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propertyofwicked · 1 month

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SECRETS - LN

lando x fewtrell!reader (cos who doesn't love a bit of brother's best friend?). no content warnings for this part. pls lemme know what u think of this pls and thank u.

part 1 -> part 2 -> part 3 -> part 4 -> part 5 -> part 6 -> part 7!

y/n was a bit of an enigma in the fewtrell family. yes, she’d grown up karting with her older brother and his best friend, but it wasn’t a career for her. not like it was for max, who took his love of karting to championships and content creation and especially not like lando, who made it all the way to F1.

no, y/n fewtrell wanted a career, for now at least anyway. which leads us to now, she’s sat in a second year lecture, not listening to a single word as a slew of messages from her brother almost vibrate her phone off the desk.

she didn’t really need to think about it at all, of course she’d be there. whilst she had no interest in her actually involvement, she loved motor sports, and loved supporting lando. the amount of times she’d been recognised in her uni towns sports bar, watching the F1, was getting concerning. not to mention the time she’d finished a 10 hour shift and somehow fell asleep in said sports bar, made worse and more recognisable to lando fans by the quadrant hoodie and LN4 beanie - max had not let her live it down since the moment the photo came on his twitter feed. it just seemed odd that lando all of a sudden wanted, no, needed her presence - after all, he'd had minimal contact with her for almost a year.

but, she weighed up in her head, getting to see lando was somewhat of a reward. yes spending the day with her brother would be good, although she could sense her summer would potentially be spent with him anyway. but lando, what could she say about lando. he was always around growing up, and yes admittedly there had been a few moments shared in her early adulthood that would indicate something more but it always remained unspoken. lingering touches here and there, the night they spent dancing together in a club, though written off as drunk friendliness, and most notably an interrupted moment where he whispered “max would kill me if he knew the truth”. y/n never got to find out what the truth was, as max himself came barrelling into the room, equally as drunk as everyone else at the gathering. from that night on, she barely saw or heard from lando, well, until now supposedly.

ultimately, y/n decided that dwelling on what could’ve been, whilst lando jets off around the world, was simply not worth it. she focused on her studies, and began declining offers to watch lando race on the other side of the world. y/n fewtrell was a strong independent woman who did not need the validation from her brothers best friend.

didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it.

as predicted, the academic year ended and y/n found herself moving a bag of clothes into max’s spare room. people started spotting her in the background of streams again, fans excited to see the fewtrell’s back together and in full force - y/n now adorning a lovely bruise down the side of her arm from where max had shoved her too hard off a chair and onto the floor. sore losers run in the family.

“MAX! that hurt,” y/n whined from her new found position on the floor.

“oh did it,” max asks mockingly, “sucks to be you i guess” he adds with a shrug, although letting her use his arm to pull herself back up.

he moved back to playing his game when a text popped up on her phone making her giggle.

“what? what are you laughing at?”

“lando said “push him back”. lando,” y/n said, looking at the camera, “if i could, i would - but i quite like having somewhere to live and my own personal chauffeur,” she laughed, max laughing with her.

a month later she was in the passenger seat of max’s car, him pulling in to park outside the silverstone track. it was hours before the public would show up, so she instantly spotted the curly haired man. yes, the bright orange jumper was like a bat signal for lando, but y/n’s eyes were immediately drawn to him naturally. max had just about pulled the handbrake on when lando bounded over to the car, pulled the passenger door open and lunged himself around y/n.

“you came! it’s been too long since ive had my little lucky charm in my garage,” he says, looking directly into her eyes. a red flush runs up her cheeks, hoping that the boys will put it down to the loss of air conditioning. any awkwardness she had anticipated between the two dissolved almost instantly.

“i know, i’m sorry. i should just drop out of uni and follow you around the world, i know. forgive me,” she jokes holding her hands up, and lando quirks an eyebrow up, as if saying “you should”.

“don’t do that, y/n. one of the fewtrell’s needs to be properly educated,” max jokes, ”besides, not having his lucky charm around all the time keeps his ego in check.” lando chuckles in response, finally moving to stand fully out of the car and allowing y/n and max to climb out and join him.

“so, home race in 2 days - how you feelin’ mate?” max asked lando, raising his hand to do one of those bro hand grabs. they continued talking, y/n trailing just behind them as they walked into the building and around to the mclaren area. it was always a spectacle, coming to races. the teams, the drivers, the media, the celebrations - it was somewhat overwhelming. it was weird to see the place so empty, then again, it was 7am on FP1 day so the only people walking around were the odd driver and mechanics.

they continued to walk through the paddock, y/n just listening to the boys discussing an upcoming quadrant project, eventually reaching his drivers room. the sofa looked so inviting, especially to the girl who was dragged kicking and screaming out of bed at 5am. whilst lando distracted max, showing him his helmet for the home race, y/n crawled over to the sofa, curled up in a corner and shut her eyes.

“y/n? you good?” lando asked, after clocking her new found position.

“shut up.”

“ouch.”

“she threatened to rip my eyeballs out and shove them down my throat this morning when i tried to get her up. being told to shut up is nothing,” max laughed, ruffling the top of his sisters head and messing up her hair, “she just likes her sleep.”

“yes, she does, please let her have it,” y/n mumbles bluntly, met with chuckles from the boys.

“we’re gonna get breakfast. ill bring you back something if you want to stay here?” lando asks, her eyes perking up at the thought of food.

“yes please,” she says, with a soft smile directed towards him.

