your temple when you see those lips wrap around one of Somi’s nipples and begin to lewdly suck on it. The thrill is engaging, Yuna’s ass invites you back in and it’s with ease that you fuck her puckered hole. You poke the depths of this suffocating cavern and Yuna begins to poke all over Somi’s body. The dumber blonde hesitates briefly, hands first on her thighs, then Yuna’s until she ends up below her friend.

“Now you are trapped,” Yuna giggles and drool leaves her mouth in purposefully large amounts, able to transform the valley between Somi’s tits into a canal.

“You two are so fucking stupid, fuck, fuck your hot bodies.”

You are starting to lose it, for every word they utter, your intelligence gets insulted but your arousal heightened. You spank Yuna’s ass and she tightens to the point where you need to give it your all to fuck her faster. What an odd time to notice that they haven’t told you their task yet. How can you help them get points? Shit, what was in the script again? Are you really that much smarter if you can’t remember?

“Yuna, Yuna, that feels so good,” Somi moans out and sways on the floor from side to side until you press Yuna right on top of her. With their incredible bodies entangled and you nonstop fucking into the tight ass, their sensitive spots have to rub each other, nipples on nipples, clits on clits, and Somi is the first to collapse. “Oh my God, I-I’m about to wet my panties, oh no, Yuna!”

“Me too, my butt, I’m going to cum from my butt!” Yuna’s silly fucked body, and her silly face and her silly feminine voice have you on the verge to become silly as well. Both blonde’s indulge in their wet, heavy orgasms and you push your tip back into Yuna so many times that you flood her with a pent up load that momentarily shuts down your brain.

So this is how they feel all the time—brainless but blissful. At least stupid bitches fuck good.

“Oh, Somi, there, there is so much in my ass~”

“Really? Can I feel it?”

Somi puts two fingers against Yuna’s puckered hole, but before she can get a scoop of your load that is still hidden in the tightly clenching butt, Yuna stands up. “No, Somi, ew,” Yuna shouts, moans, something in between, again. “You have to eat it straight from the butt, like this.”

You are back in the hub room, all the rooms finally open. Before you make your way to the last room, you decide to take a quick look into each scene you’ve already participated in that only users that buy the premium pass (which is off 69%, only today on k-jizzers.cum) can still watch:

In the first room, Wonyoung and Yiren sit on the edge of the bed, fingering each other's pussies until they violently squirt all over the mattress. Both of them look sweaty and exhausted, but they continue to drink water and share saliva to go for another round. Stay hydrated, everyone.

“Let’s do this, Barbie, I know your tiny body can cum again!”

“O-okay, b-but only if you kiss me.”

In the second room, Swan is fully naked, her backside turned to you. She is tied to the metal bars with handcuffs on both of her wrists. Below her is Gahyeon, thrusting a dildo up into that tiny tight cunt, while her own hole is stuffed with a loud bullet vibrator. They are really committed to this game.

“I swear, Swan, if you cum again, I’ll kick your ass, literally!”

“S-sorry, Mommy, I try, try, try—I’m so close!”

In the third room, well, those blondes finally found a way to snowball your cum, not from mouth to mouth, but ass to mouth. Yuna sits on Somi’s face, head thrown back, unable to not moan as your white spunk oozes out of her. Bon Appetit.

“Oh God, don’t put your tongue in!”

“But he tastes so good, let me be greedy this one time.”

The final room is a classroom, unmistakably. It has an old blackboard, a long desk for the teacher, smaller desks and chairs for the pupils. No matter when or where you’ve been to school, this will surely evoke memories of forgotten homework, endless lessons and bratty students.

“Ew, is that the new guy?” you hear someone complain from across the room, disgust in her voice, fingernails rapidly typing on her phone.

“Oh yeah, but what did you expect? At least he gives some big dick energy,” a response follows promptly, though this time they both look up from their phones and stare at you. You quickly find coverage behind the teachers desk to hide your manhood. A miserable attempt that has one of the girls outraged.

“Ayo, what the fuck? Do you think you’re some kind of teacher now?”

“Maybe he is here to teach us a lesson, lol.”

Did the girl on the left, in her messed up blouse and way-too-short checkered skirt, the waistband of a light brown thong on display, just like her midriff and navel—did she just say ‘lol’ out loud? Well, at this point the viewer will neither cringe or notice, too good is this material, too hot their bodies.

“Maybe he is here to teach you a lesson for breaking the dress code,” the girl adds as she approaches the desk.

“Yeri, you—you’re worse than me! Everyone can see your bra, what the fuck,” the other girl shouts and goes in for a slap on Yeri’s butt. The impact has you peeking out as a small melee breaks out.

“At least I tried, Yeojin, unlike you. Where is your skirt, your blouse? I can almost see your tits.” Yeri reaches for Yeojin’s chest, which is covered by this tiny, one piece swimsuit, so tiny in fact, even Yeojin’s small body seems to spill out of it. When there is so much shortness, of course Yeojin’s shorts are no different. Her shorts are actually shorter than Yeri’s skirt, which is already quite short—

“You tried?” Yeojin shrieks and tugs at Yeri’s blouse, accidentally undressing her. Who could have known, the bra below is actually a bikini top. “It’s falling off of your body.”

“Ts,

“Hey, you fucker! Get out already, we got some beef to settle.”

Yeri kicks the desk and you hear pencils roll down from it. They surely have not forgotten about you and your assumed big dick energy, so it was no use to continue hiding. You crawl out and straighten your posture, clearly taller than the two young women who don’t waste time looking up and gawking at the height difference. Both sets of hands go straight to your abdomen, your crotch, your cock. Yeojin is the first to pump, rubbing her fishnet sleeves carelessly over your sensitive tip.

“Watch it,” you hiss and get fistfuls of their hair, which to your surprise does not faze them at all. “You two are running your mouth, spewing bullshit. This is no way how you should treat people older and taller than you.”

Yeri frees herself easily from your grasp and you gasp when her knuckles dig into your stomach. It wasn’t really a punch, but somehow, she has you stunned. A smirk appears on her feisty features. “Watch it, asshole. This is our classroom, you’re the one below us. If you want some respect, don’t flex with your height. Flex with something else. Proof your worth.”

“O-oh yeah? And how should I do this?”

“Fuck us,” Yeojin casually says and pulls back the skin on your cock to the point it hurts and all the surging blood forces you to peak stiffness. “You get points for every position, the more creative, the better. Show us that this thing is more ‘do-er’ than ‘show-er’.”

Their eyes are the epitome of ‘fuck-me’ eyes, hell, they imagined fucked you the moment you entered, and in your mind, you’ve fucked them in every conceivable way possible. With all this imaginary fuckery, it’s about due time for the real fucking to start, though it’s definitely bugging you that these small, bratty girls get to start it off and lead the way.

Guess your positions have to be rough.

“Fine,” you sigh and get ready to push Yeojin down to her knees, but there is no need. She takes the short fall and her lips aggressively wrap around your tip before you can overthink your decision.

“No need to agree, it wasn’t up to you anyway,” Yeri laughs and you feel her fingers roam your upper body, everything from butt, back, nape to stomach and chest. She lingers there for a long time, cupping your pecs while you imagine cupping her surprisingly big tits—then Yeri dives in and starts to suck one of your nipples, while Yeojin bops her head back and forth.

“You tiny bitches.” They make it hard to breathe, their sluttiness and sloppiness is excellent, their enthusiasm matches that of Wonyoung. “You greedy, evil little things. You’ll regret that.”

“We’ll see about that,” Yeojin moans when your cock pops from her luscious lips and you’re back to receiving harsh, painful pumps from her fishnet clad hands. “What’s stopping you, huh?”

Nothing, really, so you don’t keep them waiting any longer. You reach into the back of Yeri’s bikini bottoms while simultaneously finding a good grip on Yeojin’s ponytail. A bit of adjusting on both ends, suddenly there is nothing but sounds of horniness, of rampant, uncensored sex. Well, there is of course a lot more than that, but who could think of anything else—

—but Yeojin’s cock-sucking lips sucking cock. They are the only thick thing on this miniscule rookie pornstar. You jerk your hips forward and her nose meets your base. You keep it that way as her tight throat struggles with your size and saliva spills from her lips.

Yeojin’s gags seem to turn on Yeri, her wet pussy dripping on your fingers as you rub it, never too fast, to keep her on the edge to—yeah, teach her a lesson. Look at that needy face, that heaving bosom, she is so desperate for more stimulation, but could never admit to it. Yeri’s pride keeps her from begging for your fingers to twirl inside her cunt.

“Is that really how you want to do it?” That’s as close to a beg as you will get from Yeri, nonetheless, you’ll give her more rubs. All this struggle is unbeknownst to the viewer, who can only see Yeri’ ecstatic face and wide open mouth as you finally insert two digits in her cunt. “That’s better, fuck.”

“Ride my fingers, Yeri. Impress me, and I’ll fuck you on the desk.”

“You, you will either way,” she chirps back, voice about to break when you thrust knuckles deep and curl, all while making Yeojin your sex doll.

Those gags of hers have become too dangerous though, so you take a step back and intensely watch as Yeojin coughs up lots and lots of saliva, letting it run down her pretty little face, her throat that was just stuffed like some obscene christmas chicken. In disbelief you watch her wipe her tears away and grin on, as if she wasn't just fighting for her life. Nothing can get Yeojin down, her brattiness is unreal.

Yeri does not seem amused at the lack of attention you give her. She pulls your hand out of her pussy and waddles towards the desk. In a burst of creativity, you grab her and slam her on the desk, on her back. Yeri winces in pain, but you already have her entrance exposed and filled before she can complain. And complain, she shall never again.

“Fuck, so big, be ca-care-ful!”

“Now that’s—oh God, you’re tight—now that’s not what I expected from you,” you groan manically, as you pin Yeri down with both your eyes and hands. “Shut up and take it. I want to see your tits bounce.”

Out of nowhere, Yeojin’s thin hand creeps under the thin string of Yeri’s bikini top and pulls it off. Finally, you can see those modest breasts swing freely while you do what you’re best at: plunging your fat cock into a wet cunt. Yeri moans, in a deep craze, deep pleasure, her hips grind in circles so you have to pin her down harder, hands in the soft flesh above those hips—just fuck faster and lose your mind.

“Yeri, your pussy looks so full,” Yeojin giggles and brushes stray hair out of her friend’s ecstatic face. “Don’t tell me you’re already about to cum?”

“No-no, never—”

“Oh great, cuz I won’t let you,” you promptly say and pull out of that stretched hole, gaped and absolutely desperate for an orgasm that was right around the corner. A few more pumps and Yeri would have been gone, her first on cam climax was so close.

But now it’s Yeojin’s turn. After all you want those points—or is it their points? You don’t care, you just hook your arms underneath her thighs and pick her up. She’s as light as she looks and her pink cavern is as snug as you anticipate. Yeojin holds onto your neck for stability, while you split her open further and further and when she leans into you, you feel your cock bulge her.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s the spot.” Use Yeojin like a fleshlight, an upgrade to her sex doll mouth, and she surrenders to the pleasure. Wasn’t this supposed to be Team Bratty or something? This is more—

“Team Cockhungry, absolute sluts,” you shout at her but Yeojin is just mindless and her lips quiver anxiously whenever you’re not guiding her small body up and down your cock. “Yeri, get on the wall. Present your ass to me, if you want this cock again.”

Yeri nods, only focused on you. She needs a second to find orientation again, while you make Yeojin lose all orientation as you spin her around and fuck her full nelson. An insane idea by the producers, stand and carry sex for the finale, but with a girl this small, it’s actually possible. You are still the unrestrained engine that pistons and pistons until Yeojin is ready to burst.

“Not yet, not yet,” you coo as you ruin yet another orgasm. A wet pop when you remove yourself from what could be a perfect hole for cockwarming, breeding and many other lewd adventures. The industry will empty their pockets to get a video with this pocket pussy girl. But for now, she is all yours and quite dismayed.

“You, you dick, better make it up later,” Yeojin says, voice deeply judgemental. It has to be ignored, because first, you have to make it up for a certain someone who wasn’t satisfied with your fingers or a short missionary fuck. Yeri needs you again, deep and hard, while her fragile legs try to keep her upright.

