Use Me (mv1)

use me (mv1)

max x reader

summary: max needs a way to take his frustrations out, you offer yourself to him

notes: !! contains smut minors dni !! i have other stories in the works but as a max girlie this took precedent, it had to be done after watching the singapore quali

You were on the edge of your seat watching the remaining 15 cars zoom around the track. Both the Red Bulls had been having issues during the weekend, not driving as fast as they had been in previous races.

You watched as your boyfriend, the reining world champion, made his final lap in Q2, scoring fairly low, and just falling further down the list as other drivers crossed the line. Liam Lawson of all people was the one to push Max down to 11th. You had to admit the kid was talented, but you knew Max was going to be very unhappy with the results.

You knew you were right when you saw Max get out of his car before they had even pulled it into his garage. He stormed away, pulling his helmet off his head as someone practically had to chase after him.

“He’s going to be pleasant.” A voice pulled your attention away from the scene in front of you.

Christian stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his headset now resting around his neck.

“He’ll be fine.” You tell him, however you know just how explosive Max can get when he doesn’t do well.

“You should go see him, calm him down. He won’t kill you.”

You snort. “Right.”

“Think you can calm him down in the next 30 minutes?” He asks.

“I can try.” You stand up to start heading in the direction Max walked off in.

You find him sitting in a corner, drinking from his water bottle, his eyes trained on the ground ahead of him.

You stand next to him and run a hand through his hair. While he would usually lean into you, craving more of your touch, he doesn’t react now, unmoving from his current position.

“How are you?” You ask, in an attempt to tread safely.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m great, how are you?” He doesn’t hide the sarcasm in his tone.

You tilt his chin up so that he’s looking you in the eyes. You can practically see the anger swimming around in the blue eyes you fell in love with.

“You know the press are going to eat you alive if you walk in with that attitude.” You tell him.

He rolls his eyes, and looks back down ahead of him. “They’ll be cheering, dancing on my grave.”

You glance down at your watch. 25 minutes until Max will be needed for press. 25 minutes to bring back your happy Max.

“C’mon.” You take his hand, and slowly pull him up.

“Where are we going?” He asks, following you.

You lead him back to Red Bull hospitality, taking him up to his driver’s room. It’s small, a massage table sits in the corner, a shelf against the wall with more race suits and fireproofs.

“You need to get your anger out before you go do press.” You tell him as you lock the door.

“What, do you want me to throw things around the room?” He asks with his hands on his hips.

“I want you to fuck me.” You tell him, your voice completely serious.

He looks shocked for a moment. The two of you were always pretty private in your relationship, never showing too much PDA, and never having sex anywhere outside of your home. His shock soon dissipates, and turns into thoughtfulness, as if he’s thinking about the risk versus the reward.

You walk towards him in the center of the room. Your hands lift to his shoulders, softly massaging them before your arms wrap around his neck. You lean your head towards his, softly nudging your nose against his. He already looks like he’s losing his self control, his eyes watch your lips as you whisper to him.

“Use me, Max.”

He dives down to kiss you, his lips firm against yours. There’s no asking for permission for his tongue to enter your mouth, it pushes past your lips and tangles with yours.

You grip onto his hair as he hoists you up on the massage table. He stands between your legs, trailing his lips down your neck, leaving a trail of teeth marks on any skin he can find.

He tugs your shirt and bra off, flinging them to some corner of the room, desperate to have access to more of you. He travels down your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples, teeth softly biting at it while his fingers find the other, pinching at it. After he’s satisfied he switches to the other, continuing his work.

Your pants and underwear are the next to come off as Max trails his fingers along your center. He smirks when he feels your hips move to meet his hand.

He pulls a whimper from you when his thumb brushes against your clit. He kneels down, pulling you to the edge of the table and lifting your legs over his shoulders. His hands press down on your abdomen to keep you still as his tongue laps over you.

His nose brushes against your clit, send a jolt to your hips. His hands press down harder on you as his eyes look up to meet yours. They’re a stormy blue now, his pupils enlarged and eyelids hooded.

“Stay still.” He says, his voice low and rough.

His tongue is quick to continue prodding against you, slowly pushing inside you as you let you a long moan. One of your hands flies to his hair, tangling itself in his light brown locks, as your other keeps yourself propped up.

Your taste is sweet, one of his favorite flavors really.

“You taste so good mijn liefje.” He softly moans against you as he eats you out, his nose now bumping your clit over and over until you cry out his name, cumming on his tongue.

This only encourages him, as he takes everything you give him. Your body is tired, exhausted from keeping yourself upright, ready to collapse on the table.

Max stands up and it’s only then you realize that he’s still in his clothes, his race suit still hanging off his hips, while you’re completely bare in front of him.

“I’m not finished with you yet schat.” He shakes his head as he pulls you upright to kiss you.

You can taste yourself on him, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when he’s kissing you the way he is. It’s all tongue and teeth and it’s messy, but still so good.

He pulls you off the table, your legs slightly wobbling beneath you. You’re surprised when he turns you around, keeping your body trapped between his and the table. You hear his clothes move around some more, the thick fabric of his race suit rustling around, then you feel him softly kick your ankle with his leg.

You spread your legs for him, wide enough to allow him room, but still close enough that you can stand comfortably.