“next time, me and you are getting separate hotel rooms,” y/n groaned, rolling around the sofa of her hotel room trying to get comfortable.

“next time, tell me you want to come with me early enough for me to book you a separate hotel room, y/n,” her brother grumbled back.

“i’m gonna see if there’s a gym here. i need to tire myself out if i’m going to sleep on this…thing,” she said, poking at the solid leather of the sofa.

max didn’t respond to his sister, instead he rolled over to face the door and shut his eyes. y/n grabbed her key card and her shoes, and walked out the door, happy to be away from her brother. she loved him, she really did, but after spending the entire day in lando’s small driver room with him - she really just needed some brother-free air.

she barely reached the lift at the end of the hallway when she got a text, diverting her entire plans for that evening.

i’m bored. come on a drive with me?

going on a late night drive with lando was not out of the ordinary, but usually max was there. had he sent max the same message? either way, she responded with a quick yes and thumbs up.

cool. im outside btw. hurry up.

have you just turned up assuming i was going to say yes?

was i wrong?

shut up im coming down now

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked #maxfewtrell #fewtrell!sister

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kiwisbell · 3 months

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yellow bird [joel miller]

Taking the weight off your shoulders.

whiskey sour masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), dbf!joel, age gap (20s/40s), sexual frustration, academic-validation-to-praise-kink pipeline, these two are in lurvvvv, thigh riding, joel talks you through it, and maybe reveals a side of him we haven't seen yet, a lil fluid exchange, some sweet sappy talk because it's them what do we expect, pure self-indulgence, that’s about it

word count: ~ 2.7k

a/n: this was mine and @cavillscurls's challenge to myself to write somethin short and sweet, thank you mya for being a cheerleader throughout this whole process. and thank you hugely el @northernbluess for last-minute beta reading and telling me it does not(?), in fact, suck dick n cock. i envision this as part of the whiskey sour-verse, but you don't need to read the series to understand what's going on here! this honestly makes me super fucking nervy to post, but i hope you enjoy. xoxo

read on ao3!

follow @kiwisbellupdates and turn on notifications if you'd like to be notified when i post a fic!

The moon is carving a path through the darkening sky, and you’ve been quiet for hours.

You sit at the dining table with your cheek in your palm, lidded eyes flitting relentlessly from one side of the page to another. Every couple minutes, you jot down some notes on your cue cards. Your coffee lies untouched next to your textbook.

Each slash of pen across paper cuts into his chest. You write in bursts of furious energy, the paper sometimes bunching under your fist, black ink smearing—you only ever write in black—one letter into the next. Your jerky looping letters resemble nothing close to your penmanship. Your sentences are punctuated by squiggles rather than dots. The corners of your eyes are moist, your skin glowing gold under a filtered smattering of light from the street lamps outside.

There's a tight line to the curve of your mouth, a gash of colour where your lipstick has faded. Weariness dulls the shimmer in your eye. You keep writing.

“Thought you were goin’ out with your friends tonight,” says Joel.

“Hmm?” You blink slowly, the sound of his voice dragging your gaze toward Joel: dressed in jeans and an olive flannel (a gift from you), he's watching you study, a worried slash between his brows. “Oh,” you say. “No. I bailed.”

A flare of his nostrils as he approaches you from the coffee station is the only indication he gives that he's frustrated. “You’ve been workin’ all day, baby. You haven't eaten.” He slides his coffee mug toward you and switches it with your own. “Here, take mine. Yours is gettin’ cold.”

You start to shake your head. “Joel, it’s—”

“It's either you drink mine,” he says, sliding the milk and sugar toward you, “or you take a break.”

You narrow your eyes. “You hate my coffee.”

“Relationships are sacrifice. C’mere.” He yanks the leg of your chair toward him until you're sitting beside one another. He dips his mouth to your temple, and sleep begins to tug at your eyelids. Still, you keep your books open, if not partially out of spite, as Joel drinks your too-sweet coffee and hides his grimace.

“You hate it.”

Joel’s eyes slide to you over the rim of his cup, his chest pulling taut at the sight of the unshed tear on the outer corner of your eye, teetering.

Your bottom lip wobbles, your last Sisyphean effort to hold the droplet of water at bay, and Joel sets down the mug.

“You hate my coffee,” you whisper, not meeting his eye.

It's the press of his hand to your lower back that makes your fingers tremble, curled tightly around your pen. “There are worse things I’d do for you than drink shitty coffee.”

“So you admit it's shitty.”

His fingers dance up and down your lower vertebrae. “You’re exhausted,” he says softly, his mouth grazing your shoulder. “Come and take a break. Can feel all that tension, sweetheart. Right—”

The warm press of his palm between your shoulder blades. The simple touch ignites pressure behind your nose.

“—here,” he finishes with the pinch of his thumb and forefinger around your brain stem.

Your head lolls gently in his direction. “I know what you're doing.”

An innocent sound pitches out of his throat. “Do you?”

Your lashes flutter as he begins to dig his palm into the tense balls of muscle in your back. The contact, warm and almost gentle, undoes you. The pearl stuck in your lashes shakes free.

The impact of it carving a path down your cheek strikes his heart true. “C’mere, baby.”

Pulling you reluctantly away from your workbooks, Joel sits on the couch and guides you on top of him, your thighs hugging his hips. “This sad face,” he says under his breath, brushing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. “So pretty when you’re sad.” Your eyes dip when his stubble ghosts across your jaw, his lips warming the shell of your ear.