You watch the side of her face, the lip bite, the palms flaking off the wallpaper, the thighs trapping you and your cock is already on her labia. Yeri rubs her love juice all over your rod and you follow her plea and take the lead with a thrust that can be heard around the world.

“Fuck, it’s deep, your cock is deep in my pussy.” The disbelief in her voice sounds genuine, just like the attempt to crawl up the wall to drop back down on your cock. Yeri wants you to hit her cervix, finally cumming all over you but you need to savor this position more.

“Deeper than anything else.” A hand in her hair, you press everything of her against the wall. “I know you like it deep, your best spots are there. You’re a slut for large cocks, you only want them while standing up.”

“No, I need them to pick me up! Lift me up and fuck me, break me open deeeeep!”

Yeri must have been so envious of Yeojin. You might have picked the wrong girl to lift on high and fill from below. You can still make it up though; Yeri’s tits are repurposed as handles to pull her back onto your chest, feet suddenly flying. You might be blinded by strands of her hair all over your face, but you can still feel the weight of Yeri down on your cock, while you’re still drilling into her. She is getting higher, not only physically, but mentally. She loves nothing more than to be watched while a huge shaft fucks her. The stimulation sends her into a sea of bliss, a deep ocean, like the puddle of girl cum beneath your feet.

“I’m going to cum on your cock,” Yeri screams and tries to choke out a load from your balls, yet all she is choking you with is her hair on your face. “I love it, y-you can finish with me—”

The last time the camera captured someone cum so hard was about thirty minutes ago, either Wonyoung or Yiren, but unlike Team Princess next door, Yeri does it involuntarily. You pound the squirt out of her sloppy cunt until your legs become a slippery lubed mess and you almost slip on the cheap classroom floor. Yeri shouts and whines, the inside of her pussy still rippling when you pull out of it.

When you place Yeri back against the wall and feel the somewhat cold studio air brush past your erection, you realize that Yeri was close to getting you off too early. You are throbbing, surfing on the edge, almost getting blue balled. The only thing that can save you is Yeojin and the only thing you see is her ass, as she props herself up on all fours in between the chairs of—

Who counts chairs and who fucking cares? Just slam your cock into her ass and hear her screech in shock at the sudden fullness of her back entrance. There will be no ruined orgasm for you this time, Yeojin’s ass is your guarantee and you doubt her brattiness will return. Not when she moans so submissively. A question remains as you bury yourself repeatedly in Yeojin’s rectum: how can she be shocked when it's all lubed up and relaxed and eager to take you back inside like the pussy of a veteran porn star?

Yeojin really was born for this job. Her petite frame will be perfect for various porn sites related to kinks: size difference, stand and carry, small tits. The videos of her getting bulged will become legendary amongst the horniest or Reddit and Tumblr communities. Guys will have their way with her, her head will be spinning after some huge guys have her unconventionally spitroasted in the air or one of those tall, muscular women takes her for a ride on a strap-on.

They won’t have to worry about anal from her, because Yeojin takes it legendarily, narrowing at just the right time to go beyond the audio-visual perfection that is her penetrated ass—in simpler words, it feels as good as it looks. She can rival Yuna or maybe form some butt slut dream team, that’s how fucking amazing fucking her ass is.

“Yeri get back here, I’m close,” you promptly announce whilst scoring again by forcing Yeojin into a prone position and marking her shoulders with tender bites. Yeri struggles to find footing, only able to push forward because of all the tables and chairs. When she finally reaches you, you give Yeojin your final pumps as her entire frame is struck by an orgasmic earthquake.

In this day and age, everything has to be fast, even porn has to fit the 15 second shorts, reels, tiktok culture, so you start to cum in Yeojin and push Yeri to the ground at the same time. Then you reach for Yeri’s butt while holding back as many spurts as you can, to get her in this sweet piledriver and then paint both the outside and inside off her petite yet bubbly ass. It’s perfect for a short clip, that little teaser that plays when you’re about to click on the next JAV thumbnail on that shady site.

The HD or 4K settings across all screens can never do the real sight of a blissfully filled Yeri justice, as she eagerly spreads her own cheeks and everyone gets the awesome view of cum that seeps out of a gaped ass. The upside down (pretty, little, risky) baddie cleans off that hard-working cockwith her formerly bratty mouth. Deep exhales through her nose send a nice, warm stream of air around your base, which finally loses stiffness, the tension, it comes crashing down in the well-known post-nut clarity.

In this clarity however, you find Yeri’s final defiance; her lips will not let go of your cock and her tongue on your sensitive slit makes you curl your toes and whine out the agony which shoots up to your head like electric shocks. To top it all off, you feel Yeojin grin behind you when she wraps her slender arms around your midriff. This wasn’t in the script!

“The shooting might be over,” the tiny girl whispers. “But we are not done with you.”

“There are still a lot of points to be collected.

“And you will collect all of them.”

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mermazeablaze · 8 months

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This video is doing numbers on TikTok, but I wanted to share it here because I am so proud. The man being featured is my uncle Steve Smith.

Steve has been building drag racers & custom cars his entire life.

My grandma before passing away would tell the story of how when he was 10 or 11 years old - she came home to him taking apart the engine in her secondary vehicle (reserved for fancy outings).

She asked him why & he said he wanted to know how it worked outside of a schematic. & she told him that as long as he put it back together the way he found it, it was fine by her. & what's more - he put it back together from memory without even looking at a diagram!

If anything went wrong with the car, my grandma had him fix the car & it was that way until my grandma passed away. She never paid for a mechanic in her life again.

When Steve was a teenager he spent most of his time at the OKC Racetrack & raced with drag racers he built himself.

Also, as a teen he won the Bethany, OK wheelie championship by riding over a mile nonstop on his motorcycle on a single wheelie position.

All throughout my childhood he always had cars around in various stages of fixing up.

The city of Bethany refused to sell him the property next to his house to open his own auto garage. He had worked for Diffee Motors most of my life up until then. So he moved out in the country & opened his own garage.

Steve has been on several mainstream auto shows being featured for his custom work. He also built a custom car for one of the guys on Duck Dynasty. He was also offered a permanent role on an auto TV show, but he turned it down because it required moving out of state.

My uncle Steve is one of the sweetest, kindest & most generous people you will ever meet in your lifetime. He's as smart as a whip, has never met a stranger & gives the best hugs!

It just makes me so happy to see him getting the recognition he deserves.

The picture below is of him at a family function sitting next to his wife, Nancy.

#Steve Smith #Noah.Bowman #TikTok #classic cars #cars #Dodge #Oklahoma #drag race #racing #custom car #family #story #engineering #mechanics #sciblr #physics #Dodge Charger #Noah__Nono

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sytoran · 6 months

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Could I request a Natasha x reader where R and Nat are driving home from a party but their car breaks down so they call someone to come help them fix it and while they’re waiting they fuck outside on the back of the car…strap on pls

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟏𝟎 — 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐗

kinktober day 010 | milf!natasha x fem!mechanic!reader

natasha's had a completely shit day, and the last straw is when her car breaks down on the way home. the unbelievably sexy mechanic who shows up to fix her car makes it an unforgettable night.

note. i might've changed the plot so R is the mechanic. trust me on that decision.

cont. strap-on use, daddy kink, horniness, hot mechanic stuff

word count. 3435 (yall are getting fed)

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In her weathered thirties, Natasha had retired as an Avenger and chose a life that had always been nothing more than a distant dream.

By adopting two beautiful children and becoming a mother, it was almost like she was flipping off the Red Room for what they had done to her. It was an act of justice, a long sought-after victory, throwing away her past but embracing the lessons it had taught her.

However, despite how much the future she carved for herself had changed, one thing hadn’t — and that was the people who had been by her side throughout her journey to normalcy.

Kate, that human embodiment of a golden retriever, was all about ‘bringing the Avengers together, old and new’, and ‘forging stronger bonds in the pursuit of justice’. Hence came the monthly parties that involved the wealth of Bishop Security, too much alcohol, and one too many bad decisions.

For Natasha, the party had spun out of control like a series of unfortunate events: From the raspberry martini Thor had spilled on her, to the ripped dress from a stupid dare from Rocket to climb the fence, and the incredibly awkward seven minutes in heaven with Bruce.

Right now, the ex-Avenger wanted nothing more than to dive under the warm blankets and close her eyes and shut the world out. Go home to her two bundles of joy. Be engulfed in the warmth of comfort and release. Maybe even let Liho sleep on the bed for once.

She needs to get back home a little faster. Natasha accelerates.

Her eyes are on the road, gripping the steering wheel with a steely frown. The road is dark, the lamps are flickering. There’s a thought lingering in the back of her mind, like an itch that simply wouldn’t go away.

It was embarrassing to admit, but Natasha had done far worse: She was unarguably sexually frustrated. After saving the universe and transitioning into a life of motherhood, she hardly had any time to alleviate her stress in that kind of way.

Today was one of those days, then, where she would once again have to retreat into the confines of her shower and spend a little longer than she should. Or perhaps, dive under the sheets and reach into her bedside table for that plastic purple toy.

Natasha steps on the pedal a little harder. She accelerates again – the engine splutters.

"Fuck, shit, don't do this to me now," she growls, angrily slapping her steering wheel while a frown creases her eyebrows.

It only takes the car three more streetlamps to absolutely die out on her, coming to a screeching halt, in the dead of the night, in the middle of nowhere. Comically, the sound of something fusing inside her engine follows right after.

Natasha lets the groan of frustration fall freely, forehead hitting the centre of the steering wheel. The resounding sound of the car honking echoes in the emptiness of the place, like a mockery of Natasha’s misfortune.

She climbs out of the car reluctantly, slowly lifting the bonnet open and staring blankly at the mechanical parts before her.

Natasha was a woman of many capabilities, those of which included being able to assassinate three grown men with a pencil, speak fifteen languages fluently, raise two kids with an attitude more stubborn than hers, save the fucking world, in fact, but fixing cars was not one of them.

Gradually, the car parts in the engine began to look more and more like ancient hieroglyphs that Natasha would spend a lifetime trying to decipher.

She pulls out her cell phone to call someone for assistance, before realizing that basically all of her friends were likely piss-drunk at that stupid party, and would never pick up. (Okay, she also didn’t have a social life other than her ex-comrades in battle, but could you really blame Natasha?)

As the redhead closed her eyes, irritation danced in the darkness of her vision, flickering in specks of white and then burning red. Natasha resigns to her doomed fate.

Calling up the roadside assistance services would mean spending an insanely long amount of time waiting, then having her car towed to the auto-repair shop, henceforth allowing the mechanics there to actually fix up her car, and by the time she retreated into the warmth of her bedroom at home it would very much be far past midnight.

Pulling out her phone with a stately reluctance, Natasha searches up the nearest available mechanic services, dials in the designated number, and begins her wait for comfort and satisfaction.

***

If Natasha previously had any qualms or complaints about waiting for roadside assistance, her mouth was now sealed shut with lock and key. In fact, she would much rather let the mechanic that just arrived assist her in several other ways.

“Sorry for the wait, Ma’am, we were almost about to close shop,” you say, climbing out of the pickup truck then jumping down.

You flick your hair out of your eyes and send a bright smile to your last client of the day, seemingly oblivious to the effect you had on the woman. “I’m Y/N, happy to be at your service.”

Now, Natasha certainly had her own suspicions that she wasn’t entirely straight, but those queries had been confirmed within a good five seconds.

It was too cliche to be real, almost. Natasha swallows as her eyes rake over your tight-fitting white tank top that showed off the most stunning bodily anatomy she had ever seen, each muscle carved from a meticulous sculptor, dirtied cargo pants hanging loose to reveal the band of a pair of black boxers.

“Ma’am?” you repeat, lifting up a heavy toolbox with one hand, failing to notice that Natasha’s gaze is glued on to the flexed muscles of your right arm.

“O-oh,” the ex-Avenger mumbles in embarrassment – Oh, Yelena would cackle to see her like this – “Sorry, what was your question?”

You only tilt your head and give her a polite smile. “I was asking what seems to be the issue with your car.”