He reaches a hand around you to feel between your legs.

“Think you’re wet enough to take me?” He asks. Max has always been a caring lover, even in his dominant moods he still checks in with you.

“Yes Max, please fuck me.” You lean forward against the table and push your ass back against him. You can feel his cock press against you as he grabs onto your hips.

He fists himself a few times before lining himself up with you then pushing in.

The stretch is a lot but feels so good. Max stills for a moment, leaning down to press a kiss against the flushed skin on your back.

His sweet demeanor quickly turns back to his dominant one though, slowly pulling out, then giving a harsh thrust back into you. You try to grip onto the table for dear life as Max pounds into you from behind.

Your moans aren’t quiet, yet neither are his grunts. The door being the only thing blocking you from the rest of the Red Bull team is the farthest thing in your minds at the moment.

He wraps an arm around your middle pulling you up so that your back is pressed against his chest. He’s still wearing his fireproofs, only having pulled the pants down far enough so that he’d be able to bury himself inside you.

The new angle causes him to sink even deeper in you. You feel so full, so consumed by Max.

He grins when he feels you clench around him. His right hand travels over your body, squeezing your breasts before stopping over your neck. He wraps his hand around it, putting a slight pressure on it as his other drops back down to where the two of you meet. He finds your clit, and rubs quick harsh circles into it.

He lets out a low laugh as you clamp down even tighter around him. He leans his head down, his lips brushing against your ear as he teases you. “You like that? Does that feel good?”

Your mind is so clouded over that you can only moan in response.

“Oh, you can’t use your words? You’re just dumb for my cock huh? It’s a good thing you’re so pretty.” He bites down on your neck, sucking a dark hickey onto it. “Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me again?”

You nod your head, feeling something tighten in your core for the second time tonight.

It only takes a few more rough thrusts before he’s got you cumming again, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer.

The hand on your clit moves to your hip so that he can control his movements. His release follows as his thrusts become sloppy and erratic. You feel his warm cum fill you up as he holds himself inside you. He keeps himself there as you both come down from your highs. He softly presses kisses to your back as you catch your breath.

You hiss when he slowly pulls himself out. His hand falls away from your neck as he uses both to make sure you don’t collapse to the floor. He turns you back around and lifts you back up onto the table.

He finds a towel and spreads your legs to help clean you up. The sight in front of him causes his cock to stir with interest again, his cum is seeping out of you, trailing down your thighs. Your skin shines with the layer of sweat that’s coated your body. Your chest rises and falls with every deep breath you take. Your neck has several marks along it, fresh hickeys to show what you’ve been up to.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asks, throwing the towel away to a corner of the room.

You give him a lazy smile. “Not at all. I really enjoyed that.”

“I love you.” He says, helping you back down from the table.

“I love you too.”

You’re both quiet at you get dressed again. You still feel a little wobbly on your feet, but are beginning to regain your balance.

“So do you think you can handle the press without chewing anyone’s head off?” You ask him as you both head to the door.

“Oh definitely.” He grins.

He wraps an arm around your waist as you leave his driver’s room and head back to the main area of the paddock.

Max gives you a quick kiss before he separates from you to do his post qualifying interviews, leaving you with the rest of the team.

When Christian spots you he sighs. “Y/n… no…” he says as he looks at the marks along your neck and the way your legs shake if you stand in one spot for too long.

You shrug. “What? You told me to calm him down.”

Needless to say everyone was surprised when Max was calm cool and collected during his interviews.

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus. 

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away. 

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance. 

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show. 

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo. 

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again. 

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister. 

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick. 

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of  your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. 

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league. 

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol. 

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask. 

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you. 

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem. 

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut. 

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension. 

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving. 

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled. 

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion. 

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.  

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold. 

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig. 

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand. 

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses. 

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement. 

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache. 

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils.  His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad. 

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first. 

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions. 

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you. 

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy. 

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt. 

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble. 

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets.  A woman can only make so many sacrifices. 

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check. 

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth. 

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar. 

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open. 

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth. 

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll.  You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air. 

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts. 

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning. 

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other. 

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him. 

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return. 

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess. 

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily. 

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal. 

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you. 

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms. 

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment. 

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you. 

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work. 

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember. 

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t. 

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled. 

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky. 

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point. 

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t. 

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace. 

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged. 

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder. 

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time. 

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble. 

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway. 

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together. 

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me! 

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky. 

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole. 

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed. 

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer. 

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost. 

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements. 

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right. 

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors. 

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response. 

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock. 

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?” 

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.” 

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer. 

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.  

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe. 

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.” 

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.” 

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern. 

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them. 

It won’t be happening again.

JEALOUSY, Niko Omilana

———————————

—————————————

Summary: In which your boyfriend Niko Omilana gets visibly upset and jealous at how close you we're being with your work partner, Sharky.

Warnings: does kissing count as a warning?

A/N: lmk if you guys want a part two !

also this isn't checked so excuse me if there's any common mistakes, it was rushed.

You met your boyfriend Niko through Sharky, and you couldn't be more grateful. You had immediately hit it off even though the vibe between you two wasn't the best in the beginning.