You huff, your arms winding around his neck. “You’re wandering into patronising, Miller.”

“Hmm, big words.” His grin carves its shape into your skin. He nips the spot just below your ear and you gasp, your fingers curling in the locks at the nape of his neck. “Told you, baby—such a smart girl.”

You open your mouth to snip at him, but he’s sliding one big, rough hand underneath your silky shorts and pinching your ass. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, his pinky finger dipping under your waistband.

“I’m fine,” you grumble, wriggling on his lap. He hums, the downward curve of his mouth on your skin etched in skepticism, his hands pulling you tighter to him.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby.” His hand slides up your spine, lifting your little silk shirt, the hardness of him caging you in. “Tell me so I can fix it.”

You're gooey and pliant on top of him, hips flexing to fix your thighs around his waist, your body attuned to him in a way you refuse to fight. Joel Miller is yours. He’s always had your back.

“I’m tired, Joel. I keep bombing these stupid fucking tests, and the new guy at work is incompetent, and I haven't had an orgasm in a whole week.”

Sometimes, you're surprised by how deeply you envy your Joel for being so fucking right. For knowing, even when you don't, how deeply your wounds sit.

He frowns up at you, his thumb caressing the curve of your jaw, guilt and understanding pinching his ribs. “And I’ve been workin’ late,” he says.

Silently, you nod, fisting the hem of his shirt. “But that's okay, Joel. I know you work hard. It's not your job to—”

He shakes his head, trailing his hands up and down your soft thighs. “I’ve been workin’ late,” he repeats, his voice thinning, “and I haven't been treating my girl like she deserves.”

Your cheeks warm at the way his hands reach your inner thighs, thumbs ghosting across your hip bones. “That's not true.”

“Baby, you look at me.” He cups you like warm wax and you're melting just the same, gaze sliding up to meet his. Brown, glinting gold as they catch the orange lamplight, his eyes don't leave you. “You need to come?”

Your mouth drops. You really fucking do. If he notices your slip—the way your hips still on his lap, your arms wound tight around his shoulders—he doesn't say nor soothe. “Joel, I didn’t mean to—”

He quiets you with a loving nip at your chin. “You wanna be a good girl?”

A shudder railroads down your vertebrae. Your core is tight, hot, your little pyjama shorts shifting over your pussy, velvet-soft. “Joel, you really don't have to—”

“You wanna come?” he says again, his teeth scraping the shell of your ear before he takes your lobe between them. You gasp, clutching him tight to you, a buoy bobbing above the torrent.

“Yes,” you tell him, breathless, letting him play with the waistband of your shorts. “Yes. I need to come so badly. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m a bad man, takin’ my girl for granted.”

It’s not true, he’d never, has not once, and still you whimper at the sound of my girl on his tongue.

“You are a bad man,” you tell him, halfheartedly shoving him in the chest.

“And?” he prompts, drawing the poison from the wound.

“And I need to come.”

Joel’s mouth curves in understanding, the hairs of his moustache bristling in the corners.

“Take ‘em off,” he says. “Let me be good to you.”

You ease your thighs out of your silk shorts, and Joel’s got his hands on your shirt, lifting it up and over your head. A cool shiver snakes from your cool feet, now on the floor as you stand naked before him, to the scruff of your neck. It longs for the touch of his fingers.

“God, you're fuckin’ beautiful.” Joel takes your outstretched hand, tugging you toward him. His palms smooth over the planes of your torso, thick fingers fitting to your ribs, the follower at the altar. It's only when he touches the small of your back that his eyes abstain from their reverent path across your body and meet yours.

“Tell me what you want,” he says plainly, fingers catching at the ends of your hair.

You crowd him, gaze sweeping down his body at the hard length of his cock down his thick thighs and the utter stillness of him when met with your type-A jitters.

“To be your good girl,” you say.

“I know.” It's a whisper in the quiet. Somewhere, distantly, the dishwasher churns through its cycle. A car horn blares. Wind blows. “Sit down.”

You go eagerly to him, your spirit alight with his closeness, the scent of pine and sawdust from a long day’s work, the soft cotton of his flannel, the scrape of his denim along your thighs. Wordlessly, Joel shifts you until you're straddling one of his thighs.

The jolt of pressure to your clit makes you gasp, clawing for purchase on his chest. Your fists wrap around the lining of his flannel.

Oh, God is the vague chant that eats at his liver, chewing on the ripe mass, the wound sealing over to deliver himself once again at your feet. It’s tossed into the space between you, maybe a little blasphemous, maybe thoughtless. It’s the glassy film over your eyes, those irises he could trace in the dark, the call of love that never quiets.

“Feel good?”

The smug bastard. His hand is still soft and sweet on your spine, climbing high only to drop, no longer meeting the resistance of clothing. The cool air puckers your nipples, your body tightening as you pull in on yourself.

“You remember that first night?” he says softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You were so cold, baby. All alone and needin' a good strong hand.”

He squeezes your ass, forcing your hips to shift over his leg. The slow grind of your wet seam along the coarse denim makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck,” you whisper. “That's… that’s good.”

He hums like he knows. “You remember what you did that night?” he asks. “Climbed on me, just like this, and made yourself feel good. Thought I’d come in my pants then and there.”

Your breathless laugh hitches in your throat as your hips begin to grind down of their own volition. The friction is rough, unkind, nothing like the gentle press of his hands on your bare skin. Sweat begins to glisten in the hollow of your throat as you throw your head back and lose yourself in the rhythmic roll of your body over his thigh.

