Red Flags

❝here i blur into you❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: you've been stranded on an unknown island with your nemesis for weeks now, the air getting filled with unpalatable tension as you try to find a way to get away from him. one afternoon, the tension breaks as he offers his knowledge to help you train.

warnings: english is not my native language, reader also has a twin and has a similar situation as osha, reader is a bit paranoid, lot of foreplay from qimir, teasing, fingering, cunnilungus, vulgar terms,

now playing, acquainted by the weeknd

He smelled like sandalwood, filling the air every time he passed you by or handed you a plate of food. For the first few days, you ignored it, letting it brush against your nose, your thoughts concentrating on how to get out of the island or how to kill him without breaking the code. But after nights and nights of sleeping in the same cave, sharing his space, and smelling him in every corner, it started to drive you crazy.

You lost your nerves last morning during your hand-picked breakfast when he strolled into the cave after his morning swim, water still dripping from his hair, the smell punching you in the nose, leaving you dizzy and breathless. You didn't know where you wanted to go, but as you picked up your things and bottle of water, it wasn't your main concern.

The smell itself didn't bother you. He bothered you. You knew exactly what game he was playing. With your sister, he played the role of a big brother, older protecter that she always wanted and wished for. With you, his mask dropped, revealing a charming seductive character. Every time he handed you something, he towered over you, gazing into your eyes so intensely it made your knees shake. Or when he walked towards you, he took his time, his eyes going up and down your figure until they fixated on you, staring at you until he came so close you could feel his breath brushing over your face. The slightest touches of his hands, the knuckle strokes, the skin contact when he healed your wounds.

He was trying to seduce you, knowing your weaknesses, just so you'd turn your back on the jedi and stay with him. As a padawan, desire was one of the forbidden emotions, alongside hate, anger, and fear. You never felt the touch of another, not one you desired.

His act had its way with you. You didn't deny it, but it was just a role for him. A mask he put on whenever you were close. You wanted to know the real him and maybe even try to help him. Instead, you were met with lustful eyes and breathtaking smell of his. A few days ago, you returned his gaze when he spoke to you, to try to read his thoughts and emotions. You only saw the colour red.

After you stormed out of the cave, leaving Qimir wondering, you kept walking around for about thirty minutes before you found yourself surrounded by smaller rocks, standing ankles deep in a hot sand. It wasn't that far away from the cave but far enough to get away from him and his sandalwood smell.

You dropped your bottle and some spare clothes on one of the flat rocks, letting yourself fall on your ass, letting out an anxious breath. You had no idea what you were going to do, how to act, or how to survive the upcoming days. You were certain Sol was going to find you and save you. You started to think about Yord and Jecki. You weren't that close to Yord, even in your padawan days. Jecki, you knew from afar, but she always had a soft smile on her lips. Your heart ached for them, feeling guilty even if there was nothing you could do.

You sat there for hours, staring at your dirty shoes. You were frozen. You needed to train. You were sure there was going to be time when you would have to protect yourself against Qimir and his brute strength. He killed Yord with his bare hands. As long as you would attack his hands first, you'd be safe.

You found a branch, pictured it as a lightsaber, and started repeating over and over fighting methods you were taught by your master. You held up till the sunset, and when the sun rose again, you picked up the branch and started again.

You didn't bother with breaks. You kept going till your knees gave up, and your arms fell by your side. Your chest rose up and down fast as you sat down, the branch falling metres away from you. You rested your head against the closest rock, daring to close your eyes. You were away for almost a day, with no food, just water to keep you company. You slowly started to regret leaving so impulsively, but you had no idea what you would do if you'd stay another minute around the intoxicating smell of his.

You had to fall asleep, your body reacting to the unknown sound earlier than you. Trying to compose yourself as you rubbed your cheek, painful and red, from resting against the hard rock. You picked yourself up, turning around to find where the sound came from. It didn't take you long, for Qimir revealed himself, appearing just a few metres away from you, a bag around his shoulder. He took you in, scanning your body like he was searching for any weapons or injuries. He found nothing, only a thin branch right behind your feet.

"You could at least take some food." he broke the brooding silence and your mutual staring contest. His voice was soft, small tug on the corned of his lips. He wore his usual beige shirt, transparent to his muscles. You shook your head, trying to focus on something else than his forearms as he put down his bag to take out the stuff he brought you.

"I'm not hungry," you lied, holding steadily your position, scanning his every move. He took out all the food to put them on the rocks in front of you, gently, making sure not to drop anything. He didn't forget to bring you fresh water, new clothes and a lightsaber.

Lightsaber.

You took a quick step back at the sight of the lightsaber, your ankle meeting with a rock. He brought a lightsaber. He was going to kill you now. You were sure of it.

"It's for you," he read your mind, making himself a place to sit next to the food, lightsaber at the opposite end of the food row. He tilted his head, softly smiling at you. "The tide is going to end by tomorrow," he said, his eyes set low, eyebags underneath. "you could disappear."