No one had thought that you, a complete different aesthetic would hit it off with someone like Niko.

Even Sharky himself could feel his blood boil everytime at the mention of you two together since he was confident that when he introduced you to the beta squad was that no one would come close to you.

It's not like you were a terrible person or anything like that. You were just your own person. A really known person who would show up on youtube to give up your own mindset about dating and how miserable it makes you. You weren't just babbling words for fame or attention, you went through a relationship that made you hate the idea of dating or falling in love.

You always promised to yourself to never date infront of millions of watchers, but of course, it was immediately changed once you had met Niko. He was a fearless individual with a strong personality and that was what drew you in.

You kept your relationship private, until Niko sneaked a kiss on your lips not knowing that there was paparazzi lingering around.

You simply didn't care and never really replied to what the media said, until it started becoming really annoying.

Of course, the internet wouldn't leave you alone, what'd you expect? So the only message that you gave to the world was simply, 'I was wrong about all the things I've said, because not every man that you meet is like the rest.'

But Sharky always felt deeply hurt after it was announced that you and Niko were officially together. It wasn't even Niko's fault, Sharky always kept these feelings locked away for the sake of your happiness with your passion of telling the world about your point of view and experience with falling in love.

If he knew that he couldn't have you now, he'll wait. Even if it was for years. Plus that didn't really stop him from flirting or observing from afar.

Niko would catch the way he looks at you, but of course you being oblivious, all you did was laugh whenever Sharky treated you extra special. You always thought it was because you've been friends way before fame hit for both of you, but you were completely wrong.

Niko would always be furious, but since he really didn't have proof for everything, he decides to keep his mouth shut.

"Today on beta squad, we're doing our very own edition of would i lie to you." Right after Chunkz makes the announcement, everyone including you start cheering in excitement.

Niko snakes an arm around your waist as he laughs in excitement and you turn to look up at him with butterflies swarming in your stomach. No matter how long the relationship you two have been together, you always felt this fuzzy feeling that always hit you and made you dizzy, the same exact warmth she had when she first met Niko.

They had thought it'd be a great idea to invite you for a video, just like how it is all the time. So you easily accepted, being really happy to be around them, especially Niko.

"On team one, on my right hand side, we have Nikolas Omilana, y/n y/l/n, and Sharky!" Niko was a little annoyed that out of all the people sharky had to be on their team, but irregardless, he was going to make sure that Sharky doesn't get too close.

"On my left hand side, we got Yung Filly, Aj shabeel, and King kenny!"

"They're all terrible liars, especially the gyall right there." Filly points at you and you just shrug, knowing that you had a tactic to work with.

"Let's start with this team first." Chunkz points at your team and Sharky was the first to start.

"You can do this." You whisper to Sharky and Niko obviously looking at you, felt his jaw tense.

He couldn't careless if this was Aj, Chunkz, Kenny, or even Filly, because he could clearly tell who liked you in a friendly way and he definitely knew Sharky liked you more than a friend.

"I got circumcised by a random Somali man." Sharky says and immediately everyone started to laugh, including you.

"Yeah, my mom knew at the age of 9." He nods with a straight face.

"So your mom let a random man touch your dick?" Niko who was supposed to be on your team, says to Sharky.

"Ay that's cheating! He's making it obvious that it is a lie." Aj points at Niko.

You nudge Niko playfully with your elbow and give him a look like you were telling him to behave and he just sends you a wholesome grin.

"Just a quick question. Any mandem over here seen his sausage? Or maybe the gyall over the–" Filly questions with a genuine hope that someone did see it, but Kenny immediately slaps the back of his neck to shut him up.

Niko's stomach turned at the statement even though it was clearly a joke, but it made him physically sick. He looks over to you, worried that it made you uncomfortable.

You on the other hand laugh it off for the sake of the video since you knew that's the humor that you had to take whenever you were filming with them, otherwise you being uncomfortable would've been seen as too dramatic among the fans. So, you just send a nod and a smile to Niko.

Chunkz agrees at Filly's question of him being circumcised and everyone let's out 'woo's' and 'ooh's' and he clarifies that it needs to be done because his religion said so for purification.

—

After a while the other team come into conclusion that it was false. Sharky shakes his in disapproval and shows them the side where it says true, and they all sigh and even let out yells of disapproval.

You on the other hand, wrap your arms around Sharky's shoulders as you both jumped into union and excitement.

Despite the grin on Niko's face, he was pissed. Seeing your cheeks a little flushed and your smile reaching your ears made him question himself. Do you laugh like this with him? Does he make you feel that happy?

All the thoughts swarm in his head and his stomach drops every second at the thoughts coming and he tries to push them off by focusing on it being Filly's turn.

—

It was currently the last round and both teams were tied. Your team decided to pick you for it since you knew how to get the other team confused. The other team picked Filly since he was the guest. If both teams tie again, you were going to keep going until one team wins.

You sigh deeply and grab your card, "I was expelled in 11th grade because my history teacher accused me of hitting her." You say with a straight face, but once you've seen Filly's face who was currently trying to hold in his laugh, you bite your lip to stiffen in your laughter.

"She's lying innit because she's laughing over there." Filly tells his teammates.