“That's it,” he grunts, squeezing your hips, his cock twitching, untouched, in his boxers. You’re smearing your wetness over the denim, washing it dark, letting the light shift over your writhing body. “That's my pretty girl, usin’ me like you need to.”

“Ah, fuck,” you cry out, bearing down the weight of you on his leg, grinding hard against him as you seek your own pleasure.

“Let's hear it,” he urges, gritting his teeth at the sight of your poor swollen clit, needy and glistening, exposed. “Lemme have it, baby girl, c’mon.”

Your moan is strangled, language muddied in your head as Joel surges upright and latches his mouth around your nipple. Biting and sucking raw, his rapacious mouth is warm nectar that pools hot in your belly, his hands coaxing your hips through their movements, guiding you in the dance nonetheless.

“I'm your good girl,” you rasp, the coil pulling tight at the base of your stomach, the hollow bowl filling to the brim, keeping him, coveting him.

“That's right. My good girl.” His hot breath blooms like possessive fingers where his mouth makes contact on your throat, plucking your nerve endings like a bushel of daisies.

“I can feel you, baby girl,” he groans into your throat. “I can feel your tight fuckin’ cunt gettin’ me all wet. Feel you grabbin’ me like a goddamn cat. You close, huh?”

You whimper, your nails scratching at his chest through the fabric of his shirt, your stomach taut as you approach your high, bucking your hips hard against his leg. “Fuck, Joel, fuck! I’m so close—”

“Tell me who you are.”

“I’m a good girl.” You wind your arms around his neck as you begin to list, your breasts pressing into his chest, closeness sparking to flame as your warmth rubs up against him.

He’s steadfast, thick arms holding you upright, as he groans your name into your ear like it's something blasphemous. “Who are you?” he repeats.

“I’m your good girl, Joel! Fuck, I’m yours, your good girl. Oh, God, Joel, please…”

“That's right, sweetheart.” His hand latches around the nape of your neck, slick with sweat, while you bury your face in his throat. “My good girl’s gonna come all over me again, because that's what good girls do, hmm? They make themselves feel good when their bad men go and forget their place.”

You sob his name into the crook of his neck, the friction etching too much into your sore, rubbed-raw flesh. Your thighs hug him tight, hips thrashing hard above him as you come with a shout, your wet mouth dragging along the vein pulsing in his throat and trailing saliva in its wake. Joel doesn’t seem to care, coaxing you through your high when it starts to last a little longer than normal, pulling you so close that you can hardly remember your shape when it’s not slotting into him.

There's a dark spot spreading over his jeans, and your inner thighs are sticky with release. Joel tilts your chin up with his mouth, littering kisses from your jaw to the hollow of your throat. His tongue darts out playfully as his fingers dip between your bodies and tease through your messy slit.

“Joel,” you gasp, your face warm. He lifts two soaked fingers to his mouth and cleans them off with a couple swirls of his tongue.

And he's kissing you before you can retreat into yourself. He turns you inside-out, bares your soul to him, and all you can do is taste the sweet tang of the release you gave yourself.

Your tongues tangle, languid in your mutual exploration, the push-and-pull you've always known. By the time he pulls away to press his lips to your forehead, you're decently sleepy, your muscles gooey and your body slumping sideways in his lap.

“Ruined your jeans,” you mumble.

His fingertips ghost up and down your spine. A cool shudder blooms from each point of contact. He’s still hard, enough that it must ache, but he makes no move to free himself. “I like ‘em this way,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Such an idiot.”

Clicking his tongue, Joel says, “You treat your elders this way?”

You nip his nose. “Only when they’re sweet on me.”

He chuckles, brushing your hair behind your ear so he can kiss your temple. “You feel okay?”

Your hands slide up his chest, hooking around his neck, your fingers threading together in his hair. “I feel like a million bucks, baby. But next time, you can come inside me.”

The purr registering in your chest has him preening under the attention, his hands coming to rest just above your ass. “I’m gonna tell you what’s going to happen tonight,” he says, ignoring your apprehensive glare. “You're gonna put away your books, and eat a good dinner, which I’ll make, and you’ll rest.”

Your Joel is stubborn in his own way, and it shows in the tension above his brow, the splaying of his hand over your back. You reach for him and smooth out his frown with your thumb. “I’ll do whatever you say, Joel Miller. As long as you make my favourite.”

You could drown happily in the way he smiles. It always comes on slow, like he isn't quite sure of himself, but it will glow in his eyes. It will sing through him like a light through glass.

“Yeah,” he says, “I can do that.”

Your blood calls to him. And you could do it all without him, sure—but he won’t let you.

THE END.

#posting this and running #kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #whiskey sour #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel #pedro pascal #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff

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transbodyhorror · 2 years

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it's so funny going to a stem school as a humanities major. so you have clinicals and cry yourself to sleep every night? no ty I'm going to enjoy my silly lil art pieces and analyses uwu

#also v valid to try to work towards financial stability #and sure i *could* do stem but i don't want to :-)#(but tbh i dont think there's this huge dichotomy between the arts and hard sciences it's what you make of it)#anyway #mine #plus im at a point in my life where i dont think academic masochism is all that admirable