Natasha nods vigorously, then walks stiffly towards her car. Her clammy hands struggle to lift the bonnet for a moment, and in a second you’re next to her, single-handedly lifting the cover with a thoughtful smile.

Natasha feels the heat rush to her cheeks and she looks away quickly. She was acting like a lovesick high school girl, for God’s sakes. Get it together, she chides.

When she looks back up again, you have a wrench in hand, twirling it around. Natasha has her eyes glued to your tattoos and the way your fingers spin the tool.

“I’ll loosen this up a bit, see what we’re dealing with.” You say, fastening the wrench into place. Natasha barely has time to nod her acknowledgement before her breath gets stolen from her again.

The muscle of your forearm ripples like a satisfying wave when you jerk the wrench, and Natasha’s breath gets stolen away by the wind. She watches as your fingers expertly wrap around the tool, your other hand gripping the front of the car, and your next effort has Natasha getting wetter in places she shouldn’t.

“I think this part needs to be oiled,” you say, your even voice hauling Natasha out of her erotic fantasy. You look at your client curiously, innocently gesturing towards the toolbox next to her feet. “Would you be an angel and hand me the oiler?”

Angel.

Natasha’s heart races as she bends down to pick up your toolbox. (Okay, she definitely bends down a little too far, but she feels your eyes glued onto her ass, and she considers that a victory.) When she hands you the toolbox, your fingertips graze over her hand, and Natasha’s breath hitches a little too obviously.

By some holy deity’s work, you don’t comment or react to her squeak of surprise, and instead begin oiling up the engine of the car. Natasha flushes a dark red. Your grasp had been calloused, because of course it would be, experienced with handling cars and being rough—

The electricity that had run through her veins from that second of contact was comparable to Thor’s Mjolnir.

You have a little mishap when pouring the oil, the tube sliding in your grasp, and the car oil squirts from the nozzle and onto your front. You chuckle awkwardly, embarrassment tinging the tips of your ears.

Natasha thinks it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, heart fluttering at your awkwardness. Once again, her libido catches up to her, and then Natasha’s eyeing your slick fingers (imagining it was a different type of slick), and the way your dampened shirt clung to your taut muscles.

Maybe you were doing it on purpose, too, facing Natasha as you lift up the hem of your shirt to squeeze out the oil. Her eyes feast on the hint of bare skin she can see, a defined V-line making itself known.

“You don’t mind me working like this, I suppose?” you ask, a grin on your face. “I may look filthy, but I promise I’m excellent with my hands.”

“Show me, then,” Natasha replies loftily, almost second-nature with how the one-sided smirk creeps on to her face. Her skill of seduction was something that was ingrained into her bloodstream.

When you lay down onto the under-car roller and shift underneath the car to begin fixing it up, Natasha’s gaze darkens several hues and she lets her eyes roam over your body again.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off if she tried. She wanted to rake her nails over your taut muscles, watch them flex and ripple under her touch, hook her fingers in the belt-loop of your pants and tug it down—

—to see the unmistakable bulge on a strap-on in your boxers. Natasha licks her lips, zeroing in on the tantalizing sight. It looked big, even while hidden under the confines of your pants. She would take you so good, down her throat or up her cunt, until either of you orgasmed.

Natasha gets lost in her thoughts, nearly drooling as she watched you work. Your tank top moved with every thrust of your arm into unscrewing a certain mechanical part, and the grease slid down the veins of your hands.

The redhead has to sink her teeth into her bottom lip when you spread your legs for a more comfortable position, to stop herself from moaning out load.

Natasha’s got it down bad, eyes once again on your bulge. Her panties are soaked, already, lewd thoughts flitting through her mind with every passing minute that you’re under there.

On the other hand, you were fighting a very different battle.

You weren’t stupid, no, not on any accounts. (Except for dating that one girlfriend who’d lit your auto-repair shop on fire when you broke up with her. But we don’t talk about past mistakes.) Right now, the woman you were attending to was none other than Natasha Romanoff.

Yes, the woman who had saved the universe. The woman who’d inspired you to say ‘fuck everyone else’ and chase your dreams. The woman on TV you’d spent more than a few nights thinking of, your hand in places you’d rather not specify.

More than that, you were quite sure that this woman, in a ripped dress that fucked your mind in ways it shouldn’t, wanted you to fuck her instead.

It was an uphill battle, your rationality versus your pathetic pretty-girl-want-to-fuck instinct. As you lay under Natasha’s car, working on the mechanical parts up there and getting grease all over your hands, you contemplated the reasons why logic was important.

Number One: Natasha Romanoff was an Avenger. If you pushed yourself onto her, she could very much knock you out before you could say ‘sorry’. As much as you prided yourself on your physique and brute force, you weren’t about to take on an ex-widow in a fight.

You look down for one second, as said woman steps a little closer to you, and you have to swallow to bite back an embarrassing sound. One of her hands was resting on your knee while you worked, and it took every cell of your existence not to start spasming under her touch.

Number Two: It was a violation of workplace guidelines. As much as the pay was shitty, you wouldn’t want to lose your job. You still had rent to pay, and you couldn’t keep hiding from your stick-in-the-ass landlord.

“Oh, that looks dirty,” Natasha comments, tone sultry as her hand creeps up higher on your leg. Your breath catches in your throat, grease staining your white shirt while your eyes quite nearly glaze over.

I can show you dirty, your brain unhelpfully supplies, and you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear your head.

Natasha, undetered, leans forward, chest grazing over your torso, the soft flesh of her breasts against your abdomen making your head spin.

Fuck, you just wanted to rip off her pretty dress and— Number Three: You were in public. Having sexual intercourse with your client right here and right now would likely end in a police report for vouyerism. Dingy apartment be gone, for you would be sleeping in a jail cell.

“M’kay, I’m done,” you announce, slapping the underside of the car as a sign of accomplishment. You purposefully slide out from under the car in one swift motion, allowing Natasha’s hand to graze over your muscled thigh.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you when you looked up, though.

There Natasha Romanoff leant over your body, one hand inches away from the bulge in your pants, the other tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was leaning forward, exposing a cleavage that hung right above your torso, dark eyes surveying you.

Fuck, dark couldn’t even begin to describe it. Natasha’s gaze was like an icy blast and molten lava all at the same time: Her pupils were severely dilated, a spark dancing within it. The deep colours of her eyes were like a kaleidoscope, pulling you in, entrapping you in a haze of lust.

It was entirely wanton, arousing, filthy. Her ruby-red lips curved into a vulture-like smirk, gaze trailing downwards to your body. Everywhere her eyes rested on lit a path of hellfire. Those sinful hands crept on to your bulge, splaying over your false cock as you exhale shakily.

Number Four: Natasha Romanoff was looking at you like you were a full banquet service, all five courses, free of charge, complimentary champagne included.

And honestly, was there really anything more important than that?

“Thanks for your help,” Natasha murmmurs, physically climbing onto you as you laid on the under-car roller. “Let me repay that kindness.”

You let out a strangled groan as Natasha pushes herself down onto you and kisses you, her hands sliding under your shirt to scrape at your abdomen.

Oh, finally.

“Fuck,” you gasp against her eager lips, hands flying to palm at her ass as you deepen the kiss. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to yet, the only you were registering being the sweet mouth you were exploring and the intoxicating flowery scent of Natasha’s perfume.

Your hand cinches around Natasha’s neck like a vice-grip, your tongue invading the confines of her mouth, the rocking motions of your meeting mouths drawing long gasps and whines from Natasha.

Her hands, on the contrary, are relentless: From the sides of your face to your washboard abdomen, sharp nails marking you as if you’re hers.

Having relinquished your power for long enough, you grab handfuls of Natasha’s ass and lift her up; You get up, too, a mess of entangled limbs as you throw her over your shoulder, kicking away the roller and moving to the bed of your pickup truck.

Natasha’s left dripping at your display of effortless strength. You hoist the two of you up onto the pickup truck, paradoxically carefully laying her down, and you stall for a moment.

“We’re so gonna get caught,” Natasha whispers with a stupid grin on her face.

She looks up at you with a breathtaking smile, twilight reflecting off her eyes, dancing in the atmosphere that surrounded the two of you.

The pair of you were completely exposed to the midnight air, in the middle of nowhere, but if anyone were to drive past it would be blatantly obvious what was happening.

You smirk, tugging her dress off with an assured confidence. “Maybe,” you reason, thumbing at one of Natasha’s nipples so she arches off the surface with a breathy gasp. “Or maybe not,” you continue, a big hand sliding under Natasha’s lithe body to undo the clasp of her bra and toss it somewhere.

“Y/N!” Natasha squeaks, as your greedy hands massage the mounds of her breasts. “Did you throw my bra onto the road?”

You hum your approval cheekily, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the swell of her breasts and down to her soiled. “Yes, angel. I’ll pick it up later, bring it home with me to jerk off–”

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah, and I’ll— oh fuck, angel, your panties are fucking soaked. Not so innocent, hm?” You question with a dark smile, two fingers running over the outside of her undergarment, arousal sticking to your fingers.

You watch as the older woman before you flushes from head to toe. Strings of slick cling to your thick fingers, and you suck on them as Natasha moans lewdly.

“I’ll let you taste it later, don’t worry,” you add helpfully, shucking down your own pants and boxers. The strap-on springs out, and Natasha’s drooly lips open to push out a shaky breath of arousal.

“Daddy,” Natasha says, instinctually, at the sight of your gloried muscles and the ivory strap that hung between your legs like it was made to do so.

Your grip on Natasha’s hips bruise, the term nothing new to you but so entirely different when it came from Natasha fucking Romanoff. The sense of pride that washed over you was nothing compared to the carnal desire to fill her up and make her scream your name.

“Oh God!” Natasha wails out, fingernails digging into your forearms as you slide the head of your cock inside her. It wasn’t the longest, but it was girthy, and Natasha’s hole was stretched out as you pushed slowly.

“Not God,” you pant into Natasha’s ear, slapping her ass as she cries out loud. “Daddy, hm?”

“Yes!” Natasha moans, legs wrapping around your huge muscled back as you begin to thrust. Her hands try to interlock behind your back for support, but your shoulderblades are so wide that she can’t even fully wrap her hands around it, and that fact leaves her even hornier than before.

You’ve got Natahsa pinned to the ground under your body, pounding so hard that the whole truck shakes. The grease from your clothes goes all over, slick and sweat coating the two of you, pleasured cries and low grunts emanating from the pickup truck.

The squelching sounds of her pussy are absolutely filthy, as you pound into her spongy spot like your life depended on it.

“There, please!” Natasha wails, helplessly clinging on to your back as you bring her to a ferocious orgasm. Her legs kick under you, hook around the side of the truck as you jackhammer your hips into her pussy.

“Almost there already, angel?” You ask heatedly, mouth working on marking up her tits. One of your hands had both of Natasha’s wrist above her head, and the other was on her hips for support as you thrusted into her.

Your response comes in an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Daddy!” Natasha moans out, filthy and drenched with desire. Her pleasured cry is so loud that it scares a flock of birds out of a nearby tree, and you flinch violently at the sudden sound of nature’s rustling leaves, like you forgot you were in public.

Natasha breaks out into a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, then moans again when another wave of orgasmic pleasure washes over her. That causes you to join in on the laughter, your cock jostling inside Natasha. She whines again, and you pepper kisses over Natasha’s sweaty forehead with nothing short of amused affection.

And that’s how the two of you end up entangled on the back of your pickup truck like lovesick fools, a mesh of sweaty and slick bodies, sounds of pleasure and laughter scaring away any other creature that might disrupt Natasha’s sought-after comfort and satisfaction.

requests are NOT open... i just received this request all the way back in february, and so here it is haha..... im sorry to that one anon 😭 reblog to save a life xx

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

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beiasluv · 7 months

Text

forbidden fruit | Charles Leclerc

a/n: new to the f1 communityy 😬 apologies for any term or idea i got wrong. female!reader. no proofread! enjoyy 🤍

summary: the princess of mercedes and the prince of ferrari, what could possibly go wrong?