"I'm sorry, im sorry– but I can surely tell you that i am telling you the truth." You genuinely say but Aj was shaking his head as he was narrowing his eyes at you.

Kenny squints his eyes at you, "Tell us the story of what happened."

"So basically, I used to speak a lot during sessions and no matter how many times she's told me to shut up, yeah? I never did shut up and uh," You pause for second, trying to remember what had happened.

"She paused, she's thinking about how to fake the story." Kenny says and everyone yells as if they've caught the fact that you were 'faking' it.

"Ay, leave her alone. Let her continue." Sharky responds to them. Niko sends an annoyed look at Sharky, not caring if the camera caught it.

"Anyway, she was really mean for no reason and only had one way to expel me, and that is to lie. And let me just tell you something, yeah? She had to cry infront of the school administration to convince them that I did hit her. There's not much to say since the statement is direct and has no other explanation, but she hated the entire class and especially me." You explain and the opposed team starts laughing.

"Ay, she's good at waffling, but definitely a terrible liar." Aj speaks to the camera.

Niko began laughing at how your face was flushed in embarrassment, "Cold, cold. How do you feel being laughed at, baby?" He whispers in your ears but makes sure that everyone hears and rests his hand on your hips and makes sure his eyes meets Sharky who was already looking at him. You bite your bottom lip at how he presses his front against your back, forgetting for a moment that the camera was on.

"Take your hands off of her, Omilana. Not infront of the pizza shaped kid right across of you and the possibility of thousands of kids watching you." The host, Chunkz, warns Niko and he raises his hands up in surrender but sends you a glance that was far from innocent, and he tries to make sure that Sharky was looking at the entire interaction.

"Is that it?" Aj questions and you just simply nod.

"Bruva I can't lie, I have a deep feeling that she's told all of us this story before." Kenny says and you try not to wince, because you did indeed tell them before when you all hung out.

You just keep your straight face on at his statement, but inside, you could feel yourself screaming. You always took these challenges seriously.

"I'm not convinced that such teacher would do that." Filly shakes his head and you notice Aj nodding at his words. You internally beg that they would make it a lie.

They whisper to each other until Kenny grabs the stick that had lie and true, "We all think it's a lie." they come into conclusion and you could feel yourself grin.

"Alright, y/n, go ahead and reveal your answer." Chunkz announces loudly.

"It is..."

You show the side of the one that says 'true', "The truth!" You began laughing at their reaction, too lost to even notice the way Niko was looking at you.

He admired the way you were grinning from ear to ear and the way your cheeks were flushed and two strands of your hair on each side were laying on your face. What made him furious is the fact that Sharky was doing the exact same thing, admiring and taking in each feature of your face.

You pull both Niko and Sharky into a side hug as you jumped in excitement, "We could win this!" You say in joy.

"That's impossible! How could a teacher do that? Can't she get fired for that?" Aj yells, surprised.

"Maybe because she lied and she's the teacher which they would believe over the student, idiot." Kenny replies with a bland tone which erupted everyone's laugh.

"That is mad." Filly shakes his head.

You nod at Filly, "Go on."

"I once got locked in a car for two days." He states and you immediately grip Sharky's arm to contain your laughter since he was closer to you.

Niko just stares angrily at how touchy you were being this entire video. Hugging Sharky whenever you got something right or he did, constantly gripping his arms each time you wanted to laugh.

"That's impossible, ain't it?" You question.

"Just tell them the story, Filly." Chunkz says teasingly, clearly enjoying this.

"So uhm– so uh yeah. So–" He stutters.

"We caught him, we caught him!" Sharky says so loud that you laugh and shake your head.

"Let him speak you schmuck." Niko says a little aggressive, but no one picks up on it except for Sharky.

"I was around 7 and we had just got back from my first day of school and my mom took her groceries up to our house and left me in the car."

You couldn't take it seriously as you began laughing, "So you were in the car for two days? And she didn't drive you to school the next day?" You question, and everyone on your team and Chunkz let's out an 'ooooh' since you've picked up on something.

"We already know our choice. It's a lie." Sharky holds up the stick and Filly sighs.

"I'm sorry I did you both wrong, but yes, it is a lie." He says to both Kenny and Aj, disappointed.

Immediately on your left hand you felt someone pick you up for the victory, Sharky. He spinned you even though you feel a little uncomfortable about it, but you shrug it off.

Once he puts you down you turn to Niko and throw your arms around his neck and plant kisses all across his neck where camera can't see you doing this gesture. For some reason you could sense something off since you didn't feel the energy being returned. You just guessed that he was probably a little exhausted or tired.

"This confirms that this team had just won, congratulations to team one!" The host announces and the other team attacks each other and started blaming the other on why they lost.

"There's one important message that Filly and y/n have to say." Chunkz says a bit too serious.

You walk next to Filly and in union, you both say, "Play the trailer." The rest cheer and the camera was now off, everyone leaving to do their thing.

You run to Niko since his presence was the only thing that mattered to you. You see the way he was on his phone, not acknowledging your presence like he always does whenever you filmed with them.

You didn't think much of it and you wrap one of your hands around his neck, tiptoe–ing since he was tall. He always goes down a little for you, but for some weird reason, he doesn't.