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rthko · 1 year

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Most reblog iterations of a popular post of mine have a long comment about how considering "queer" a slur is a terf psy op. They're not arguing with me btw, just using the point I made as a starting point and adding some points of their own. I sort of understand where they're coming from but I really cannot cosign. I grew up in rural Indiana. The inconvenient truth of the matter is that the people who view queer as a slur usually have understandable reasons to do so, and experiences are subjective. If you're response to that is "so is gay, but you put up with that anyway," I'm just going to assume we have vastly different upbringings. Where I grew up in the early 2000s, "gay" meant "your shoes look stupid" and "queer," outside of academic circles, meant "I want to hurt you." I always found it ironic that the response to these nuances from the trigger-warning-using, "your trauma is valid" crowd is a resounding "get over it, snowflake." I do use the term these days, but in my own case I prefer "gay" because it feels more unequivocal and, oddly enough, more queer. Now, the people marching with signs that say "GAY NOT QUEER" are terfs and other unsavory types, but to the extent to which it is a terf psy op, it wasn't a plot cooked up from scratch but a matter of taking advantage of very real pain that a lot of people feel.

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rodolfoparras · 3 months

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ah your professor price drabble done killed me i'm so insane about him.

i love professor student dynamics but they almost always have sub/bottom reader if you can even find male reader which is just... yeah. BUT YOUR WRITING OH MY GODS. it's edible i'm literally gnawing on professor price who finally found a student to challenge him and immediately wants to fuck. so valid. i too am attracted to people who are willing to have academic banter with me, price, you're so real.

also imagine fucking him over his desk after hours and joking about it being for extra credit he would be so annoyed dnajndakd

-🪔

Genuinely nothing brings me more joy than taking stereotypical tropes and roles and swapping them around because why not I want body guard/ royalty trope where price is the royalty and falls for the body guard I want professor price who’s head over heels for a student I want secretary loser price falling for ceo reader

Pt 1 of professor!Price x student!reader

Cw: age gap, reader is in his 20s!!!, professor student relationship, power dynamics, price is a bit of a creep, 18+

Okay but hear me out… jealous professor!Price

Price doesn’t like you. He couldn’t- shouldn’t. He’s a professor and you’re his student. If anything, these little fantasies were just that, fantasies, a way of getting through a boring work day.

Was it wrong? Sure. But it’s not like he plans on acting on them so might as well indulge in them.

Fuck he sounds like a perverted old man but he can’t find it in himself to care as he unbuttons his pants, takes his weeping cock in his hand, while thinking of your interactions from the day, can’t help but wear a plug to work, stretching the tight ring of muscles, preparing himself as if you’d fuck him after the lecture, can’t help but live off of these fantasies til he gets home for the day, and fucks himself with one of his dildos while imaging it’s your cock instead.

Fantasies.

That’s what it is.

Nothing more nothing less.

However he finds himself less sure about his feelings when he’s one day standing at the front of the lecture hall, arms crossed and brow raised, staring at the random student sitting a bit too close to you.

“Professor Price I have a question…”

The sound of another student’s voice snaps him out of his trance, heat creeping up his face and and vehemently avoiding your questioning gaze while proceeding to answer the student’s question.

Later on when the lecture ends he notices you and the same student from earlier walking out together. Price proceeds to packs up his stuff, all while continuously thinking about who that student was.

He hasn’t seen this kid hanging out with you before. The fact that the two of you were friends seemed so bizarre since- No. He shouldn’t dwell on it. He had no business questioning who you were and weren’t friends with. Besides he couldn’t be jealous now right? He didn’t like you that way. He didn’t like you at all.

That random student’s name turned out to be Tim and in a short amount of time you’d become very close friends with him to the point where you and him would be whispering about in class. Price would purposely interrupt your discussion with a question thinking you wouldn’t be able to answer him but you’d always be prepared, sounding and looking as confident as ever while answering his question and - fuck he couldn’t help the blood rushing to his dick as you confidently answered him. You were so clever, so confident and he couldn’t help but like that about you.

Like.

There it was, the word again and he swallows it down like his pride as he continues on with his lecture, allowing you and Tim to return to your discussion.

But he mulls over the word again when he sits all alone in the lecture hall eating his lunch because you and Tim were “going to grab something together”.

As much as Price hated to admit it, he did miss your presence at lunch. Sure you’d chatter his ear off and leave traces of your lunch all over the desk but Price enjoyed the company.

He enjoyed the fact that someone took interest in his lecture- in him after so many years.

He enjoyed having discussions with you even though you’d question everything he said.

And he enjoyed your company at lunch no matter what else he may say.

Weeks passed without the two of you interacting much.

It was better off this way, Price thinks to himself.

Fantasies, that all it was anyway, repeats it so much to himself so that the next time he sees you sitting in one of the extra chairs, legs propped on his desk and eating away at some poor excuse of lunch you made, he thinks that’s a fantasy as well.

He doesn’t ask about Tim and you don’t say anything so Price proceeds to work through the stack of assignments that had been piling up on his desk while silently allowing himself to enjoy this moment.

But soon enough reality hits him in the face or maybe it was when you randomly mentioned Tim that the damn burst inside of him and the words came flowing out of him.

“You should ask the lad out”

“Huh?” You say, seemingly confused by his choice of words since you’d been complaining about morning lectures just seconds before this.

“Tommy?” He tries again, pushing away from his desk, arms now folded over his chest.

You look at him in confusion before it clicks “Tim”

He nods his head, feeling slight annoyance at hearing the name but tries to not let it show on his face. “You should ask him out”.

“Why do you say that?”

“You seem to like him” Price shrugs, seemingly much less confident as he busies himself with cleaning off the stray crumbs you left on his desk.