"What do you want?" you asked, attitude and hidden fear in your voice. Why was he helping you. Why did he inform you about the tide and possible escape. Was he planning something?

"For you to eat," he smiled, his teeth showing up for a second. "I have no desire to hurt you or let you die of starvation." His hands rested on his lap, his eyes soft and gentle, morning sun reflecting in them. He was beautiful in this light. But you shook that though away.

"What's with the lightsaber," you pointed with your head to the weapon, not daring to move, feeling his eyes burn into your skin.

"I made it for you," he replied quietly, looking over at the saber. You flinched when he slowly stood up, walking towards it to pick it up, holding it so the handle could be in your direction. He was close, too close to your liking, a small circle of rocks surrounding you two. "Figured you'd want one." he purred, taking slow steps towards you, not breaking his gaze at you. Like he was waiting for you to run, taking in every detail of you.

He stopped at arm length, lifting the lightsaber to you. You didn't move to take it and just stared at it. It was small compared to his hand, plainly black.

"How long is it since you've held one?" he asked, almost in whisper, looking down at you with curiousity. You didn't answer, forcing to look away from the saber, mirroring his intense gaze. You tried to read him again but failed. You were too tired to even see one small thought. He took a step closer, instinctively you wanted to take a step back, but the rock behind you made you stumble, Qimir's arm catching you sharply, pulling you back up.

He was so close now that the saber handle was touching your ribs, his breath tickling your face again, the sandalwood, again, penetrating the air. You tried to move away, pushing against him, but he didn't move an inch. He looked like a marble statue against the light.

"Take it," he growled, shaking with the saber a little. When you still didn't move, he took your hand and placed it on the weapon, his grip strong and tense. "Turn it on," he moved even closer, the head of the lightsaber pushing against his abdomen.

Turn it on.

You repeated his words.

Turn it on and get it over with.

Only you couldn't. You tried to force your hand to move, but like someone froze it, it was paralyzed.

"I'm not like you." You managed to let out, breaking your neck to look up at him. "I don't attack the unarmed."

"When did I attack the defenceless?" he asked, still holding your arm firmly, keeping you standing in one place. His hair fell like a black curtain around his eyes that stared into yours, awaiting an answer.

"Jecki," your voice broke at the memory of her. She had no reason to be there. She should have been safe at the temple.

You heard him take a deep breath, his fingers slightly amplifying the pressure around your wrist. "She attacked first,"

"She was a child." You raised your voice, trying to move away from him but as much as you wanted he didn't let you.

"Your Master brought her there. He knew the risk." He replied, his voice soft and calm with no hints of remorse.

"What do you want?" You cried out, furrowing your eyebrows. You wanted to scream at him, punch him, fight him, erase the stupid smell he had that drove you crazy and confused your thoughts.

"For you to eat," he repeated, stupid smile dancing on his lips. For a second, you wondered why he wore a mask to hide his beautiful face, but you quickly erased it. With the final push, he let go of your arm and stared at you as you made your way towards the food. You devoured embarrassingly quickly, forgetting about the claim you weren't hungry. All the time he stood there, watching you carefully.

When you finished eating, you took advantage of the bird that took Qimir's attention for a moment to hide the fork and knife behind your belt. It was stupid, but it counted as something. You could sharpen it using the rocks and use it when he'd attack you in your sleep.

"Why won't you kill me?" You asked after you finished your plate, reaching for the water bottle. You felt his stare. Everywhere. At that point you didn't know if he was still playing the role of a whore or he just had a staring problem. Both options made you nervous.

"As I said, I have no desire to." He smiled, kneeling down to squat. He slowly started rolling up his sleeves, the scars on his arms now more visible than ever. His long, thick fingers were wrapped around the lightsaber, his other hand now hanging in the air.

It was useless talking to him. It was obvious before, ridiculous now. You nodded, accepting you won't get any honest answer out of him.

"Thanks for the food, you better get going now." You slowly stood up, your stomach full and warm. "Time for your daily swim." you added, hoping he'd leave you alone till tomorrow when you could swim to the other side and leave this abandoned island.

You didn't hear him letting out a chuckle, his dimples showing. "I can take one here," he pointed at the calm water in front of you, guarded by gigantic rocks.

Great.

"Do whatever you want," you murmured, trying to convince yourself you're okay with his presence. Naked presence. You saw him the first few days, where you followed him every morning, not trusting anything he said. He invited you to join him every time, and every time you didn't say anything, just stood on guard, scanning and taking in every movement he made.

He was well built, with big arms, strong back, and powerful legs. Was he stripping in front of you as a part of his act, or was he just that unbothered by your presence. You hoped it was neither. You rather got tricked than ignored.

"Okay," you heard him murmur, walking towards you for his clothes. You flinched, taking a big step away from him, finding the lightsaber lying in the sand. As he slowly made his way to the water and started to undress, you took the lightsaber in your hands, feeling it, remembering the last time you held it.