You still reach to him after you struggle and your mouth finds his and you hear him let out a sharp sigh and his phone shutting off once your lips meets his. He places his phone inside his pocket and one hand wraps the front of you neck and the other grips your hip to deepen the kiss.

He kisses you like he's been longing to do so, but as if something comes into his senses, he takes his lips off of you and wipes his lips.

You're very confused by the action, but you immediately felt like there was somewhere to be, "I'll go to the lavatory and meet you outside." He just let's out a hum as his eyes were deeply focused on something in his phone.

You just chose to ignore it, not having anytime to start this since you both had somewhere special to be tonight. You and Niko don't live in the same apartment since you live with your best friend and so does he, so you barely find time to spend time together. You both had an idea of going out for dinner and just spending quality time for fun.

Before you took another step you see Sharky in the corner of your eye, coming to talk to you. Not wanting to be rude, you stood and waited until he made his way to you.

"Great game, they fans are going to love you even more for this." He smiles at you and you chuckle, flattered at this compliment.

"I'm so glad I had a chance to spend time with all of you." You send an appreciative friendly smile, but in Niko's eyes who was watching the entire interaction, was now sure it was far from friendly.

After that he definitely knew that he wasn't overlooking this. He had a huge feeling that you felt the same towards Sharky, and that just made him upset and furious.

So he gets up and walks up to the rest except Sharky to say his goodbyes and he leaves you all alone.

—

You hum to a song that came in your mind as you wash your hands thoroughly, drying them with tissues you had in your bag.

You get out with the widest smile, just for it to disappear when you see that Niko wasn't in the place where he was seated in the last time.

Confused, you walk to the rest of the boys who were all talking together about a conversation you weren't interested in, "Have you guys seen where Niko is?"

"Oh y/n you're still here? And what what do you mean by where Niko is? We thought you left with him?" Chunkz says, genuinely confused and even a little worried.

You furrow your eyebrows, "What? Left with him? No– I was in the lavatory for 10 minutes and now he's gone."

"This pussio just lied to us." Aj remarks jokingly, but there was a bit of a tone that indicated he was pissed that his best friend would do that.

"If this is a prank then seriously I have no time for this." You say with a bland tone and a fake smile, crossing your arms.

"Wallahi he left. He told us you were waiting in the car and that he had to leave." Chunkz was now completely confused on why Niko would abandon you, his girlfriend. Your fake smile immediately dropped.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised that Niko would even think of doing that. "Are you serious right now?" You said it more like a statement instead of a question since you knew that Chunkz was indeed telling the truth. Everyone's eyes are wide at the fact that Niko had just left you like that. You were also shocked.

You slightly scoff at how disrespected you just felt at the moment. You even felt embarrassed since you had no idea how you were going to get to your apartment or even get to him.

"I could drive you home if you'd like?" You hear Sharky offer.

"No I don't wanna tire you. Aj you live with him right? Can you drive me there or are you staying here for a while?" Your voice wavers as you speak, but you tried to keep a stern face.

Aj looks at you concerned and so does the rest, "That's so low, even for Niko." Filly remarks and unexpectedly he gets up and hugs you, almost squeezing you almost to death.

You hear the rest laugh at how soft Filly was, "Ay you crushing the poor gyall!" Chunkz remarks but that doesn't stop him from joining in the hug aswell.

"Jokes aside though, you good y/n?" Kenny asks with a genuine hope that you were truly fine.

You nod and chuckle, "Mhm, I'm fine. I can assure you that I'm completely fine." But deep down, you knew you weren't.

"I'm sorry y/n, I would love to do anything for you but i have to finish something up. If that's okay, you could stay for a little and I could drive you?" Aj asks with a little suggestive tone and everyone was practically begging you to stay with how they looked at you.

"As much as I don't wanna miss out on the opportunity to spend more time with you guys, I really want answers from Niko–"

"So does that mean I could drive you?" Sharky immediately speaks and you roll your eyes and nod with a chuckle.

"Alright let's go."

—

Sharky offered to stay at his car and wait for you and you say that it was alright if you could get a cab as a way to your apartment but he kept on insisting and you couldn't say no.

Now you could feel the anger rising as you walked to his apartment, entering the apartment with your spare key, angry with how Niko had just left you there. How did he even dare to do such thing?

When you storm towards the living room, you see Niko laid out on the couch, doing some work on his laptop.

"Seriously? You left me there? Did you forget about me?" You speak so loud you were sure that the neighbors might've heard, but you couldn't careless. You just wanted an apology in any sort of way.

He lazily shrugs and keeps his eye on the screen, and you could pinpoint the anger from the way he clenched his jaw at your voice.

You could feel your heart shatter at his action because he's never been like this. "Niko what–" You take a pause since you could feel the tears almost appearing from the way your voice cracked, and you most definitely didn't want to let him see you cry.

Once he's heard the voice crack, he immediately looks up with a hint of worry in his eyes, but it quickly disappears once he's seen that you weren't crying, immediately looking back down.

"What is this? What are you doing? Why are you acting like this? " The last sentence clearly sounded desperate.

When you didn't receive an answer, you shut the laptop aggressively and take it from him, setting it aside.