“Yeah?” Price doesn’t even notice the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Come on kid I’m old but I’m that not old. It’s obvious that you like him.” He says before dumping the pile of crumbs into the trash can.

“Never said you were,” you say completely ignore the latter statement as you smile at him.

For a second Price freezes in place, heat creeping up his face before he clears his throat and looks away. “Either way you should ask him out,”

“I don’t like him” you say with a shrug, still smiling at the older man.

Price scoffs at that.

“You do an awful job at lying, flirting too,”

“Why do you say so?” You say with a small smile on your face neither denying or confirming his suspicions which leaves him feeling tensed

“Well to start off, you’re spending your free time with some old man when you could be with Tom-Tim right now,”

“What if I want to do that though?”

He only scoffs in response, “you don’t want that,”

“I do, though,” you say, sounding firm as ever and for one second it sounds like you’re talking about something else, something he’s been trying to deny for the past months and the implication leaves him speechless and frozen in place, trying to process what you’d just said.

“Professor Price?”

#call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #dom male reader #top male reader #bottom male character #sub male character

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monzabee · 3 months

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T.G.I.F – cl16

Summary: The one where writing your thesis is harder than you think, but Charles is here to help you through all of it.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: stress and anxiety, having to make big life decisions, alcohol consumption and a lot of it, cursing, fluff!!

Request: “Hey Bee, I hope you’re having a lush weekend🥰 I’m not sure if you’re taking requests but I can’t stop thinking about Charles Leclerc with a super down to earth gf everyone loves. But maybe she’s got some things going on and deals with it by getting really wild when she’s drunk 🤷🏼‍♀️ thank you x” + “Hi! Would you be into writing a request for Charles, where the reader is going through some difficult time in life (could be mental health struggles, something work or "big life decisions" related, up to you), and he's being very supportive and understanding, offering help as well? ❤️”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i thought these two requests went very well together and i wanted to give it a go! if you know me then you know i’m very slow at working through my requests, but rest assured i am working on them, thank you for bearing through my slow streak with me!! and of course i had to make it about academic validation/stress because i’m not gonna lie but this master’s thing is kicking my ass and i relate to the reader very much so, lol! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Charles would not describe you as a high-strung person, not at all. If anything, you are one of the most down to earth people he’s ever met. He can’t even count all the times you’ve talked him down from a mental spiral, and given the position of his team this season, you’ve calmed him down from his stress many many times. So, imagine his surprise when the first thing he hears from his brother when he gets off his plane is that you are in the middle of a club in Monte Carlo, refusing to leave because you want to continue having fun. While he wouldn’t call you a homebody, Charles can admit that the two of you have spent more time at home instead of going out with your friends simply because of your shared love for quiet evenings and cosy nights in. It's not that you dislike socializing; it's just that both of you find joy in the simplicity of being together at home.

But now, as Charles rushes through the lively streets of Monte Carlo, he can't help but wonder what on earth has happened to have caused you to get so drunk. The sound of pulsating music grows louder as he approaches the entrance of the club. The bouncer gives him a sceptical look as Charles flashes his VIP pass, rushing inside with determination. The scene that unfolds before him is something out of character for you. Neon lights flash, and the beat of the music reverberates through the crowded space. People dance energetically, and laughter echoes against the walls. Charles spots you in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of new friends, moving to the rhythm as if the world outside this club doesn't exist, and Arthur – who is trying to reason with you to get you to leave.

Charles pushes through the crowd, feeling a mix of confusion and amusement. He finally reaches you, gently tapping your shoulder to get your attention. When you turn around, the surprise on your face is evident.

“Charlie!" you exclaim, a wide grin on your face as you prolong the end of the nickname you’ve given him, “I thought you weren’t going to be back for another week!”

He raises an eyebrow, a bemused smile playing on his lips as you proceed to wrap your arms around his neck and continue jumping up and down at the same time. Placing his hands on your either side of your hips, he attempts to calm down your movements, “Well, I wanted to come home earlier to surprise you, but imagine my surprise when I realised my girlfriend is not home.” He can’t help himself as his eyes give you a worried look as he does his best to refrain from fussing over you, “Are you okay?”

“I'm more than okay, Charlie! I'm having the time of my life. Join us!” You giggle, swaying a little on your feet.

He sighs, shaking his head. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but Arthur looks like he's about to give up on trying to get you to leave. What's going on?"

You glance over at your brother and then back at Charles. “He's just being a worrywart. I'm perfectly fine. Besides, I made some new friends!”

Charles raises an eyebrow. "I can see that, mon ange, but shouldn’t we go back home since it’s so late?"

You nod excitedly, as you choose to ignore his question – as if you’re trying to evade talking about what’s bothering you, he realises. “They're great! We've been dancing and laughing. You should meet them!”

Charles takes a deep breath, realizing that trying to reason with you in your current state might be a bit challenging. “Alright, let me meet your new friends, and then we can talk about heading home, okay?”

You nod eagerly, dragging him into the circle of your newfound companions. Arthur shoots Charles a grateful look as if to say, good luck. And he can feel that he’ll need it in the situation. And as always, Charles is a perfect gentleman as he meets with the group of girls, who are as drunk as you. You try your best to convince him to stay for a few songs, but he gives you a pleading look, which you cannot deny, as he wraps an arm around you, guiding you toward the exit. You protest playfully, wanting the night to continue, but he manages to convince you with a promise of a cosy night in together.