You started your routine again, this time with your lightsaber, the branch left lying in the sand. You were well aware he was watching you, motivating you to show off and not to embarrass yourself.

Minutes ran by before you heard a splash, Qimir walking out of the water. You didn't even think to turn around, but your body decided for you. Your head tilted his direction, your eyes going up and down his figure. It wasn't the first time you saw it but this time you saw it from a clear view.

Suddenly, you had a hard time swallowing the saliva forming in your mouth, your heart aggressively punching your ribs.

Focus.

You quickly turned your head back, hoping to remember what you were doing before you scanned his form. You wondered if it would hurt, or would it be pleasurable.

You felt shame thinking about these things, but you never received an answer. The Jedi around you never answered, and those outside you didn't trust.

The unknown heat overtook you again, you had to close your eyes to regain your focus. Instead, The Force directed you back to him. His grin fixated his lips as he put on his clothes, not bothering to dry himself. Water droplets falling from his hair to his shoulders, his muscles forming themselves against the skin-tight robe.

Opening your eyes, you took a glimpse of your lightsaber, unaware of Qimir slowly approaching you. You practised your movements, your hand twists, and leg work. You had to get used to the weight of the lightsaber after years of not touching one.

You stopped yourself from turning his direction when you felt his touch on your shoulders.

"Keep your shoulders back," he whispered, forcing your shoulders back into their correct position. You froze, now only focusing on the warmth reflecting of his body. He bent over so his lips could reach your ears, and his hands travelled down to your biceps. "Your elbows up. You have them too low." he simply added, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pressed your legs together, unaware of your need.

You listened to him, tho, keeping your shoulders and elbows in the position he moved them. His hands didn't touch you fully, only tickling the surface of your skin, but it was enough to make you burn.

"You need to spread your legs," he added, hearing a small smile while informing you. You fought the urge to turn and hit him in the face with the lightsaber handle.

When you didn't listen, he forced his knee between your legs, forcing them apart.

"So you don't fall over," he whispered against your ear, the little hair on your neck standing up.

"I didn't ask for help," you uttered, bitterness in your tone. You wanted him gone, but not for the same reason you did yesterday. For the reason that he made you have physical reactions without touching you. Having to press your legs together because of his voice. Feeling your skin burn by feeling him pressed against your back.

"You obviously need it," He smiled against your earlobe before pulling back just to let his hands fall onto yours, checking the way you hold your saber. He fixed the placement of your fingers, his breath on your neck erasing all of your thoughts. His warm wet chest pressed against your back, his breath tickling you. Your ass pressed against his abdomen. It was all too much for you. You shouldn't be feeling this way.

Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he was charismatic and soft when he wanted to be. But he wield the power of the dark side. He couldn't be trusted. You were scared the dreams you were having so often might become true.

"Use your thumb," he woke you up from your thoughts, pushing himself against your back as he held your hands. His voice was low and dark. "Place it on the top to hold it steadily. That way, it won't slip out of your hands, and you won't have to use strength to keep it in place." Even the way he talked and taught you almost drove you over the edge. You knew that's what he wanted and fought hard against it.

"I know how to hold a lightsaber." You hissed, shaking off his hands. Regretting it as his hands found its way to your lower back, pushing in, you had to hold back a moan,

"Straight posture." he simply said, ignoring you, leaving his hands on the back of your hips. You focused on taking deep breaths, hoping the heat between your legs would go away.

Almost as if he felt it, his hands moved from the back to the front, tickling the exposed skin of your stomach. You wanted to cry out, his touch driving you insane. You wanted to do something and, at the same time, nothing. You wanted him to take you, but you also wanted to drive the lightsaber through his skull.

"You won't fight anyone without a straight posture," he emphasized, pushing his fingers into your stomach, holding you in place.

"I've fought many people without you before." you replied angrily, a small moan leaving your lips at the end of the sentence as he moved his fingers lower, under your belly button.

"And did you win?" he mocked you, whispering into your ear. His hands right above the place you used your fingers while wishing they were his.

You were done with his stupid comments and mockery, pushing against him to turn and punch him, but he didn't let you move a muscle. He was too strong.

"What do they teach you," he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. "They don't teach you how to stand still or how to hold a lightsaber. Only how to surpress your emotions to become a hollow shell."

"That's not true," you argued. "We are taught to control our emotions, to feel them but not to let them get the best out of us."

"So why do you supress what you really want?" his voice turned into whisper again, his thumb making circling motion on your lower stomach. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew you were about to give up.

"Why do you shy away from your desire?" he added, using little to no strength to bring you skin to skin to him, feeling his length on your lower back.

Accidental moan left your lips. You closed your eyes out of embarrassment, wishing he didn't hear that. But you weren't that stupid.

"It's the path, path to the dark side." you stumbled over your words, feeling his fingers go lower, right above the belt of your pants.

Fuck.