“y/n! y/n! she’s in her last turn! leclerc’s trailing behind! can he do an over take?”

splashing champagnes and listening to the dutch national anthem were never your favorite of winning a podium, but who cares?

you were on P3 and charles leclerc was not.

perhaps retelling the story of your rivalry with the monégasque driver would take a whole frustrating, aggravating, and lengthy year for us to get through; and perhaps it was for the best to leave it where it is, never to be touched, but to reminisce with a needle of cringeness poking through your heart.

although an honorable mention to verstappen, for taking the lead role of leclerc’s personal favorite rival.

it was all an inchident, of course.

smirking back to the driver in a flashing, scuderia ferrari, red fire suit, you could only feel your ego bubbling to the top of your throat. charles leclerc was staring. and staring hard. what a shame you couldn’t even take out your phone and take a snippet of his raging glance. what a fun sight for the whole news headlines to see.

‘charles leclerc, envy and jealousy…’

of course, he couldn’t lash it out. how could he? would the handsome, young, and talented ferrari driver want to ruin his reputation in the media? obviously, not.

of course, you knew it all too well. every day you wake up with the tip of a knife, aiming at your throat, ready to nick you anytime you take a wrong step on the luxurious path of an f1 driver. being the only female driver on the grid makes your life a thousand times more challenging.

but who were you to be a nitpick?

the media loves drama. we all do. perhaps it was a little bit more entertaining to see what you are wearing when the races had gone wrong. what hairstyle were you wearing for the big race? or, maybe, just which driver you were dating on the grid this season?

never once you could escape the dating questions or all the bullshit misogynistic attitudes from the journalists, press, media, and, well, …you name it.

perhaps you have to give it to leclerc for never going easy on you just because you are of a different gender.

“congratulations on P3, y/n,” max turned towards you and gave you a pat on the shoulder; simultaneously, bringing you back to reality.

“t- thanks.”

—

“you win this one, l/n.”

he took off his helmet, and clutched it loosely to his side. the cheeky smirk plastered on his face. the eyes searched for the depth of yours.

only you knew how much pain it was for him to force his lips to create such a soft and fake smile for the thousand camera lenses, waiting to catch the two rivals lacking. bumping into leclerc after the race, fresh and full of adrenaline, alone in the hallway of the track was never an enjoyable experience to endure.

“good race, leclerc,” you muttered out as many PR and drivers walked past you two.

“same to you.”

what a shame your PR manager ushered you out for the media room before you two could give a shot of throwing hands - elegantly, of course.

—

“good work on the qualifying round, l/n. return to the garage. over.”

“copy that,” you tapped your headset, notifying the engineer of the prestigious mercedes team.

driving for mercedes in f1 could count as your biggest dream since the karting days. and the race won against ferrari was a - personal - success.

slowing your baby down, and pressing the brake mechanism of the car, you came to a halt as the friction overpowered the tires. one or two seconds later, you could hear the mercedes team rushing and scurrying over to your parked position to collect you back to the mothership.

“take her back, guys!”

the screaming of your fans nearby erupted as you ascended out from the cramped space of your f1 seat. taking your helmet off, and waving to them; you gracefully jumped down from the car and headed towards the mercedes headquarters.

a long walk, but who are you to make a fuss?

an f1 driver should have no problem walking a couple of miles. oh but how annoyingly a group of fans quickly crowded over you and blocked your ways…red flags, horses, and charles leclerc faces. clearly, you knew whose fans they were.

fussing, grabbing, and pulling, you were harassed, unfortunately. autographs, hats, pictures, postcards, and questionable stuff were pushed into your face.

“y/n! please! sign my shirt!” “get the hell away from charles!”

“charles deserved p3 today!” “l/n!! l/n! say hi to my dad! he loves you!”

trying to fulfill all of their requirements, you realized you had found yourself in the sea of scuderia ferrari fans. it is an unspoken fact that you were the rival of charles leclerc; you could say some fans were more enthralled by that fact than others.

“y/n! what do you think about charles? are you guys dating?”

sometimes you hate technology. the cameras pointing at you reminded me of the knife you carry mentally with you every day. it could gain you thousands of thousands of likes in a few tiktoks or perhaps get ready to say goodbye to your f1 position.

“…we’re not talking. in any complicate way,” smiling through the pain you signed the cap that was shoved into your face. gosh, mercedes. where was your security?

your patience could only last so much until one fan decided it was worth it to grab your hand and pull you down for an instagram-worthy photo. and he possibly thought the best way to execute it was to, firstly, seize your waist. how thoughtful of him.

“fuc- please don’t-”

“y/n! i love you!”

man-child was not having it. sweaty and clammy hands could send chills down your spine if you didn’t know.

“please-”

smile through the pain. smile through the pain. it was all part of the job, at the end of the day. the fans still won and you were just a doll for f1. breathe in, breathe out.

he pulled his iphone 7 out of his pocket, painfully slow; slower than the ferrari’s pitstops. his side was squished to yours. the cologne, the smell, the sensory, everything-

“hey, hands off.”

you could say it was the first time you were glad to see charles leclerc from your entire life; wearing his race suit sluttily around his waist. leclerc - being leclerc - stunned his fans, leaving a big hole in the crowd around you.

he was reaching out for your waist; surprisingly, in a way you were pleased, and pulled you out of the red crowd. and just like magic, the security came rushing in and ushered the mob of fans away from the scene.

wearing that stunned face of yours, you regained consciousness and your rival emotions. clearing your already cleared throat, charles took it as a signal to let go of your waist. how suddenly you realized it was all happening over the armor of your fire suit.

thank god.

“..thanks”

“no need to thank me,” the competitive tone made its way through his annoying lips again. scoffing, he looked at you with his hand clutching his helmet by his side, “i don’t understand why they need to adore you this much.”

how rude.

“for the record, they are your fans, leclerc,” you scoffed offendedly, and your hand found its natural place on your chest; clutching for dramatic effect.

“what did i do to deserve such loyal fans, l/n…” not even looking at you he smirked under his nose. “they shouldn’t be acting this way, no?”

he looked over at you, seeing you in your distressed state and a chuckle left his lips. the cameras settled on the stands far away in the distance and stared at you two, they were definitely on.

shit.

this is going to end up in the headlines.

—

“check out your new title…” your manager cleared his throat as you nervously waited.

“you can’t just leave me hanging here!”

placing your phone in your lap your hands returned to the comfort of the steering wheel. twisting and turning, you maneuvered your mercedes inside the driver's garage.

“calm the fuck down! i’m pulling out the source for accuracy,” you swore you could see your manager rolling his eyes. “wait for it…‘charles to the rescue. mercedes and ferrari, love or rivalry?’”

“shut up.”

“i can send you the links.”

“please don’t,” you sighed as you looked over your shoulder to slide into the parking lot like a distinguished f1 driver. “…the devil works hard, but the media works harder, or what?”

“we could use a little PR for mercedes, y’know?” the crackled chuckle left your phone.

please.

“the signal is shit in the parking lot, i’ll see you at the paddock. bye.”

“alright, be quick.”

gathering your bag and phone, you checked your face one last time in the rearview mirror and opened the car door. unfortunately, the infamous ferrari entered the parking lot with its signature roars, as you stepped out of your car.

the devil had worked hard once again. walking to your trunk, you kicked it open and snatched some of your essential stuff for the race. and who would’ve thought charles leclerc could park his car in under 20 seconds?

not to mention, it wasn’t straight. (oops)

getting out of his car, he checked his hair and fixed his shirt. obviously, aware of the paparazzi lurking around the track’s garage for the big day, and hoping to sell a couple of pics for something a little more than a couple of bucks. perhaps an even better price for them if they caught you and your rival having a ‘friendly’ chat.

don’t get close to him. don’t get close to him.

“what a coincidence,” leclerc approached your mercedes as he locked his ferrari with its infamous beeping.

“how so?”

smirking back at him, you slammed your trunk closed and shut off; locking your car in the same manner. catching the glimpse of his eyes you made it your personal goal to escape him as fast as you could possibly can.

flicking your head away and taking off, the path inside the track was as empty as you hoped it could be.

“slow down, i just wanna talk.”

“leclerc.”

“you walk too fast,” you swore if you looked back and he is grinning. “you trying to escape from me?”

fuck.

“got a problem with that, leclerc?”

his dark green eyes met yours after you decided the risk was below the ‘manageable’ level to turn around.

“no,” he grinned at you. how you wish you could smack it off of his face. “i jus’ want some company while walking to the track, no?”

company, my ass.

clearing his throat, he looked at you, “you’re a pretty good rival though.”

gaining a nod and a smirk from you leclerc was cut short of his run time as his PR manager came to collect him to the ferrari garage. how sad. his messy hair, the confidential wave, and two eyes met yours one last time before you decided to head to the mothership of your mercedes headquarters.

big trouble, y/n. big trouble.

—

“y/n, we neeed to talk.”

the paddock was usually quiet upstairs, all the mechanics and engineers spent their time in garage down below. only toto, george, lewis, your manager, and their managers, and - obviously - you would spend time up here. also. is every private manager in the world annoyingly scary and friendly at the same time or what?

sitting down next to you on the black sofa of the mercedes headquarters by the pitch, you were face-to-face with your lovely manager.

clearing your nonexistent anxiety, “…yes?”

“look…the media is starting to notice your relationship with charles…”

“and..?”

“and,” he crossed his arms, “we need to work on keeping this situation private…it could affect your reputation. maybe after the soft launch phase is over, you can publicize it…if you want to, obviously.”

the fuck?

“…what are your thoughts?”

he looked into your face, not a single thought behind it. somehow the racetrack outside the notoriously big, shiny window of the mercedes paddock suddenly gained your attention, and he restored to snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“what-? oh right- for fuck’s sake! we’re not in a relationship!”

“and what about those paparazzis’ pictures? I thought we agreed on sharing every ‘public’ detail about your life with me?”

“first of all, privacy. second of all. you believe that?! anthony! you’re my manager, i would’ve told you if i was dating a ferrari driver!” grabbing a quick breath,

“do you think i want to date the reddest of all flags on the grid?!”

“yeah? but that’s not the impression the media got,” he said. “even max! max verstappen thought-”

“who cares what max thinks!” you thrown your head back on the sofa.

“PR could be good, but we don’t know if it’s going to blacklash-”

george russell. he walked up to you two arguing on the black sofa and smirked at you; clearly, he heard your talks about ‘the reddest of all flags on the grid.’

“shut your mouth, russell,” sighing sarcastically as you could and you turned to your manager, who was having the time of his life.

“I’m not saying anything,” he raised his hands defensively, grinning the shit out of the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a driver, not a play doll you could match-make for the team’s reputation. hell. doesn’t charles have a girlfriend?”

anthony pulled out his phone and scrolled through ‘something,’ “yes…charles…has a girlfriend, PR relationship?”

“what do you mean?”

putting his phone away, “doesn’t matter. but what the media care about is to get a story out of nothing.”

“…and?”

“you have a reputation of being a private figure, and you're an expert in keeping it that way. we just need to do that until the end of the season.”

george chuckled sarcastically, "she seems angry at us, guys.”

“i am. and i’m not dating anyone for mercedes. done,” you stood up from the sofa and beelined towards the door. “also. i’m telling toto.”

and someone finally heard you this time. the whole room’s atmosphere seemed to tense up as someone entered the door.

toto wolff.

“is there a problem, y/n?” toto asked as george smirked at the unfolding situation.

you swung your head towards the origin of the sound and cleared your throat, “your employee, mr. wolff, is trying to matchmake me with a ferrari driver.”

toto chuckled.

toto chuckled?

“so there is something between you and charles?” he raised his eyebrow at you. expectedly, george was holding his laughter in for his dear life.

“why does everyone thinks that we’re dating?! even toto?!”

“so you’re not dating leclerc?”

“no!”

congratulations. you have successfully crashed onto the sofa once again, groaning your pain out.

“she’s lying,” george chimed in.

“I. am. not.”

how surprising that george’s back kissed the sofa as you tackled him jokingly down. a moment of silence for toto to watch many of his best drivers tackle each other like it’s a normal day in kindergarten.