The walk back home is filled with laughter and the occasional stumble from you, but Charles keeps a steady arm around you, ensuring you don't stray too far off course. He is careful with you, of course, as he tries to navigate through the dimmed streets of Monte Carlo. He takes a deep breath of relief once the two of you make it to your shared apartment, and you immediately let yourself fall onto the couch to lean against the cushions with a contented sigh, your playful demeanour still intact. Charles retrieves a glass of water for you, handing it over with a gentle smile.

“Thanks, Charlie,” you say, taking a sip and leaning back against the couch. Charles sits beside you, his gaze softening as he looks at you.

“You're welcome,” he replies, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. “Now, tell me what prompted this spontaneous night out. I thought you needed to submit the final draft for your thesis.”

The fact that your reaction is instantaneous makes Charles realise that he royally fucked up by mentioning your thesis. In hindsight, he should’ve known better to bring it up, because you have been stressing over the assignment for months. You pause mid-sip, a shadow crossing your face. Charles can almost see the weight of the unfinished thesis settling back on your shoulders. Your playful demeanor fades, replaced by a more serious expression.

“Yeah, the thesis,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “I just needed a break from it all, you know? It's been consuming me, and tonight was my way of escaping the stress for a little while.”

Charles feels a pang of guilt. He should've known better than to bring up the one thing that has been causing you so much pressure. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek to guide your eyes back to his. “I'm sorry, mon ange. I didn't mean to remind you of that. Let's talk about it. What's been going on with the thesis? Why is it stressing you out so much?”

You sigh, leaning into his touch. “It's just... I thought I'd be further along by now. The deadline is looming, and I can't seem to get everything to come together. It's like the more I work on it, the more overwhelmed I feel.”

Charles nods in understanding, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “You don't have to go through this alone, you know. We can figure it out together. Maybe I can help, or we can find someone who can. You don't have to carry the weight of it all by yourself.”

You look up at him, leaning into his gentle touch as you close your eyes for a second to gather your thoughts, “It’s just–” You take a frustrated breath, thinking over your words once again. “I’m supposed be able to do this, how am I supposed to do a Ph.D when I can’t even write my master’s thesis properly?”

Charles listens quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. He can sense the frustration and self-doubt in your words. Leaning in, he places a tender kiss on your forehead before speaking with a reassuring tone. “You will finish it in time,” he assures you, “and you will pass with flying colours, don’t self-sabotage now when you’re almost done with it.”

“But it’s so hard,” dragging out the words as you basically throw yourself into his arms and groan against his sweater, “I just feel like I've hit a wall, and I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you bury your face in his sweater. He strokes your back soothingly, understanding the weight of your frustration. “I know it's hard, mon ange,” he says softly, his words a comforting melody. “But hitting a wall doesn't mean you can't break through it. And as for disappointing anyone, you're not a disappointment. You're human, and everyone faces challenges.” He takes a moment think, “And I say this as someone who has hit several walls-slash-barriers.”

An unexpected laughter comes from you, and to calm yourself you take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweater. “I just want to do well, to prove to myself and everyone else that I can handle this.”

Charles tilts your chin up, making you meet his gaze. “And you will. You're capable, smart, and resilient. This is just a temporary hurdle, not the end of the road. We'll find a way through it together.”

“Thank you for believing in me, even when I doubt myself.” You whisper, managing a small smile.

“Always, mon amour,” he replies, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get you to bed, you’re going to have a killer headache tomorrow.”

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff

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chiyoso · 4 months

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you can't get enough of choso

j. kaisen : kamo choso ··→ brainrot.

i need to get this out desperately before i comatose all day, but choso is the most babygirl of babygirls i've witnessed and dealt with throughout my life as an anime/manga fan.

fuck, just imagine choso overhearing you gush about him to someone, close to you or not, he'd have the unluckiest luckiest times to encounter you as you speak about him, it would range from the most cutest shit ever, to the absolute filthy, oh-my-god-please-do-that-to-me-right-now, i have a boner from just you talking about me so lovingly with carnal desire type shit.

he thrives in your indirect praises about him, more so when you compliment his academic prowess besides his physical appearances.

he finds himself thinking about how, when and just fucking why you think he's so lovable in such a way. like what is he doing so special to be someone so high up to the stars for someone else? what is he doing for you to be so enamoured by him? he doesn't understand, but he wants to, he really does, he's just sooo puppy-like excited just at the thought of you continuing your shinanigans about him to anyone, up until the point where they're annoyed.

and he just especially loves the way your tone gets so low, just the right amount of breathlessness and excitement everytime his name comes out with endearment from your mouth. god, you sound so fucking hot like that.

“please please PLEASE, itadori, link me up with choso, yeah, that kamo choso, please holy FUCK, i know you know him, aren't you related to him too? no? what do you mean you can't? yes you fucking can, i've seen him talk and talk and just talk about you.” shit, if only he can hear you desperately beg for him like that whenever he is around you, but you're just such a two-faced person, skillfully so, being and doing the opposite of what you normally are without his presence.

you'd interact with him normal, just like others, but since that day where he caught you the first time, talking about him in a way where your fondness for him is through the roofs, he'd notice you often lean in against him, following up with a simple “come again?” “i can't hear you.” “louder.” even if the place had little to no people. peculiar.

there would also be times where you would just tease him that causes him to have an existential, identity crisis. “fucking finally,” you groan begrudgingly, stretching your limbs, cursing under your breath about how hard and fucked up the assignment was. of course biology wasn't your strong suit, but it was also a great, valid reason to ask the kamo choso to have a study sesh with you.