"Then stop me," he whispered, his index finger going slowly underneath the hem of your pants. "Stop my hand. I'll let you." he added.

You didn't move a muscle. Only rested your head against his chest and let your arms fall by your side, lightsaber falling into the sand. You wanted him, and he wanted you. There was no reason to fight it. That was a problem for your future self.

"Tell me," he purred, his right hand painfully slowly maling their way to the hem of your panties. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

He was mocking you, playing with you. He knew no one ever had. You didn't count. "No," was your simple answer, wanting to dig yourself a deep hole in the ground and bury yourself in it.

"How does it feel?" he asked, his fingers finally reaching your wet bundle of nerves, slowly starting to circle your clit. You grabbed his arm out of shock, digging your nails into his skin. It felt too good. You were dripping wet, it was too easy for him to find your weak spot.

"As a Jedi, you can't even be with the people you love," he murmured into your ear before starting to leave small kisses down to your neck. "Can't give them the pleasure they deserve."

His fingers started to go up and down your clit, always stopping right before your entrance. You wanted to start begging for him to take you, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already have. You didn't pay attention to anything he was saying, only focusing on his fingers driving you crazy, making it difficult to keep a steady stance.

"What kind of life is that? Hmm?" His sloppy kisses and his fingers teasing your core themselves, almost had you falling over the edge. You were so touch deprived you were surprised you didn't cum when he touched you for the first time.

"Qimir," you cried out, wanting his fingers inside of you already. The first time, you said his name out loud. And he listened. His fingers stopped their movements, deserving an annoyed groan from you. He took them out of your pants, placing them on your waist to circle you so he could be face to face with you.

He didn't say anything before he bent his legs, kneeling in front of you, letting the sand swallow him. He looked up at you with pitch-black eyes, hinting on your pants. You understood, taking your time but nodding, letting him take off your pants and underwear.

The urge to cover your face and run away was strong, but the feeling of his mouth on your clit was stronger. You cried out hard, grabbing his hair as he dipped his tongue between your folds. This is what the Jedi deprived you of. You wanted to scream.

Qirim's tongue moved with rhythm against your dripping cunt, his fingers holding you still by your hips. Your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging on them every time he moved his tongue, teasing your entrance.

"Fuck," you hissed, your knees bending. Qimir quickly caught you, not stopping assaulting your clit. "Qimir, please," you begged. You weren't sure what you were wishing for anymore, but his name in your mouth felt almost as good as his tongue felt between your folds.

Your arms moved from his hair to his shoulders, holding yourself steady when his hand left your hip to put them between your legs. You caught a glimpse of his face when you looked down. Lustful dark eyes, messy hair, sweaty against his forehead, his nose and mouth covered in your slick. The view itself almost had you cumming on his tongue. So when his fingers joined the game, pushing inside of you, betwen your walls you let a pornographic moan. You were alone on this island but if someone was on the other end, you were certain they could hear you.

His fingers moved fast, in and out of you, spreading and curling inside of you. He was gentle with you at first but as he felt you getting closer and closer to the edge he threw all the respect out of the window, fucking you mercilessly with his thick fingers.

If his mouth and fingers had you screaming his name you wondered how his cock would feel.

"Qimir, I'm- " you cried out, wanting to warn him, but he felt it. The way your walls started to contract, crushing his fingers inside of you. His tongue kept circling your clit, adding to the pleasure. You were sure you formed new scars on his shoulders as you came hard around his fingers and tongue, failing to catch your breath and keep your legs straight and strong.

He held you for a few minutes as you rested against him, his lips still glossy with your wetness. Without thinking, you bended over to press your lips against his, tasting yourself, mixed with the flavor of him.

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.5K

A/N: A Gavi fic where Gavi will finally be involved. How innovative.

Also the urge to change perspectives and write "you" instead of "she" is overwhelming so I'm just going to do it. IDK why I'm giving all these disclaimers - I'm essentially talking to myself.

To say you were exhausted would be an understatement. Your failure of a date had already left you with a severe headache, and to make matters worse, the people in the apartment above you had a cabinet collapse, waking you up in the middle of the night to the sound of 80 plates crashing to the ground. Training didn't even start until 8am, meaning you technically didn't have to arrive to Camp Nou until 7:30am, when the debriefings of the day occurred. But you couldn't say no to Gavi.

Your time at Barca had started off rough to say the least. On your first day, you had been excited, dressed in the official physio team uniform, and eager to get to know all the players and staff. But when Dr. Gonzalez introduced you, the reaction was not very positive. You heard the players whisper to each other that anyone who Xavi wanted to keep off the field would be treated by you. While it hurt, you couldn't exactly blame them: who would want to be the guinea pig for the student-in-training when they had other physios available with years of experience?

For the first month, you only saw the players if you were in Dr. Gonzalez's office. Despite the constant instructions for the players to "see y/n first and only come to me with major injuries", your office was constantly empty. Everyone wanted to be seen by the best - and that was not you.