“are you sure you are not dating, leclerc?”

last straw. you clutched your bag and left george dysfunctional on the couch. walking past the room, you glanced back one last time and said with the best sarcasm, “i’m not. and I’m not dating him for mercedes. done! I’m a driver, not a doll!”

slamming the door shut, you headed for your private driver’s room.

"she's angry at us…” george chuckles nervously; obviously, with a hint of joy.

“no shit sherlock”

—

edit: part 2

part 2?? reblog, like, whatever the heck you want would be appreciated 😘

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, lots of luv 🤍

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caxde · 1 month

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bright eyes | eddie munson x reader

summary you're a new neighbour in the trailer park, your's an Eddie's relationship takes a new turn, while navigating life with her little girl (4.3k)

warnings fem!reader, girl!dad Eddie!!!!, fluff, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn strangers to lovers, idiots in love!!!, , english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!

a/n: the support has been insane, so enjoy part2 <3 part 1 part 3 (they can be read seperatly)

“Munson! There’s a girl here asking for you.”

The raspy voice of his college snapped him back to reality. He had been working on the same bike for a while now, and had become unaware of everything else that was happening around him.

But if there was a girl to see him, it could only be you, or maybe Robin.

He really hoped it’d be you.

Heads followed him as he crossed the dusty garage floor as he found his way to the opened mechanical door. Lucky for him, you were anxiously waiting there, your hands playing with the hem of your sweater.

You had been lucky, if you actually think about it. You had left the café you started working at a few weeks ago, so you could go to the trailer park and get some sleep. This last weekend the logistic center that was 30 minutes away had called you, begging you to take the night shift since some of their employees were on vacation. You accepted, since they offered to pay you extra, and in cash. The downside was that the sleep you had lost didn’t seem to come back, and your car had been making a strange sound since then.

Now your car refused to turn right, and if it did it took way too much strength.

You avoided spending more than you had to, but it looked like it was finally time. Thank god Eddie works here, you kept thinking as you found your way to the mechanic.

“Hi.” Your voice was lower, barely holding yourself together.

“Hi princess.” He tried to cheer you up, a big smile on his face and his affectionate pet name he had only for you. “What a nice surprise.” He kept walking towards you, cutting the distance until you were a step away from each other.

“I wish it was a surprise.” The way your eyebrow furrowed let him know that you were a bit too anxious, a bit too nervous with the situation. “I need your help.” You added as your palm covered your face for a moment, trying to wipe away the panic.

“Whatever you need, princess.” And maybe it was his sweet tone, maybe it was the nickname or maybe it was the way his hand held your arm, in a supportive and soft way, that let you finally relax.

You walked with him to your car, while you told him what was going on. He just nodded and let you talk, knowing that that was just what you needed.

“It just sucks, I don’t know how I’m gonna get to work now.” You kept speaking as he popped the hood up of your car, and he kept looking at the engine, and everything that crept deep into it, what everything did you had no idea. Eddie was used to people talking while he worked, but oddly enough it made him feel more important, when you were the one doing it.

“I could drive you.” He replays. His body stood up from being bent over. He was tying his hair up, and you had lost any and every train of thought you had. You had never seen someone look as pretty with a ponytail, even when they were covered in car grease. Black stains in contrast with his white muscle top, decoration his arms in places tattoos didn’t. “I don’t mind, as long as you’re okay with carpooling with Lua.” Eddie’s nervous smile came back, an upside down grin while his eyebrows raised, eyes locked with yours.

“I’d love that.”

Breakfast was Lua’s favourite.

A piece of toast with some sweet jam, a cup of warm milk, and some cut up fruit.

Eddie let her eat it wherever she felt like, time proved that was the better option. She usually preferred to eat it sitting down on the kitchen counter, while Eddie sat on the stools, eyes on the same level. He usually ate the rest of the fruit that he didn’t give to her, while he downed his black coffee. Though if he was honest, he had never cracked how to brew a good cup.

Lua would babble whatever she had on her mind, she was chattier in the mornings, unlucky for her, Eddie was not a morning person, his energy drained from another poor night’s sleep.

Everytime he thought about it, it made him laugh. Before her little girl came into his life, he’d sleep until way past noon, usually skipping school, having a cigarette and a coffee -if anything- for breakfast, without a job - a legal one- and with no real reason to do anything with his life.

Maybe that’s why he cares so much about her, her little light, his reason to keep going, and be better.

While he looked at her, the world seemed to quiet down for a moment, and everything was fine.

Three knocks at the door, and he already knew you were on the other side of it.

“Morning.” Amusement in his voice, in a hush tone. His dippels appeared, as his smile grew wider, they way your hair fell, in a tangled mess, being the reason for it. He was just happy to see you, though he wasn’t going to admit it. Not yet.

“Hi.” Your voice came out raspy and hoarse. You hadn’t talked to anyone yet, and it made him chuckle even more. He moved his body out of the door frame, letting you plenty of room to walk through. “Coffee?”

“Already done.” He muttered back, pointing with his head where the mug in his kitchen was.

You felt your face relax as soon as you saw Lua enjoying her breakfast, quietly. Your eyes closed when your earnest smile came, once her voice rang with excitement as she said your name, as her hands moved through the air.

“Hi dude!” You matched her energy, the momentary excitement winning the battle for your remaining energy.

Lua gave you a high five, which you celebrated with a funny face that made her laugh. She offered you a piece of fruit that you accepted in a way too exaggerated manner, that only made her giggles multiply. Unbenoughts to you, Eddie was watching attentively.

He was memorizing the way your hair fell on your back, and the way it swayed everytime you moved. The way you fitted in your dark washed jeans, the little red shirt from the café hugged your waist and he suddenly had the wish to place his hand there. He didn’t do it.

Instead he handed you a mug with watered down coffee, that you accepted. He grinned at the way your nose scrunched once you took the first sip of it.

“Yeah, I’m not the best coffee maker.” He confessed while he suppressed a laugh.

“Clearly.” You answered in a joking manner, it wasn’t bad, you just weren’t used to black strong coffee, not the way he was. “I’m making you breakfast tomorrow.”

You meant it. He knew, so he accepted with a nod and another smile.

“Wayne’s sleeping, so we try to not wake him up. It’s difficult when little miss sunshine has all the energy in the world.” He explained while looking at Lua, her beaming smile and giggles made him light up, his thumb cleaning her cheek that had some purple jam on it.

“There’s no one else in my trailer, she can be as chatty as she wants there.” Lua understood that, as soon as she realised what you were talking about she started to clap and cheer, a soft chuckle escaping from your lips.

Eddie could hear that symphony for the rest of his days, he thought.

It became a new way to start your days.

You’d brew some coffee, and prepare an extra mug for Wayne, that Eddie left on the counter of his kitchen before you left for work.

You’d actually cook, eating something in the early hours for once, a new habit you never had before.

Lua always knocked on your door whenever they were ready, the little sound on your door followed by her sweet hi, as her arms swanged up in the air. She was becoming more and more comfortable with you, letting you hold her. She even gave you a thank you kiss on the cheek once.

Today you had some pancake batter sizzling in the pan, orange juice for her, milky tea for you.

“Dada?”

“Yes?” Eddie raised his eyebrow as he took his first sip, his voice softening at her.

“Music?” She answered with another question.

“Ah, yes. The beautiful melody that connects us all together.” He babeled, in that voice he used when he was talking as what he was saying was written in an antique book. He tended to do it more when he knew you would smile.

He took two cassettes out of his back pocket, letting her choose. He wished she’d actually choose the mix he finished last night, but as always, she picked the one that had a drawing she did as a cover.

He nodded and walked to your radio.

It hit him in that moment, just how tangled your lives were becoming. He knew where (almost) everything in your home was, and the same was starting to happen for you. He knew that you kept honey in a reused jar, because Mr.Felix gave you local honey from a friend in the first cupboard to the right. He knew you had extra plasters in the second drawer of your bathroom because you had a tendency to cut yourself when you used a knife when you had to chop something up. He knew that the drawings on your wall were painted by you, but that the one that hung over the orange lamp was gifted to you by a kid you took care of when you worked in a hotel two years ago. He also knew that you knew where Lua likes to put her toys away, under the table of his living room. You knew that the only way she had to eat vegetables was if they couldn’t be seen. You knew that Eddie liked to have it all under his ‘controled mess’ as you called it.

In just a few weeks you had become such an important person that he was scared of you leaving. Which people had a tendency to do in his life.

Now he couldn’t only care about his life, he had to care about Lua’s too, and he had been trying to talk to you about it. But everytime he summoned up the courage to do so, you’d look at him with your pretty doe eyes and everything he had wanted to say left, he could only focus on how pretty you always look.

You focused on other things. Silly, non important things.

Like how his tongue went over his upper lip every time he concentrated to fasten Lua’s seatbelt. Or how he played with his rings when he was deep in thought, whatever it was, his thumb played with the middle one, while his left hand focused on the one in his index finger. Or how when he had a clear idea, and had to start working on something, he’d tie his hair up in a lazy ponytail, his thick neck exposed. Or how he rotated his shoulders when he sat down on the driver's seat at the end of the day, half exhausted, half excited to go back to his home.

You walked to the car shop at around eight, as you always did. Knowing that he’d already be waiting for you outside. Since Lua was back in the house, Wayne coming to pick her up as soon as he wakes up, he always enjoyed that small frame of time to actually smoke a cigarette, his little moment, all for himself.

Before he met you, he’d spend this moment thinking about what he needed to do, what he needed to buy, or what Lua wanted for dinner. Now, the only thought was you. You and your sweet voice, you and your angelic laughter, you and your soft skin. You, everytime you called his name.

“Hey princess.” His pet name had also become a familiar sensation. Your heart still races a bit when it hears it, nevertheless.

“Hey moon.” Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the earnestness of your tone, or the new nickname, but he felt his heart jump around his chest, and his cheeks changing colour, a pretty pink flush taking over them.

“Should we go?” He added, happiness crystal clear, not only by his higher tone, but by his overall demeanor.

“Please. I’m so tired, I think I’ll go straight to bed.” You let out in a whisper, rubbing your face in an attempt to wake up, so you wouldn’t fall asleep on the drive back to the trailer park.

“You should eat something first.” It was his way of showing you he cared, making sure you were taking care of yourself half as well as you took care of others.

“I know, I just really hate cooking for myself. It's boring, and then you have to clean it, and do it all again…”

“You make breakfast for us everyday,” He pointed out, his eyebrow raised in synchrony with his pitch, as he opened the passenger door so you’d climb in.

“Yeah, but that’s different. It’s mostly for you.” You stop as you wait for him to sit on the driver sit, taking the time to make sure your seat belt is fastened. Looking at the backseat, a new habit you had developed thanks to him and his baby. “I didn’t eat breakfast before you guys came.” You admit, and he knows you’re not lying. You never do when your eyes shine that bright. You also know he is a bit worried, a frown appearing on his forehead. “I’m okay, moon.”

“Hey, it’s not fair that you use the nickname to your advantage.” He points out, his index finger raising to the air as he speaks, his car engine starting, heading home.

“Sorry?” You jokingly ask. Knowing that everything’s fine by the way he laughs it off.

“Then, we’ll come over and cook you dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“If that’s okay.” His tone showed a bit of concern now. Maybe he was pushing it a bit too much. He was just excited to spend time with you, so he tried to grab every opportunity he had to do so.

“Yeah, I just… My fridge’s a bit empty. We should stop by the shop.” You were embarrassed.

It was stupid. Or at least it felt stupid. Being embarrassed about it. But the only actual thing you had been buying was dedicated to the breakfast you shared together, once you were home by yourself, you usually had a soup, frozen pizza or a simple grilled cheese sandwich. You really didn't care that much, you just ate if and when you were actually hungry.

And it wasn’t that often, if you were honest.

Eddie knew. He had a tendency to be over observant, and he had noticed, but never dared to say anything. Life was complicated enough, and that was a mantra he stood by. So he took the chance, and planned to cook you the meal he was actually proud of.

The Never Ending Story played in the background.

A familiar scene in your trailer.

Eddie’s cooking filled the air with a delicious smell, he was concentrated in it, wanting to impress you while he cooked his ramen noodles with seared shredded chicken.