“high five, kamo-san.” huh? he glances up from his work, seeing a hand reached out near him. you were idled, lazily leaned back with your other hand acting as the pillar for your weight behind, legs up and obnoxious, knees against the rim of the low table you two studied on. thank god you weren't wearing a skirt, why the fuck are your legs parted.

“i mean,” he pauses, hesitant, glancing between your weirdly nonchalant expression and attitude and your hand. “i don't see why n—” “sorry,”

now how did he find himself in the same sitting position you were in, but with a hand behind his back on the floor, and you now on top of him.

“i have a big fat fucking crush on you,” you took his stretched out hand, basically handholding him now, the other cupping his cheeks. “you're so pretty, you know that right?” he'd see your eyes grow distant, the situation now processed, resulting in him have this pathetic blush all over his face, undecided if it was from your sudden closeness, or the fact that you just straight up confessed to him just now.

were you eye fucking him? what was going through inside your head? and the fact that he wasn't moving an inch, unopposed to whatever this was right now, maybe because he had someone so fucking hot and as ‘pretty’ as him just hovered on top of him.

maybe because its the accumulation of overhearing you on certain times that he'd allow this, or the fact that itadori has talked warned him about you, or also maybe because no one has ever held him in such high regards its just insanity.

you know what you want. so who is he to stop you from achieving your goal?

“earth to kamo-san?” oh.

what do you mean he was daydreaming? what do you mean he was zoning out for awhile? you mean you didn't just confess right now on top of him? you weren't about to fuck his mouth with yours? maybe fuck the shit out of something else too?

yeah, he's okay, even if his cheeks roused such a pretty, healthy color all over, even if his eyes couldn't keep still all over the room but yours, even if his breathing became irregular suddenly just now, and even if he has this overwhelming hotness that throbbed continuously between his thighs right now. yeah.

yeah, he's okay.

of course he's okay.

⚝ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎𝐒𝐎 | remember!!! reblogs are waaayyy sexier!!!

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doumadono · 5 months

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A/N: this small thing drew inspiration from a recent conversation I had with my wonderful @indignant-alpaca, delving into the common struggles faced by students across various disciplines. Despite our diverse fields of study, we all encounter similar challenges sooner or later. Drawing from my own experiences, I decided to craft a variation focused on enhancing the learning process, using one of my favorite characters, Bakugo, as a source of inspiration 💣

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

In class

Be actively involved in class discussions and activities. Katsuki would assertively participate, ensuring he grasps concepts firsthand.

Treat each class as a competition to stay engaged. Challenge yourself to excel, just like Bakugo's competitive spirit drives him to be the best hero.

Don't hesitate to ask questions when you're unclear. Katsuki would demand clarity, and you should too! It's a proactive approach to understanding the material.

Observe and analyze the teacher's explanations and demonstrations. Katsuki assesses his opponents' moves; similarly, analyze the "moves" in your lessons for a deeper understanding.

Take dynamic and concise notes. Katsuki strategizes in the heat of battle, and your notes should capture essential information for later review.

Studying

Approach your study sessions with intensity and focus. Katsuki's training is high-intensity, and your studies should match that energy.

Divide your study time into focused blocks for specific subjects. Master each "arc" before moving on to the next, just like Katsuki hones specific skills.

Work on problem-solving exercises regularly. Katsuki tackles various challenges, and you should too. Practical application reinforces theoretical knowledge.

Utilize interactive study methods. Katsuki learns by doing, and hands-on activities or simulations can enhance your understanding of complex topics.

Plan your study sessions strategically, focusing on high-priority subjects during peak concentration times. This approach mirrors Katsuki's tactical approach to hero battles.

Channel your inner hero by immersing yourself completely in the subject matter, just as Katsuki immerses himself in his battles.

Break down complex topics into smaller components for in-depth understanding, similar to how Katsuki analyzes quirks of his opponents to identify their weaknesses.

Learning attitude

Cultivate a hero's mindset. Set ambitious goals and view your studies as a heroic journey toward self-improvement.

Develop resilience in the face of challenges. Katsuki faces setbacks but emerges stronger. Treat academic difficulties as opportunities for growth.

Believe in your capabilities. Katsuki exudes confidence, and a strong belief in your abilities can positively impact your academic performance.

Be flexible in your approach to learning. Katsuki adapts his fighting style, and similarly, adapt your study techniques to different subjects or challenges.

Regularly reflect on your progress. Katsuki analyzes his battles for improvement; evaluate your academic journey to identify areas for growth.

Learning, Bakugo-style, means embracing the fact that doubters will always exist, no matter your achievements. Instead of seeking external validation, channel that energy into mastering your skills and gaining knowledge for your own growth. The focus should be on personal improvement and the satisfaction that comes from overcoming challenges, rather than proving yourself to others.

Periodically review past material to reinforce your knowledge. Katsuki often reflects on his battles to improve his combat strategy. Apply this concept to your studies for a solid foundation.

Test yourself regularly to identify weak points. Katsuki constantly challenges himself in battles to enhance his abilities. Use quizzes to gauge your progress and strengthen areas where you struggle.

Develop mental resilience to overcome setbacks. Katsuki faces defeats but bounces back stronger. Treat failures as stepping stones, learning from them to improve and move forward.

#bakugo katsuki #study like Bakugo #bakugo #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader #kacchan #bakugo headcanons #mha headcanons #bakugou katsuki #bakugo fluff #bakugou katsuki headcanons #bakugou fluff #mha fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x you

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