Pedri had vaguely remembered you from that night in the club, squinting at you and saying that you looked familiar. You had considered not confessing how he knew you, but in a desperate effort to have someone like you, recounted when you had met. He laughed at the memory, and yet still never came to you for any discomforts. Gavi, on the other hand, didn't remember a thing, and you were not going to remind him for one simple reason: he was kind of an ass while sober. While sweet to everyone on the pitch, he was cold and easily frustrated when things didn't go his way, and the nature of your job was telling him things he didn't want to hear. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, because 10/10 times the club will choose the generational talent over some student intern.

So you avoided him. You didn't make any offers to help with his muscle tightness. You didn't evaluate the way he strained himself on the field. You even refrained from looking at him in the eyes whenever you assisted Dr. Gonzalez with his physicals, because Lord knows this boy loved to throw himself around the pitch. Gavi treated you the same. In the rare occasions when he looked in your direction, he offered short nods instead of words. The only time you heard his voice was for quiet thank yous when you handed him his shirt at the end of the evaluation. You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you. The memories of Gavi leading against you, whispering softly that he drank to quiet his thoughts, were always in the back of your mind.

However, 6 weeks into your job at Barca, his cold front had to come down. You were in your office at Camp Nou, typing up progress notes from the day before, when some banged loudly at your door. "Come in." You yelled, still engrossed in typing up your notes, when the banging was heard again. You sighed in annoyance, opening the door and finding Ferran standing before you, holding up a limp and tearful Gavi. "What the hell happened?" You said, moving aside so he could lay Gavi down on the exam bed in your office. "He went up for a header and collided with Christensen. He landed pretty hard on his left leg, and then hit his head again." You glanced over at Gavi, watching the way he grabbed his left shin and writhed in pain. You walked over to him, trying to hold his ankle still. He immediately pulled away, sitting up way too quickly for someone with a head injury. "I don't want you to touch me! Ferran, where is Dr. G?" He shouted, the color quickly draining from his face. "He's not in until noon today. I already told you." Your heart sank slightly. Of course they didn't seek you out as a first option. There was no proof that you were any good at your job. You were just the only person available.

"Gavi, you could have a concussion, so please stop yelling and just lay ba-" "Don't tell me what to do. I'm not concussed. If you were good at your job you would know that." He replied. Now you were angry. It was moments like this when you were reminded that, despite his talent, Gavi was still a teenage boy, and if that's how he wanted to act, that's how he would be treated. You walked to your desk, grabbed your trashcan, and placed it in front of the exam bed. "I am good at my job, and given that you are paler than a ghost in winter, you probably are concussed. If, no, when the need to vomit becomes too overwhelming, do it in there. You can wait for Dr. Gonzalez for the next three hours, but don't get puke on my floor." You turned back to your desk, and resumed typing reports like you had been. Ferran and Gavi both exchanged a glance. "So you aren't going to do anything?" Ferran asked hesitantly. "I'm not going to touch Gavi if he doesn't want me to. If he wants to sit and writhe in pain and make his injury worse, that's on him. You can go back to training now." You replied without even looking up from your keyboard. It would be a cold day in hell when you let an entitled 18 year old doubt your competence.

Ferran looked back at the exam bed one more time before exiting the room and heading back to training. To his credit, Gavi held out for 25 minutes, a lot longer than most other concussed athletes. But the fuel of spite died down eventually, and he was leaning over the bed to vomit in your office trash bin. You suppressed your smirk as much as humanly possible. He then lifted himself to slowly sit up, and quietly said, "Can you look at my leg now?" You glanced up from your screen. "I know you haven't been out of school so long that you have forgotten how to say 'please'." Gavi huffed in frustration. "You know what? It doesn't even hurt. I'm just gonna get up and go back to training." "Yeah, stand on that injured leg. Take a week long injury and make it worse so you miss half the season." He stopped his motions to get up. You looked over at him, and he stared at you with that look of distress he always had on his face. "Can you please take a look at my leg?" He said, disgusted by the need to plead with you. "Much better." You said as you stood to put on a clean pair of gloves.

You carefully removed his sock and guards to get a better look at his ankle. It was slightly swollen but no bruising - just a minor sprain. He could be back on the field in a week. You pressed on different areas, looking to see if there were any where he felt excess pain. As you pressed right above his ankle bone, he recoiled in pain, hissing out a sharp "fuck!" while gripping his ankle. "Can you not injure me further?" He said while looking up at you. You sighed in frustration, and chose not to respond, rather just holding out your hand to indicate that he should give his foot back. He begrudgingly accepted, and you continued to examine his foot. "Mild sprain, nothing too serious. I'm going to bandage it and put it in a brace to keep it stable for the next couple of days." He nodded at the diagnosis. You went up yo his head now, shining a flashlight in his eyes to gage how bad the head injury was. "I'll have someone take you to the hospital to confirm, but it's just a mild concussion, like I said earlier. I'll send notice to Xavi to let him know you won't be at training the rest of the week. You sho-" Gavi jumped up before you could finish, making himself nauseous in the process. "I don't need to go to the hospital. Don't send anything to Xavi. I can work through it. I should just..." He couldn't even finish the sentence because he was reaching back for the bin to throw up again.