Meanwhile, you and Lua layed on the rug in your living room, the T.V on a low volume. She had found your nail polish, and cheerfully asked if she could paint your nails.

“What colour do you want to paint them?” You had asked, the calmest your voice has ever been, the tiniest trace of exhaustion in it.

“Blue!” She beamed as she held the bottle.

“Okay, careful though.” You opened the bottle for her, and looked at her as she looked at the puzzle before her. “Do you want me to do the first one?” You asked, knowing that she needed some sort of guide. You realised, she had the same face of concentration as her father, tongue out covering her upper lip.

She started painting, the smell of polish annoying her a bit, you encourage her. Telling her in a kind voice how good of a job she was doing, even if she was getting more colour on your skin than in your nail. She giggled as she covered her face in a shy manner, proud of the job she had finished.

“They look beautiful, bug” Eddie’s voice came right between both of you. As he sat down between you, she held your hand so he could look at them closer. “You did this all by yourself?” Even if he didn’t look at you, and even if his eyes were looking at the proud look on his daughter's face, you could feel the electricity travel from your body to his. And the warmth his touch leaves on your soft skin.

“Yeah.” She whispers in a shy, proud giggle, nodding along, waiting patiently for his compliments.

“She didn’t help you?” He asked again, this time his eyes were on yours. It had changed, you noticed. His eyes weren’t shining with a second intention, or a jokey flare. They were full of something else, if you had to put a name on it -without having to say it out loud- you’d say it was adoration, though you weren’t sure. You were right regardless.

“It was all her.” You tell him. He nods, catching himself falling deeper into the abyss.

“Dinner’s ready” He ended up saying that. He thought that saying what he was really thinking would have been too weird. Tough if he really thought about it, telling you that you had never been more beautiful wasn’t a total lie, or that out of character for him.

Lua sat on his lap, knowing that she would be fed, since she couldn’t be trusted with noodles. Not since she had used a fork to catapult them into the wall a few months back. She was smarter than Eddie realised, and he loved her more for it.

Eddie waited silently for your reaction, and was pleased with himself when you whispered an amazed my god once you took your first bite. He took his chance to look at you while you were eating, distracted by the food. While you took your chance to look at him when he fed Lua.

This was something you could also get used to, you find yourself thinking.

Having company. Having them as company.

It was complicated, and you knew that.

And it was even harder when he acted as nice as he was doing. Even if he had cooked, he was still offering to clean up. It was also harder seeing how Lua wanted you to hold her, exhaustion after a nice meal, she was sleepy and needed comfort. You looked at Eddie, a question written over your face is this okay? He gave you his usual grin, the upside down smile that showed his dimple of course it is.

You held her, close to your chest, her little arms hanged by your side, her head resting between your shoulder and your breast. You were softer than the strong arms she was used to, and your swaying was more delicate -probably because you were afraid to do something that might upset her- you hummed along the final song of the movie that was still playing, and as she felt deeper and deeper into dreaming, Eddie finished cleaning up.

“Is she…?”

“I think so.” Your voice was so quiet he could barely even understand you.

The image of you, holding her with such care, with such softness, with that much love… It became an image he would end up thinking in a recurring manner.

“We could set her down in my room.” You point at the closer door that he had never walked through. He nodded, trying to mask his boyish excitement.

He half expected your room to be as colourfull as the rest of your house, but your walls were white, decorated with just a couple pictures of a city he couldn’t name on the wall, your white sheets that had witnessed your meeting on your bed.

He walked over to you, a bit closer than he had to be to hold Lua, so he could put her down. Enjoying the way his skin graced yours.

He sat down on your mattress, and laid Lua in the middle of it, resting in deep sleep. You followed closely. Your body hitting the usual comfort that your mattress always seemed to have. He waited a second. Another image he wanted to remember happening right in front of him, your body laying down on a bed next to her baby. In another life… Maybe it could have also been yours.

He laid down carefully, and you saw as both of you were lost. Not really sure where to look, but dying to just look at each other's eyes. As these things go, you could only avoid each other for so long.

So you ended up lost into his gaze just as much as he was lost in yours.

It was a bit too much.

“Moon…” You whispered, trying to not wake her up.

“Yeah?”

“Is this weird?” Even if you tried not to, your words still came out as worried as you were.

“Is it weird that it isn’t?” He asked back, the sincerity in his voice made your body relax, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Maybe.” You admit, with a hopeful smile. You turned your focus on her for a moment. “She looks so peaceful.”

“You should see her when she wakes up.” He adds with a smirk on his lips. His fingers pushing a hair out of her face. “She’s calmer when you’re around.”

“We should be careful, then.” You were measuring your words now, not only speaking about her. He knew, so he just nodded.

“You know…” He started speaking after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his body sinking deeper into the comfort of your bed, smelling your perfume in the pillows that hugged his head. “When I had her, it was only me and Wayne, her mother doesn’t want her in her life, and it was scary, and nauseating. I had no idea what I was doing.” His eyes flickered back to you. His shyness was gone, he was calmer with you near. You and the admiration in your eyes. “But I figured it out pretty quickly. She needed me just as much as I needed her. I had help, of course. But still, I wouldn’t change it for the world. She keeps me sane in a way… I know I’m a better person because of her. But I think I’m becoming an even greater person because of you, too.”

You weren’t sure what you could say back. It was a warming feeling, having heard him say it, knowing that somehow you were in the same position as him. So you decided to be brave, to be honest for once.

“I just worry Edds, that’s all.” You admit in a sincer whisper. He knows you’re not done talking, and he doesn’t rush you. He waits patiently, with an understanding nod and a smile on his face. “Meeting you, both of you, has been a blessing. Honestly. It’s been lonely, moving away, being here… And you guys have been so kind, and so welcoming… I really don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“I know, princess.”

“I just… I don’t know where’s the limit. I think… I think I kinnda like you, and if this complicates things I… I don’t know.” You were a bit embarrassed. having finally confessed what has been on your mind for days. But seeing the beaming smile that escaped from Eddie’s lips was all the confirmation you needed.

“I think I kinnda like you too. And I know it sucks. In another life, I would have asked you out, and we would have gone on dates, and we would spend days together but… All I can really think about, all I should think about…” He gestures to the little girl, sleeping soundly. “But we could still figure out a way…”

“You think?”

“Maybe.” He echoes your first maybe, the same tone, the same expression you had given him. “If you want to, we could try it out, go on a date, see if we…”

“Work?”

“Yeah.” A lovesick grin was plastered in both of your faces.

Hope could be felt in the room. Maybe it could work out, maybe you could have something, even if you weren’t sure what that was. Normally the uncertainty would make you nauseous, and anxious. Not this time, it actually made you excited, the promise of a something with them. With him.

“You’d go out with me? An actual date?” He finally asks you. His soft spoken words can’t really hide the excitement that laid deep in his question. And you weren’t that good at lying, and he could read you like a book.

“I’d love to, Moon.” It had been easier than you had anticipated. Complicated and easier seemed to go hand in hand when he came into the picture. “As soon as you fix my car.” You add in a joking tone, sticking your tongue out.

“Oh, your car’s been done for a couple days.” He said in a sirius yet humorous tone, he covered his mouth with his index fingers as soon as a chuckle escaped your lips.

“Asshole.” You whispered in disbelief.

“I just liked having an excuse to hang out with you.”

Just like that, your heart was warmer once again. And soft giggles and conversation followed all the way through the night.

Until the exhaustion caught up with you.

You fell asleep right there. A picture that both of you wanted to remember, the little promise of something more.

there might be a part 3 if you guys would like it ! xx

if you enjoyed it please leave a comment or reblog. i promise it makes a huge difference <3

requests! are open

@took-me-hours-to-steal-those @edens-vices-art @micheledawn1975 @peachystenbrough @mewchiili @bylermaxmayfield @yujyujj @honeymoonmunsonn @paleidiot @ali-r3n

part 2 is up, thank for the support dudes <3

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pucksandpower · 9 months

Note

okeyyyy!

but we need a Grid Kids that maybe y/n and seb were in an car accidente (and y/n took the worst of it) and now the roles are reversed, now they are gonna take care of them

Loving this series so much

Grid Kids: UNO Reverse Card

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the roles are reversed when disaster strikes and your grid kids make it their duty to take care of you

Series Masterlist

The rain is pouring down and the paddock is filled with the usual organized chaos accompanying a wet race. The garages are lively with the sounds of mechanics tuning engines, engineers going over data, and drivers preparing for the race.

Suddenly, a deafening silence descends as a member of the Aston Martin team rushes in, face pale and voice shaking, “There’s been an accident. It’s Sebastian and Y/N.”

The news spreads like wildfire. The paddock, usually filled with the roars of engines and excited chatter, is now eerily quiet. Your grid kids, upon hearing the news, rush to find out more details, their faces masks of concern.

A shaky video from a fan’s phone plays on loop on their screens, showing the aftermath of a devastating collision. Your car is almost unrecognizable, crushed, with the driver’s side visibly less damaged.

George, having seen the video, collapses onto a nearby chair, tears streaming down his face. “This can’t be happening,” he whispers.

Lando, usually the life of the party, stands frozen, disbelief evident in his eyes. Mick, face ashen, tries to make calls to get more information while Lance rushes to find his father to find out if the team has heard anything more.

***

Soon, details emerge that you bore the brunt of the impact and your condition is critical while Sebastian, though injured, is stable. The helicopter is already airlifting you to the nearest hospital.

As the severity of the situation sinks in, your grid kids, in an unprecedented move, gather together for an emergency meeting. The weight of the decision is clear in their eyes.

After what feels like an eternity, Charles stands up, his voice firm yet choked with emotion, “We’re pulling out. We can’t race knowing Y/N is fighting for her life. We need to be there for her, just like she’s always been there for us.”

The decision is unanimous. One by one, they all agree. Telling their teams and the FIA descends the paddock into even more chaos.

***

The hospital waiting room is filled with a mix of team colors. Red from Ferrari, orange from McLaren, deep blue from Red Bull, green from Aston Martin, white from Haas, and black from Mercedes. The fierce rivalry that usually defines race weekends is nowhere to be seen. Instead, they’re united in their concern for you.

Sebastian, despite his injuries, is by your bedside, holding your hand, praying silently for a miracle.

As the hours drag on, the grid kids take turns sitting by your side, sharing stories, hoping their voices provide some comfort, even in your unconscious state.

Mick, teary-eyed, recalls, “Remember when I missed my dad? You were there for me.”

Lando adds, “And when I just wanted milk? You welcomed me like family.”

Charles, voice filled with emotion, says, “We’re here now, for you, just like you’ve always been for us.”

***

As night turns into dawn, there’s a shift. Your vitals start stabilizing and the worst seems to be over. The relief is palpable as the somber mood hanging over your family fades away.

Sebastian, tears of gratitude in his eyes, thanks each one of them. “She’s strong, and with all of you here, I knew she’d find a way to fight through.”

***

A week has passed since the accident and you’re now firmly in the recovery phase. The room is overflowing with flowers, cards, and quirky gifts — each one a symbol of just how much you mean to the racing community.

As you slowly regain consciousness, groggy from the medication, the first thing you spot is a balloon, bobbing near the ceiling, with the words “Speedy Recovery!” It has a little caricature of you in a race car with your cat (in a tiny sweater) on your shoulder. Another one reads, “Get back on track soon!”

Mick enters the room with a tray, “Look who’s awake! I made you my special recovery smoothie. Okay, it’s mostly chocolate ... but it’s the thought that counts.”

Charles follows, holding a peculiar-looking teddy bear dressed in a racing suit. “Meet Racy. He’s going to keep you company. We tried to smuggle Speedy in under our hoodies but got caught so this is the next best thing.”

Lando waltzes in, proudly holding up a t-shirt with “I survived a car crash and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” printed on it.

Max pops his head around the door, holding a full-sized F1 helmet, “You better wear this the next time you get in a car.”

George, with his trademark smile, presents a plush safety car. “To keep you safe and sound, always.”

Lance, trying to contain his grin, brings in a steering wheel cushion. “For those moments when you feel the need to take control of your recovery.”

You can’t help but chuckle at their antics. “You guys ... always know how to lighten the mood.”