"I want to have a real conversation. Not a one sided one." You say, silently pleading for him to look at you or say anything. But he doesn't even acknowledge you, he just looks at the floor with a clenched jaw.

"Niko, you're hurting me. Where is all of this coming from? Look at me or just say anything, please." You could feel your heart beating rapidly at his silence treatment, not wanting this relationship to go any wrong. Words spilled out from your mouth like it was nothing, it was as if your heart longed for any response and therefore it formed the words automatically.

He scoffs disrespectfully at you, despite the way his heart hurt at the mention of you telling him that he was hurting you, "Sharky."

"What? Sharky? What about him?" You immediately respond, clinging on to whatever words he was going to say.

Truth to be told, you couldn't bare the thought of him leaving you. You were attached and in love with him to say the least.

"I really don't get how you can't see how he's basically flirting with you 24/7. I'm tired of it, and im extremely tired of you acting like you can't see it either. My girlfriend's surely not an idiot, is she?" His last sentence seemed a bit harsh, by the way he winced and cringed at his own words.

His eyes finally met yours and you could pinpoint the change in them. There was no warmth in them or the love he had for you like he always had whenever he looked at you, and you could confirm that you could feel the anxiety and fear kicking in.

"No, no, no. Sharky– Sharky will always be my friend. He does not like me and I assure you that I don't like him either." You say with your voice wavering and you shake your head as speak.

You grab Niko's hand, desperately trying to send him the message. What made it even worse, is the cold look he sent you. It seemed as if he was bored of this conversation and that he didn't want to even speak or continue.

He chuckles coldly at you, "You look really pathetic trying to convince me that theres nothing seriously going on between you and Sharky."

Your eyebrows furrow deeply and your mouth is slightly open at his words that stung you, "Because there's isn't anything going on." You say aggressively, feeling like you were talking to a crackhead who couldn't get his thoughts straight.

He rolls his eyes and slightly chuckles in a mocking manner, "Never knew that my own girlfriend is pathetic at thinking I wouldn't catch on."

Your mouth is open slightly at his harsh words that just kept coming more and more," What are you saying? I would never do such thing. Niko please–" He takes his hands off of yours and gets up from where he was seated.

He seems to be going to his bedroom, but before you could even go in to try and convince him, bam. The door was shut right infront of your face.

You were a taken aback by this, confusion and mostly hurt that he'd think of you doing something like that. You could feel your cheeks becoming stung by tears, looking around the shared apartment.

"Niko, I swear to God if you don't come out and apologize. We're over." Your voice was louder than you had thought, dead silence at the other side of the door. You let out a frustrated cry at his stubbornness when he doesn't get out.

Now tears fell like they've been held in for too long and You knew Aj was probably on his way so it was probably better if you just left, even though each step you took towards the door completely hurt you.

The plans you had for tonight with him was spending time with him just dining out and continuing the rest of the night in his room for since you both had been busy for weeks.

But now the only thing you were looking forward was how you were going to move on after this. Was it just confirmed that the both of you were done for?

You didn't understand what he was trying to do, it was as if he was trying to find an excuse to just leave you heartbroken and miserable.

You open the door a little too quick, while you walk faster by each second that passed by.

It was getting hard to breath. Your cries were heard through the halls, your brain telling you to suck it in. Your crying was getting loud as you felt a panic attack was close, you didn't feel good at all.

Your hand made its way to your mouth to stop yourself from crying even louder, the other pushing the elevator button.

Come run after me, Niko. Please come I really need you. You silently beg inside your head. You wait for the elevator, tears still finding its way out.

But you knew he wasn't going to come, it was his plan all along to push you away, at least that's what you had thought. You just needed to leave, you felt like the walls were starting to close on you.

And now the world was going to see you as the pathetic, stupid, 'y/n y/l/n who thought she could ever have a healthy relationship.'

—————————————

give you my wild, give you a child

note: it's been so long since i've posted anything, missing posting and you guys, so here it is a charles fic 🎀🫶 word count: 1,3 k

You stared at the test in front of you. Two lines. This is it. You were pregnant, you were going to have a baby, with charles. The adrenaline of the situation got to you and you started crying. Your heard immediately thought ‘hormones’ following by a thought of the amount of times you were going to be able to use that excuse. You laughed at that, but also laughed of happiness, your hand coming to rest on your stomach as you looked down.

“hi baby” you whispered ever so gently.

You wanted to tell charles, you wished he was here, next to you, but he wasn’t, he was in Italy. This weekend was going to be special for charles, it was monza, everyone knew how much monza meant to Ferrari. You though about calling him but decided against it, after all, it could affect his racing or his focus and that was the last thing you wanted.

Keeping it a secret from him was harder than you expected, every time he’d call, you had to bite your tongue not to say it. You had decided you were going to plan something special, not telling him over the phone.

-

You sat on your couch watching the race, on the edge of your seat, charles had managed to snatch P2 yesterday and you were so proud of him, but you knew he wanted more. Luckily for him, the monza curse struck again and Verstappen had to retire the race, leaving your boyfriend in P1.

You didn’t want to get very excited because it was Ferrari, a simple strategy mistake and charles could loose the highest place on the podium, but he didn’t. you watched proudly as you boyfriend lifted his champagne bottle, spraying all the tifosi there watching him.