"Gavi, what is your problem with me?" You asked in frustration. He looked up at you in surprise. "My problem?" "Yes! You're always either cold or snappy with me, and always questioning my medical judgement. I know how to do my job, otherwise I wouldn't be here. So what is it about me that is so insufferable that you feel the need to be rude to me all the time?" Gavi was caught off guard. He didn't expect for you to confront him with such an honest question. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, finally bringing some color back to his face. He laid back on the bed and signed, taking a pause before replying, "You're young." Your brows scrunched together in confusion. "You hate me because I'm young? I'll age eventually I promise." He couldn't stop the small laugh that left him at that. It was refreshing hearing Gavi laugh.

"I'm not upset that you're young. Well I am but not in that way. It's just... everybody here has so much respect for you. You're 21 years old, but no one ever questions your judgement or decisions. Dr. G is 57. He's been a physio at Barca longer than I've been alive, and he still consults you on everything. You're so young and no one treats you like it."

You were taken aback. You would have never suspected that the reason behind his anger was jealousy (or admiration?). "Gavi, I think you have some rose colored glasses on when you look at me. Maybe Dr. Gonzalez ignores my age, but everyone else doesn't. Have you ever seen any of the players walk into this office? No. They all skip me and go to my boss. I'm not really that great."

Gavi turned on his side to face you. "That's because you're kind of intimidating, not because we don't trust you." "Wow. Always great to hear." "Let me finish." Gavi huffed. "A lot of us get injured in really stupid ways. I mean really stupid. Like the time we were messing around in the locker room and Pedri slipped of a bench while performing Bad Bunny. No one wants to walk into the office of the young attractive physio and say 'hey I hurt myself being an ass'. Dr. G? Her knows we're dumb. It's just easier" You couldn't decide whether to focus on the fact that Gavi had just exposed Pedri or that he just called you attractive. You just stared at him for a moment with your mouth agape. You composed yourself and quickly started typing out a hospital request and a training excuse. "You know that they respect you too, right Gavi? Your teammates all think extremely highly of you, regardless of how old you are. And the people on the other teams don't beat you up just because you're young. They're threatened by the amount of talent that you already have, and are honestly frightened by how much you can grow in the next couple of years." You finished typing and looked back to him. "And you're kind of a dick whose always tackling people on the field." Gavi let out another laugh, this one louder and more carefree, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "But no yellows thought." "Yeah, you must be bribing the refs." "With what money? You know Barca doesn't have any." It was your turn to laugh, being caught off guard by the statement. Gavi was picked up by his hospital escort, and visited you every day that week for rehab on his bad ankle.

Since then, Gavi used you like his own personal therapist, for both his physical and mental troubles. He would ask for you specifically for everything, from minor muscle tightness to major injuries. His confidence in your abilities spread to the rest of the squad, with more of the young players coming to you for assistance. Gavi always came first. You made the mistake of giving him your personal number "for emergencies", and he used it every day. He often asked you to come in an hour early so he could get personalized treatment without having to fight off Ansu and Balde, who always seemed to be standing by your door at 8am sharp.

"You're late. It's 6:45." "Good morning to you too, Gavira." You replied, handing your coffee and bag to Gavi while you unlocked your office. "I don't know why you keep this office locked - it's not like there's anything to steal." He said as he followed you inside, placing your coffee on your desk and your bad on the shelf. He had met you here so many mornings it was muscle memory now. "Oh yes, nothing important. Only the computer with the medical records of the whole team and all their personal contact information. Maybe I should let someone put your phone number on Twitter and let everyone know you're allergic to oranges." You replied as you turned on the lights by the exam table. "Leaking my personal information is one thing, but telling the public how to kill me is a little much don't you think?" He said as he hopped on the table, feet dangling over the edge. "My Lord Gavi, it's literally mild allergy. I would be telling the public how to give you a rash. Now what did you need me for?" You said as you pulled your hair back and grabbed some gloves. "You didn't see me limping as I walked in?" "No Gavi. You're always walking like you're holding a watermelon between your thighs. It's the hallmark of a football player. Now what do you want before I ditch you to go get breakfast?" "My right thigh and hip are really tight. I need help stretching them out because they feel misaligned." You sighed. "I taught you to do this yourself so I wouldn't have to keep getting up at 5am to readjust your hips." "I know that but it doesn't work when I do it!"