Sebastian, holding your hand, grins, “They’ve been brainstorming ways to cheer you up nonstop for days now.”

***

Determined to keep things positive, your grid kids rally together for a surprise. As the evening descends, they transform your room into a mini-movie theater. They even managed to sneak in a projector.

The movie choice? “Cars” of course.

Lance, armed with a bucket of popcorn, declares, “I mean, if we can’t race real cars today, might as well watch animated ones!”

Mick dims the lights and George hits play. As the familiar sounds of the movie fill the room, everyone settles in ready for a night of laughter.

***

It doesn’t take long for the grid kids to turn the movie night into their own commentary session.

As Lightning McQueen races across the screen, Max quips, “I think I could’ve taken that turn better.”

Lando, laughing, chimes in, “And Mater reminds me of Charles after a few too many energy drinks.”

Charles feigns outrage, “That’s unfair! I’m at least 10 percent more sophisticated than Mater.”

You, through bouts of laughter, shake your head, “Honestly, I can’t decide what's better, the movie or your commentary? You guys might have a future on a broadcast somewhere if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out.”

As the credits roll, Sebastian whispers, “This is exactly the medicine you needed.”

Your grid kids truly make the day memorable, proving that through thick and thin, family — in whatever form it may take — is everything.

***

The sun is high and the paddock is buzzing with energy as preparations for the upcoming race are in full swing. As you and Sebastian approach, there’s a sudden almost comedic halt in activity. It’s as if someone hit the pause button on a remote. Everyone turns to face you, jaws dropped.

Lance feigns fainting, “Is it a mirage? Or has our beloved Y/N truly graced us with her presence?”

Max approaches with an exaggerated limp, mimicking you, “Thought I’d get into the spirit of things,” he says with a smirk.

George emerges from the crowd holding a makeshift red carpet (it’s just a red towel he stole from Ferrari), rolling it out in front of you. “For our returning queen,” he declares with a bow.

Charles and Lando appear, each holding one end of a “Welcome Back” banner. You try to turn your head to read it … they accidentally held it upside down.

You’re trying hard to hold back tears of laughter. “You guys are impossible,” you manage to say between your chuckles.

Mick, with a gentle smile, approaches holding a small framed photo. It’s of you surrounded by all your grid kids, taken during a race earlier in the season, with the inscription “Family, Always.”

Touched by the gesture, you softly say, “Thank you so much, Mick. This means a lot.”

“You’ve always been there for us,” he replies. “It’s only right that we’re here for you.”

Sebastian, wrapping an arm around you, adds with a grin, “I think they missed you.”

You really loved your grid kids.

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internetskiff · 2 months

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The most powerful ability exclusive to humanity in the Half Life/Portal shared universe is our ability to just throw bullshit at the wall and see what sticks. Aperture "OSHA are the devil" Science have managed to create completely safe interconnected points in space. The same company that turns people's blood into gasoline and shoves lions and humans into the same enclosed space for the vague concept of "Science". Meanwhile Black Mesa still has to use Xen as a crossing and their teleportation device requires an entire reactor with a village's worth of staff constantly maintaining it, just to end up having most of said staff abducted by onion-headed aliens. Even the resistance hasn't managed to create completely stable teleporters with a compressed Xen relay, meanwhile Aperture just went "oh dude let's shove a black hole into a non-waterproof gun" and have just created a teleportation method that just removes Xen from the equation entirely. Doesn't change the fact they bullshat so bad they basically got themselves gassed to death, but still.

The Resistance are a good example of this too. The Combine seem to have a complete set-in-stone thought process and understanding of science which meant they didn't even begin to explore local teleportation via Xen, meanwhile a group of random human mechanics and scientists have managed to cobble together at least two semi-functional local teleporters out of scrap metal and stolen Combine tech, to the point the All-Consuming Interdimensional Empire had to straight up copy their homework. And that isn't even the only time they seem to be taking human shit to just copy the blueprints.

They 100% just yoinked the entire damn car out of that garage just to take a crack at reverse-engineering the Tau Cannon attached to it. Even Resistance weaponry somehow manages to rival or at least stand equal to Combine tech - and we're talking improvised crossbows that shoot superheated rods of rebar at the target compared to high-tech rifles that can discharge orbs of pure dark energy. The collapse of the entire Citadel is basically set into motion as a result of a cobbled together Rebel device placed into extremely capable hands.

The events of the Portal games are a case of extremely elaborate machinelike planning versus pure human improvisation, with Chell's entire escape in the first game involving her simply weaseling her way through small cracks that GLaDOS missed while setting up her ambushes, eventually turning her own rocket turret against her to destroy her.

I suppose you could argue this falls flat in Portal 2 with Wheatley, but it's important to remember he's designed to be an utter idiot, so it's safe to say he wouldn't obsess over the larger picture like GLaDOS to the point where he fails to see the cracks. Yes, he's the one that breaks Chell out of the test chambers again, and yes, he's the one that came up with the sabotage plot - but it's important to note while he knows what to target in the sabotage, when we actually get there he doesn't quite know how to sabotage it, leaving Chell to figure it out on her own. She botches the Turret Quality Control Line with some minor guidance, but it's basically completely up to her to figure out how to cut off the Neurotoxin Supply. It's through her improvisation that Wheatley even manages to get into GLaDOS' chamber, tumbling through her neurotoxin vent and shattering the glass cage she trapped Chell inside of. It's through Chell's improvisation that the Core Transfer even occurs in the first place.

The script is flipped specifically when Wheatley takes charge, because oops - turns out a mind capable of focusing on the bigger picture might be pretty important when it comes to running an entire facility powered by it's own Reactor. Wheatley just completely zeroes in on his own personal pleasure, hacking up test chambers and the objects within them to try and figure out the easiest way to get his solution euphoria as quick as possible.

Still, something that's pretty interesting is that only Wheatley has ever managed to create a trap that's impossible to foresee and avoid, something GLaDOS has repeatedly failed to do to the point she ends up commending him. I believe this is because his way of thinking is a lot closer to Chell's compared to GLaDOS'. He puts up way more of a fight as the two run through the facility trying to get to him, seemingly improvising on the spot just like Chell has been over the course of the two games. Even his lair would be impossible to survive if it weren't for a single Conversion Gel pipe he somehow failed to notice and remove.

Whether in a laboratory deep beneath the soil or an alien tower tall enough to split the clouds, the ingenuity of even a single person is enough to topple a tower or destroy a supercomputer 3 times over.

Marc Laidlaw put what I'm trying to say into a single sentence when writing for the BreenGrub twitter account:

"The superstructure is riddled with cracks."

#portal #portal 2 #half life #half life 2 #hl #hl2 #aperture science #black mesa #the combine #GLaDOS #Wheatley #Chell #rambling #i think this is what happens when you've been having thoughts about a game franchise like . since birth

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oofthwoods · 2 months

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THE BRAWN GP GARAGE GRAND PRIX! ── ˙ ̟ the echo !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: jenson button had always been a great commentator, especially when it came to narrating the wild world of imaginary races, where the only challenger was none other than the daughter of his teammate.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: part of the "it takes a paddock" miniseries, that explores moments of echo!reader's childhood in the paddock.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 1.2k (just a sweet little story)

The Brawn garage buzzed with activity as the team prepared for another day of testing at the Circuit de Catalunya. Mechanics hurried back and forth, checking and double-checking every detail of the sleek white cars that lined the garage. The air was thick with the smell of rubber and gasoline, and the sound of engines revving filled the space, creating an atmosphere of anticipation and excitement.

Amidst the chaos, a quieter corner of the garage served as a sanctuary from the frenzy. There, sitting on a stack of tires, was Rubens Barrichello's daughter, her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders as she concentrated intently on her coloring book. Her small fingers gripped a crayon with determination, carefully filling in the lines of a picture with vibrant colors.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through her concentration, and she looked up to see Jenson Button, her father's teammate, approaching with a warm smile. Her face lit up with excitement at the sight of the man, and she jumped off the tires to greet him with a hug.

"Uncle Jen!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "Are you here to race today too?"

Jenson chuckled, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he ruffled her hair affectionately. "Not today, sweetheart," he replied. "Your dad's the one doing the racing. But I'm here to keep you company while he's busy out on track."

The girl's eyes sparkled with delight as she listened to Jenson's words. She admired him greatly, not just because of his talent, but because he always took the time to interact with her whenever they crossed paths in the garage.

"Can we do something fun?" she asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

Jenson nodded enthusiastically, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Of course! How about we have a little race of our own? I'll be the commentator, and you can be the driver."

The girl's face lit up with excitement as she eagerly agreed to the idea. Jenson wasted no time, quickly scurrying around the garage to gather up cones and spare parts to create a makeshift race track. With deft hands, he arranged the obstacles into a winding course that snaked its way around the various tools and equipment scattered about.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the inaugural Brawn Garage Grand Prix!" Jenson announced with theatrical flair, holding up a makeshift microphone fashioned out of an old wrench. "On pole position, we have the one and only… Y/N Barrichello! And alongside her, it's me, Jenson Button, your trusty commentator for today's race."

The girl giggled with delight as she took her position at the starting line, her tiny hands gripping the imaginary steering wheel with determination. Jenson, playing his part to perfection, took up his position as the announcer, adopting a dramatic tone befitting the occasion.

"Get ready, folks! The tension is palpable as our fearless competitors prepare to battle it out on the treacherous Brawn Garage circuit!" Jenson proclaimed, his voice echoing off the walls of the garage.

With a flourish, he counted down from three, his arm slicing through the air like a conductor leading an orchestra. As his hand dropped, signaling the start of the race, the girl stomped on the imaginary accelerator, her make-believe engine roaring to life as she shot off the line in a blur of excitement.

The garage was transformed into a miniature racetrack, the sound of imaginary engines filling the air as the girl and Jenson darted and weaved their way through the makeshift obstacles. Cones became chicane markers, and toolboxes served as hairpin bends, each turn and straightaway presenting a new challenge for the intrepid racers.

Jenson, ever the entertainer, provided colorful commentary as they raced, his voice rising and falling with the ebb and flow of the action. He cheered the girl on with infectious enthusiasm, his words spurring her on to greater feats of daring as she navigated the course with the skill and precision of a seasoned pro (if there ever was a pro of fake racing).

As they crossed the makeshift finish line, Jenson scooped up the girl in one swift motion, lifting her onto his shoulders. Her laughter filled the garage, bubbling over with unrestrained joy as she clung to him, her tiny hands gripping his shoulder.

"Congratulations, champ!" Jenson announced, his voice booming with theatrical flair. "You've just won the first-ever Brawn Garage Grand Prix!"

The mechanics, who had been watching the impromptu race with amused smiles, erupted into cheers and applause. They clapped their hands enthusiastically, their cheers mingling with the sound of engines revving in the distance.

"Way to go, kiddo!" one of the mechanics shouted, giving the girl a thumbs-up.

Some of the mechanics rushed forward to offer high-fives to the victorious little girl, their faces alight with excitement. Others pulled out their phones, eager to capture the moment for posterity. Flashbulbs popped as they snapped photos of Jenson and the young girl, their bond evident for all to see in the warmth of their smiles.

Jenson, his own grin infectious, basked in the attention, reveling in the joy of the moment. "Looks like we've got ourselves a world champion in the making!" he declared, beaming down at the girl perched on his shoulders.

The girl giggled, her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Thanks, Uncle Jen! That was so much fun!"

Rubens, returning to the garage after his stint on track, couldn't help but smile at the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. His daughter, flushed with excitement and clinging tightly to Jenson's shoulders, looked happier than he had seen her in weeks. And Jenson, with his infectious grin and easy charm, seemed to have cast a spell over the entire garage, filling it with an atmosphere of camaraderie and joy.

Walking over to join the celebration, Rubens wrapped an arm around his daughter's shoulders, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Looks like you had quite the race, huh?" he teased, ruffling her hair affectionately.

The girl nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with pride. "It was the best race ever, Dad! Uncle Jen said I was the fastest driver in the whole garage!"

Rubens chuckled, shooting a grateful smile in Jenson's direction. "Well, I have no doubt about that. You've got quite the talent behind the wheel, just like your old man."