-

You had tried to stay awake till he got home, but sleep got the best of you, because when you woke up, you were no longer in your couch, wrapped around your blanket, you were in bed, charles arm wrapped around your waist, his hand stroking you back and his eyes glued to yours.

“good morning, mon ange” he whispered and you swore you felt butterflies in your tummy, you wondered if the baby feels it too, or something like that.

“good morning, I’m so proud of you, like bursting out of pride” you kissed him fearlessly, pouring out every bit of your love for him

“wow, if you’re like this when I win, then I should win more often” he joked “did you watch me?”

“of course I did, you were so great” you placed your hand on your stomach but quickly realized your mistake and placed it on his cheek

He kissed you again before he quickly sat up “I am making YOU breakfast” he brushed your leg softly and disappeared down the hallway.

After eating breakfast, you were going to finally tell him, but he had other ideas “I’m gonna shower, I didn’t do it last night because you were asleep, but I smell like champagne” he gave you a peck on your lips and left without saying another word.

-

You heard the shower stop as you sat anxiously on the bed, a small box next to you. He finally came out of the shower and you couldn’t help but eye him up and down, I mean, the guy looked like a Greek god, water still dripping and his chest fully exposed with a towel hanging around his hips

“oh, I didn’t know you were here” he leaned down to kiss the top of your head “are you ok? What is that?” he pointed to the box

“sit” you said seriously and he chuckled gently before realizing your tone was serious and sitting down, his face immediately dropping

“are you ok?” he grabbed your hands and gave them a tight squeeze “please talk to me”

“I have something for you” you handed him the box, and watched closely his reaction while opening it

Inside, he found a small Ferrari onesie with the name Leclerc on the back. You hoped for any kind of reaction, anything really, but he only smiled at you.

“aw, you bought something for Chiara? It’s cute but I think it’s a bit too small for her” he said and you were a bit incredulous how he didn’t got it but still managed to pull a laugh at his assumption that it was for his best friend’s baby.

That was the thing with charles though, no matter how scared or nervous you were, he always found a way to make you laugh, and you loved it.

“the thing is.. this is not for Chiara” you placed his hand on your stomach and a tear escaped your eyes

“wait.. really?” he asked, his eyes getting full of tears now “like, really?” those were the only words coming out of his mouth and honestly you couldn’t judge because you couldn’t say anything, you could only nod at him

Next thing you know, charles was pulling you in for a kiss, one that left you breathless. He picked you up and spun you around, pulling you up so your legs wrapped around him. Both of your hands came to his face and cleaned the few tears that laid on his cheeks and he mimicked your movements by kissing every inch of your cheeks til there was no tears

“Are you sure?” he asked and you climbed out of his arms to show him the test you had in your bag

“pretty sure” you both stayed still for a moment, this was going to happen, you and charles were going to be parents. As you both started to realize this, you couldn’t help but wonder how you had gotten so lucky in life. “Are you happy?”

He took a few steps in your direction and pulled you in close to him, close enough that you could feel in breath on you “of course I am, you make me the happiest, I love you so much, mon amour, and I promise, I will be the best father”

“I know” you whispered, only loud enough so he could hear.

“no, I mean it, I’m gonna be the best, I’ll always be there and I’ll never, EVER, gonna let anything happen to the two of you, ever, you’re my world” he walked with you so your back fell into the mattress, his fingers playing with the hem of your (his) shirt, lifting it up enough so that he could see your belly, reaching to touch it, kneeling in front of you, his lips connecting with your stomach, whispering something to the baby, something you couldn’t even hear yourself. You immediately started crying when you saw him shed a tear, him immediately rising up to his feet, his hands on your shoulders “why are you crying? Are you okay, mon ange?”

“Yes, yes, I just… I was so scared of how you were going to react and… you know” you moved your hands around, stopping when he started laughing. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re adorable, and I love you too much” you simply smiled and let him kiss you, for a second there you forgot he was still in a towel and just realized how gorgeous and hot the man in front of you was, you must have been staring because you noticed him smirking at you, kissing you, letting his hands wonder around you, but you couldn’t help but notice how he was being a little more careful with you, too careful.

“what are you doing?” you pulled back

“kissing you…I’m sorry, did I misread the signs?”

“no, I want this” you point up and down at him “but I don’t want you to hold back”

“I’m sorry, I’m just scared to hurt you or the baby” you smiled fondly at him and kissed his jaw

“that’s cute, but I want you, and I don’t want you told back, please”

“I won’t, then” he picked you up, his towel dropping when he got the both of you in the bedroom. You didn’t know why you were so scared, this was charles, it was always going to be okay”

“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐨” 𝐋𝐍𝟒

Pairing: Lando Norris x girlfriend!reader (she/her), Max Fewtrell x reader

Summary: Reader and Lando share a sweet moment on stream, that the fans absolutely crumble over.

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Word count: 600+

A/N: I'm not really sure about this one, so let me know what you think!

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Copying and reposts are not! My fics are only posted on tumblr, under this account, @hotmencore

It was currently late on a Saturday night, and you were in the living room of Max's apartment, him and your boyfriend Lando on stream in the next room. You didn't mind at all though, as you and Lando hadn't been back home in the UK for a while, and you two had spent the day with your friends yesterday. You currently held a copy of Before the coffee gets cold in your hands, as you were finally coming to the last few pages of the book. A blanket lay over your legs, the only noise apparent coming from the TV playing at a low volume, and the muffled talking and laughs of Lando and Max from the next room.