You shifted Gavi so he was on his back, proceeding to lift his right leg slightly and rotate it. Gavi hissed in pain slightly, but did nothing else to stop your movements. "I can't get a full range of motion when you're in sweats. Do you have shorts you could change into?" "Not right this moment no." "Alright then just take your pants off." Gavi whipped his head around, eyes wide at the statement. "What?" "You're in boxers right? It's like being in shorts. I don't have a ton of time Gavi come on. Now is not the time to be shy." You said, grabbing him by the forearm and sitting him up, looking expectantly. "I don't think that's a good idea." He said, avoiding eye contact. "Well than you can come back after training." He weighed his options and then got off the bed, taking off his shoes while you looked at him. "Do you have to watch me strip? Usually that's a service I charge for." You hadn't even realized you had been staring until he pointed it out, spinning around quickly in your chair. You heard him shuffling while trying to calm the blush that had started to creep across your face. "I don't get what the big deal is." You said coolly, pretending you had not just been overwhelmed at the prospect of Gavi stripping. "You change in front of the guys all the time." "Correct. Guys. Other men with penises who are not shocked by mine." You suppressed the urge to make a wildly inappropriate joke. "I have seen other naked men before, Gavira. I didn't study in a nun convent." You said turning back around when the shuffling stopped.

He was back on the bed, laying in his grey hoodie and black boxers, grey crew socks still on. He had his arms crossed above his chest, staring at the ceiling. You grabbed his right leg again, and started to move his leg to loosen the tight muscle. You folded his leg upwards, placing one hand on his knee and one on his inner thigh, causing his eyes to shoot open. His breathing got heavier, but he said nothing as you focused your attention on your work. His thigh was tight and muscular under your grip, sculpted and toned from years of training. You ran your hand along the back side of it, gripping and massaging the muscle to loosen some of the tension you felt there. As you put his leg back on the bed, you couldn't help but look at the bruises and faint tan lines littered across both of his legs. They were proof of just how hard he worked - how hard Gavi always pushed himself.

You tore your gaze from his thighs to focus on realigning his hips. "Hey, can you life your hoodie a bit for me?" You requested. Gavi exposed the bottom portion of his abs, desperately hoping that you didn't notice that he was blushing. You grabbed his hips, digging your fingers into the soft flesh to grab his bones. You ran your thumbs along the very bottom of his stomach, right before it disappeared into the waistband of his boxers, and felt how tight the muscle was there. "Breathe." You instructed as you began his realignment. Gavi always groaned in pain at this process. It was not a fun experience to have your bones shifted back into place. But it was a side effect of him dribbling (or as you would say waddling) with the ball between his legs for so long. It was not odd for you to graze the bottom of his abs, but never like this. Never when he was sitting there half naked with only one layer of cotton separating himself from you. He groaned from the pain of your movements and the pain of feeling himself start to get hard when you started applying pressure to his sides. He tried to think of something sad, something painful, anything besides the fact that you were leaning over him, touching him so gently while he was in his boxers.

Thankfully, you released him with a "You're all set", and he was able to pull his shirt down to cover his half bulge. You turned back around so that he could get dressed when the door opened. "Good morning y/n. Good morning Gavi in his underwear." Pedri said as her walked into the room. "It's just so she could stretch me properly." Gavi muttered under his breath, realizing that didn't make it sound better. "Don't worry, Pedri knows, he's been in here in his boxers several times." You say while throwing away your gloves. Gavi shot a look at Pedri from his position on the floor. Pedri put his hands up in defeat. "I forget my shorts a lot. Anyways, Gavi, Mister wants to see you so we can discuss new striking tactics." "How did he know I was here?" Gavi asked, smoothing over his hoodie as he stood. "Everyone in the city of Barcelona knows that if you're not in my car in the morning, you're in y/n's office. Oh, while I'm here, could I get more resistance tape? I forgot my roll at home." You rolled your eyes at Pedri, going to get him his third roll that week alone, when your phone began to buzz with message notifications. "Damn whose blowing up your phone?" Pedri asked. Gavi put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the door, pretending he didn't care about the answer. "Oh, just some guy I met at a club a while back. Actually, it was when I saw you there. Do you remember Martin?" You said as you finally found the roll of tape. "From Real Sociedad? Yeah, I remember. He carried your friend out of the club." "He messaged me last night saying he saw me when I was out yesterday, but was too shy to come say hi since I was on a date. He's been texting me ever since. I have to silence my notifications before he gets me fired." You replied easily. "Oh cool. See you later then, y/n. Thanks for the tape!" Pedri said, leaving your office with Gavi trailing close behind. Who had you been on a date with? He thought you were focused on your career. And why did this random Sociedad player have your number. His eyebrows stitched close together as he and Pedri walked to the locker room, and when he felt they were far enough from your office, Gavi smacked Pedri on the arm and asked, "When the hell did you see y/n in a club?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm really proud of myself - I worked on my application essays! And I actually started to incorporate Gavi into the story more. Excited about where it's going.