Jenson grinned, giving Rubens a playful punch on the arm. "Hey now, don't go giving her all the credit. She may have won the race, but I was the one providing the commentary! And let me tell you, it was a masterpiece of sports broadcasting."

The three of them laughed, the sound echoing off the walls of the garage, mingling with the hum of activity as the team prepared for the next session. For a brief moment, all the stresses and pressures of life in the fast lane melted away.

With Jenson by her side, Rubens knew that his daughter was in good hands – and that was a comforting thought indeed.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3) :: @studioreader, @fanficweasley , @stinkyjax , @namgification , @judespoision , @cha-hot , @disneyprincemuke , @itsjustkhaos , @trouble-sistar , @ihateyougunthersteiner , @treehouse-mouse , @cherry-piee , @fangirl125reader , @cassie0sstuff, @be-your-coffee-pot , @elijahslover , @flannelforthetoads , @m0cha-bunny , @ironmaiden1313 , @glitterquadricorn , @spideybv28 , @celesteblack08 , @thatgirlthatreadswattpad , @itscrzy, @canihavemyhoodieback , @eugene-emt-roe, @weirdshinji, @woozarts, @marshmummy, @80sloverry

#f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 scenarios #f1 x reader #fem!driver reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 scenarios #formula 1 imagines #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 x fem!driver #fem!driver #formula 1 x reader #x reader #driver reader #jenson button X platonic!reader #⋆⠀᰷ ֹ 🍙 ˓ the echo ﹗

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thepersonnamedsam · 11 months

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hiii, love your stuff<33 could I maybe request a gen z reader blurb where after getting in a crash due to a mechanical issue everyone worries about her and she’s pissed because she felt seen as weak and vulnerable?? THANK U SO MUCH

life goes on

pairing: genz!driver x '23!grid and some seb cameo

summary: see request :)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: crash, blood, injury, anger issues, tears (idk if that’s a warning), media talks bad about genz!driver, foul language

note: thank you so much for the request!! i am not quite sure if i should write the genz!driver stories in a you pov or a she/her pov, what would you prefer, please let me know, ty :))

masterlist / taglist

It started with a bad day. FP1 was shit, FP2 was also not great. Her day was just not great. Free practice 3 was better, the car had finally responded to her again. In the first two laps, everything went smooth. She was already singing Smooth Operator in her head. But suddenly the car stirred, luckily she saved herself and didn’t crash, but she did retire from the session.

Her engineer and her sat together for Qualifying. She told him everything she noticed whilst driving.

„I feel like the steering wheel is not responding on time. It’s like it’s two seconds delayed, which is not good.“

He nodded and wrote it down on a notepad. „I feel like there’s nothing we can do, I can check with the mechanics, but qualifying is in two hours, which may not be enough time“, her race engineer told her. She sighed. The last two days were bad for y/n, she hasn’t slept good for at least four days. She nodded and told him that she’d be in her drivers room.

As qualifying started, she only got in one good lap before she had to retire. She was right, her steering wheel indeed had a slight delay. Which made turning corners very hard. She ended Q1 in P19, her worst result in qualifying yet. She was disappointed, in herself and in the car.

Her mechanics tried to fix the issue until the race started, but with no hope. She prepared herself for the race, knowing it would not be an easy one. She was scared, like scared shitless. She tried to call Sebastian during Q2, but he did not pick up. Opting for a quick text, she asked him to call her back as soon as possible.

Lewis heard what happened to y/n car during Q1 and wanted to comfort the young driver. With long strides he went to her motorhome. Her engineer just pointed to her drivers room as soon as he saw Lewis approach him. Three short knocks. Her head snapped up as the door opened. Lewis was standing there, looking pitiful and held his arms out.

„Are you okay, darling?“, he asked her as she nuzzled her head in his shoulders. She let her tears fall freely. Shaking her head she told him how she felt. „The steering wheel is delayed, which is so difficult to drive with and also dangerous. But my mechanics can’t fix it, they don’t know why it’s happening and a whole reboot of the system would take too long! I’m scared, Lewis. I don’t know what to do.“

His hand firm on her backside, he just held the young woman. Telling her to retire to not cause a crash would’ve been the best thing. Tell her to refuse to race. But he didn’t, knowing the girl and her ambitions. She would race, no matter what. She didn’t want to be seen as weak or even worse, girly.

She was girly, but not in the sense of racing. She was just as ‚manly‘ as the other drivers.

„I know that you will make the right decision about the whole situation“, Lewis told her. Oh, how wrong he was.

Q3 was finished with Verstappen on pole, as always, Perez on P2 and Leclerc on P3. Happy to see Charles starting this high, she went into the race with somewhat a good feeling. The first three laps were okay, she sank down to P20, DeVries overtook her with ease on the second corner, as she slowed down as much as possible to control the car. But the longer the race was, the more angry she got. It was not fair, the steering wheel was just not responding.

On lap 24 y/n’s car crashed. In corner eight, her steering wheel stopped working. Instead of a turn, the car just went straight into the pit wall. The front wing smashed against the wall, squashing it against her own car. Her head was spinning. What just happened?

„Red flag, the FIA just announced a red flag in corner eight. Seems like y/l/n crashed. Let’s hope she’s fine.“

Several team radios went through.

„Charles, y/n crashed in corner eight, there’s a red flag, be careful.“

„Lewis, there is a red flag.“

„Be careful, Max. You are approaching corner eight where y/n has had a crash.“

And many more. Everyone was concerned. What has happened? What did she do to crash her car like that. Was she responsive? Responsible? What was going on?

„y/n, please respond. The race has been stopped. What happened?“, her race engineer tried to speak to her, she was non-responsive.

„What the fuck, what happened?! Is she responsive? Are the medics on their way?“, Lewis was the first to address the situation. „We don’t know, we don’t see any medics yet, Lewis.“

And as Max pulled up to corner eight he hopped out of his car. He ran towards hers and yelled for her, to show him a sign that she was still alive, without a response. He was worried, he was always worried when someone crashed, but he was extra worried when she did.

„y/n! What happened? Are you okay? Please give me a sign!“, he tried it again, with no luck. He saw her helmet move, the flashy colours moving from side to side. „Ach godzijdank Ah, thank god“, he mumbled.

The medics arrived and ushered Max to the side. Taking her out of the car and laying her on a spinal board. Transporting her into the ambulance.

She was devastated. It was not her fault she crashed. But the media didn’t know that. They would accuse her of crashing yet another car. That she wasn’t good enough to be in Formula 1. They would report about her as if she wasn’t a human being and just something they could play with. They would talk about her like a doll. It was not fair.

Meanwhile on the paddock the talking began. Lewis was the most worried, he should’ve just told her to refuse racing. What if she suffered a serious injury? Like a neck or spine injury and couldn’t race anymore. It was his fault, that’s what he thought.

Lando was worried too, not really knowing what happened, he was just worried. She could be injured. The minutes went by without any news from her. They were hard for Lando.

Even Checo, who wasn’t usually a companion of y/n, was worried. He didn’t see what happened, but he heard from Max how the crash looked - bad, it looked bad.

„We hear from the medics; y/n is okay. At least that. Let’s hope the race will continue without another crash.“

Lewis released a breather, not knowing he heals so much air in his lungs. He was glad y/n was okay. He still felt bad, always feeling responsible for her. And now that she crashed, his head was spinning with gut wrenching thoughts and worry.

The FIA announced the green flag and the race continued without y/n. When she got back to her garage, her motorhome, she expected a angry team principal, angry mechanics and engineers, expect she was greeted with relieved sighs and shoulder droppings. Her engineer was the first one to embrace her. He told her how sorry he was and how everything was definitely not her fault.

She was still angry, no points, no race, no happy ending for that day. Everything was shit. She had a shit day that race. And it was not even her own fault.

Her team principal came towards her, gripping her shoulders hard and said: „I know this seems bad, it is, but we can fix it. I wish I could send you home, but media still awaits.“

So she waited, she waited lap after lap until eventually Max won the race. She waited until her PR got her out of the drivers room and took her to the media pen, where the post race conferences will be held.

Sky Sports interviewed the todays winner. So, y/n waited for Max to finish. She hoped he would never finish, that she would never have to face the camera and talk about the incident.

But that didn’t happen.

„Hello y/n, how do you feel? Everything okay, no pain?“, the nice interviewer asked her. „Uh, yeah, everything is fine“, she struggled with her answer, not believing herself that everything was fine.

„Can you tell me what happened? We just saw you crashing?“ - „Uhm, yeah“, she looked towards her media PR, what was she allowed to say? She shook her head - no bad words about her team. „I-, uh, I lost control of my steering wheel.“

The interviewer nodded. „We saw you retire from the race after Q1, having struggled already in FP1 and 2. Did you have problems with your steering wheel during them as well?“

She sighed. She was tired, her neck ached and she just wanted to be in her bed.

„I mean, kind of, yeah you could say I struggled with it during free practice.“

If she told the interviewer that she struggled with it during the whole yesterday and today, she would’ve bad mouthed the team.

„Last question for today, y/n. We asked Twitter for some comments, would you be so kind to make a statement to some of them?“

She really didn’t want to, knowing exactly what most of them had to say; women don’t belong in motorsports, etc.

„Sure“, she sighed. Her PR nodded, happy that y/n decided not to refuse.

„Alright, @motodports_2 said: That’s the second time this season that y/n crashed her car and we are only on the 7th race. What do you have to say to that?“

She closed her eyes, the headache creeping in like a madman with a desire to kill. „That’s true, that was the second crash of the season. And I am sorry for that, my team doesn’t deserve me crashing that many times during the season. I apologise.“

Sebastian was sitting at home, watching the race from his couch. He couldn’t believe what she was saying. The team doesn’t deserve a driver that crashes so much? Bullshit.

He missed her calls earlier that day, he wished he would’ve picked up his phone or at least called her back. But what she was telling to that interviewer was absolute bull.

Charles, who was next in line, also couldn’t believe the stuff you were telling Sky Sports.

„Okay, @maydrive says: The way y/n is throwing away her career in F1 with those shenanigans. Get a grip, will you?“, the interviewer read from the screen in front.

Charles was shocked, he never had to respond to any comments like that. How was she experiencing something like that?

„Uh yeah, thank you @maydrive for that. I will try to get a grip, and you are right, I am throwing away my F1 career like that, but I don’t want that, that’s why I will keep trying to get better“, her eyes were starting water. Just don’t let those tears fall, y/n. They want to see her cry, don’t give them the satisfaction of it.

„Thank you, y/n. Rest up and good evening!“

Her PR pulled her away and onto the next interview. After all that, she was exhausted. Exhausted and angry. How could they be asking her questions like that? Not fair.

Back in her garage, she let the emotions flow. Tears were streaming down her face, sobs were heard and her body was shaking. Her PR handed y/n her phone, leaving her again with a gentle pat to the shoulder.

Seb was calling her.

„Before you say anything, don’t let them treat you like that ever again. Not your fault, if you had problems with the steering wheel, it is not your place to apologise“, Seb interrupted her, before she could even sob into the phone. He heard sniffles. „Don’t cry, liebes dear. You did nothing wrong today.“

„Seb, I wish you’d be here“, she sobbed into the phone. It broke his heart. Comforting someone over the phone was hard, much more if the person being comforted was a teenager.

„It’s gonna be okay, life goes on, okay?“, he told her. „I just feel so weak and vulnerable. They hate me, they always find something wrong with my driving.“

„You are not weak! Who told you that?“, a voice from behind her sounded from the dark. Fernando Alonso stepped out of the shadow. Seb instantly recognised the older spaniards voice over the phone. Glad y/n was not alone in a time like this.

Fernando embraced her. Hugging her tight and firmly. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, beating like crazy. „Breathe with me, y/n.“

They were standing in her motorhome, embraced in one another. If a camera had noticed, headliners would say: Alonso and y/l/n dating confirmed? But there was no camera around.

She had her family here in F1. She belonged here, just as much as any other driver. She was not at fault. She was not weak or vulnerable. She was strong.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #fernando alonso #gen z problems #gen z funny #genz!driver #female driver #genz driver #crash #f1 crash

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