You and Lando didn't have a secret relationship, but more of a private one. You came to any grand prix that you could, supporting him as much as possible whilst still working your own job, but didn't feel the need to put your relationship all over the internet. You appeared a lot on Lando's jgp account, which the fans absolutely adored, but that was the majority of which you were seen on social media, your own account being private.

So when it came to twitch streams, you preferred to stay out of the way and leave Lando and Max to it.

You just came to the last line of your book, and placed it at your side, taking a sip of the tea Lando had made you earlier. You put the mug back onto the side table, and tilted your head over the back of the sofa to look almost longingly to the door of which your boyfriend was. You wouldn't admit it, seeing that it has only been about 30 minutes, but you miss his touch. But you knew you didn't really want to be seen on the stream, so decided to leave it and just wait a little.

10 minutes passed, and you had decided that you were just going to have to pluck up the courage to appear on camera if you wanted your boyfriend. You got up from the sofa, put your now empty mug in the sink, and walked to the door, slowly pulling the handle down.

The boys stopped mid conversation to peer over at the door, just as you peeked your head round to see if you were in shot of the camera.

"You okay baby?" Lando asks, a smile playing at his lips.

"Yeah I just got bored" you reply with a chuckle, walking into the room, shutting the door behind you.

"Come here" He says, also with a chuckle, beckoning you over as he shuffles back in his chair, an arm held out towards you. You walk over to him, putting your hand in his, him softly pulling you down to sit on his lap. Your head naturally falls onto his shoulder, your face away from the stream as you shut your eyes, Lando's arms almost instinctively wrapping around your waist in an instance. Lando looks round at you, kissing your cheek before turning back to the stream. For a few minutes, him and Max carried on chatting, Lando absentmindedly dipping his hand underneath your top to trace random shapes on the bare skin of your lower back.

"Mate the chats going mad over you two" Max says with a chuckle, turning his head to look to Lando.

"What" Lando laughs, shuffling closer to the chat screen on the chair, you lift your head up to also look.

Pretty much every single chat that popped up was about how adorable they found the interaction between you and Lando, though you struggled to read each one fully as they just kept flooding through. All you both did was laugh, Lando and you looking at each other, giving him the chance to place a soft and gentle kiss to your lips, which you happily reciprocated.

PART 2 OF THE MADDEST OBSESSION HEADCANNONS. BRINGING THIS BACK CUZ IF WE DON'T GET CONTENT, WE MAKE THE CONTENT.

Christian is ambidextrous.

Gianna is left-handed.

Gianna gives Christian forehead kisses and it melts him on the inside everytime.

Christian is a shoulder-kisser. Cuddling? Shoulder kiss. Washing dishes together? Shoulder kiss. Waking up next to her in the morning? Shoulder kiss. Thanking his wife for anything? Shoulder. Kiss.

Gianna calls Christian "malysh" in a horrible accent just to piss him off.

Other times she reverts to "Allister" but Christian just pulls her close to remind her (against her lips, ofcourse) that they are both "Allister" now.

They have three children.

On days Christian is away on a work trip, he wears Gianna's hairtie on his wrist.

Gianna picks up on Christian's habits after Kat is born and finds herself aligning things or setting them upright unknowingly when she is distracted or stressed.

Christian breaks a jammed door when he can't get to Gianna during a powercut.

Gianna tries to seduce Christian multiple times during her pregnancy it works everytime

Christian has run out at 3 in the morning and threatened a taco truck owner just to fulfil Gianna's cravings.

Gianna checks out Christian's ass so often even Kat makes a habit of tilting her head and whistling under her breath when her Father is not looking even though she doesn't understand why her Mother does it in the first place.

Christian is always outwardly displeased (inwardly, at peace) whenever he sees his brother getting along splendidly with his wife.

Gianna stops forcing Christian to eat the sweets she makes but it doesn't stop him from licking her finger clean off the batter.

Christian has mastered the art of cooking with one hand because his daughter always wants to be held.

Gianna foaming at the mouth is speechless when she wakes up one morning to see a freshly showered Christian with his hair dripping wet, holding Kat in one arm and flipping pancakes in the other.

Sometimes Christian pretends to be asleep when he can feel Gianna watching him but he almost always ends up biting her finger when she starts trailing it all over his face.

Gianna has woken up to Christian snuggling against her neck with his arms wrapped around her, deep in sleep, too many times to ruin it by telling him he cuddles her in his sleep.

Christian is a girldad. Whatever his girls want, his girls get.

For his birthday, Gianna gets a number 3 tattooed on the inside of her ring finger.

For her birthday, Christian tells her another secret he's never told anyone else.

He's found happiness. Her.

GOOD LORD THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO END ON A SAPPY NOTE BUT HERE WE ARE. SPECIAL THANKS TO MEDS♡ FOR ALWAYS BEING READY TO SCREAM, CRY, BANG HEAD ON WALLS WHENEVER WE TALK ABOUT TMO!♡