GIF credit to @gavidaily

A PROFESSIONAL INTERVIEW -- sebastian vettel

part 2/4? previous next

pairings! redbull!sebastian vettel x fem!journalist!reader

In which, Sebastian Vettel has always been a cocky, and an annoying f1 driver to interview, but suddenly his tendencies seem more flirtatious than annoying.

note: i've had a bit of writer's block recently and i'm still in it, so that's why most of my fics and recs may be coming out slower. hopefully ill break out of it soon!

taglist: @viennakarma, @chiliwhore, @i-wish-this-was-me, @sugyomama, @gcldtom, @bladestark (sorry if i missed you)

Qualifying for he Bahrain Grand Prix. You had a few media days and free pratice interviews, Lewis Hamilton seemed to be the driver reporting pairing your employers were looking for, or maybe he was just the driver they had randomly selected. One thing you would admit is that you liked interviewing drivers who were actually winning, it was less depressing, and people actually watched the interviews with winning drivers. All those days had gone well, media day, and free practice, good outfits combined with good interviews and good racing, but qualifying proved a struggle.

You awoke in the morning, groggy, and confused. You had an alarm set for 7:30 am, four hours, enough time to prepare your questions, shower, do some cute makeup, make a healthy breakfast, maybe even work out. You wanted to feel good about yourself, and waking up to be productive seemed like a very adult thing to do, but oh no. Your alarm hadn’t gone out, and you woke up at eleven. You let out an obnoxious scream at the glimpse of your clock, looking down at your blue sweater and white joggers. You swiped on deodorant, and brushed your teeth, you could get food at hospitality, and do your makeup on the bus ride there. You hadn’t planned on taking the bus, but your brain ran through solutions for your tardiness quickly, and taking a fan bus was a solution. You had seen the sign the night before. 

You quickly poured tea from the night before, and poured it into a water bottle. You put bread in the toaster, pulling your hair into two plaits as you bounced around, filled with stress. You poured jam on it, too lazy to even wipe up the jam from the hotel counter. You shoved it into your mouth, nearly forgetting your bag full of everything you needed. You were the worst dressed out of the women, all of whom looked like they had put extensive effort into their looks for the day. You curled your lashes as you looked over the notes, leg bouncing intensely as you skimmed over the question. You would be interviewing the redbull boys, was it something you were happy about? No, of course not, the memory of Sebastian ruining your date and then ending up driving you home still haunted your memory, and only when you looked down at your sweater did you realize something, that was his sweater! You mentally slapped yourself, how could you have been so stupid, you didn’t even know how that had ended up in your suitcase. You briefly recalled using it as a pajama top when the weather got cold, because you had been mainly using Y/B/F’s clothes. How stupid could you have been.

You arrived at the track five minutes late, sprinting full force across the pit line, almost certain you were in the background of at least three “on site” interviews. You nearly ran into Lewis, and the urgency took over you even more.

“Lewis, I need you to hide this!” You exclaimed, shoving the sweater into his arms. A pink tank top and baggy joggers didn’t look bad, but you did feel as if you were on the way to work out.

“Why?” He asked.

“It’s Seb’s, long story. I’ll explain later. Thank you so much!” You thanked the Mclaren driver as he looked down into his hands. He wanted to ask more questions, but you were already sprinting off, your tote bag hitting you in the hip as you ran. You arrived in front of the red bull garage winded, Mark Webber and Sebastian Vettel staring at you. You dumped your tote bag on the ground, and stood across from them, pulling your plait over your shoulders - you thought they looked cuter that way - and smiling at the two. Mark seemed content to act like the situation was normal, offering a small compliment on your minimal makeup, but Seb had to ruin it.

“Did you sprint the whole way here?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“I did, my alarm didn’t go off.” You told him. 

“Is that why you’re wearing sweatpants?” “It was either that or having bad breath.” You looked over at the camera crew as they hooked you up to a microphone. “When does this start?”

“A few seconds.” A guy replied. You gave him a thumbs up, and he signaled that they were live.

“Welcome to qualifying for the Bahrain Grand Prix, we are live at the Bahrain International Circuit with the Redbull boys, Mark Webber and Sebastian Vettel.” You introduced, smiling over at Mark and intentionally ignoring Seb. “Now, what are your thoughts going into the new season, any specific goals?”

“Well, we have a new car, so hopefully we continue ranking high, and winning races.” Mark told you, smiling. You nodded and turned back to Sebastian.

“And what about you, Seb? Do you have similar goals to Mark?” You asked, meeting his eyes despite your mind screaming against it. 

“A bit, but this year I’d like to win the World Championship.” He told you confidently. The camera would witness your reaction to his words, a bit surprised at his confidence, and maybe his lack of insults that you had obviously expected. “I was close last year, and I am confident that I can get there this year.”

“And I imagine that will start with gaining pole position for tomorrow’s race?” You said, trying your best to give an attractive smile, the camera was on after all.

“Of course.” He replied, flicking a small glance over at Mark, who looked slightly dejected by Sebastian’s answers. The blonde showing up his teammate once more. You asked a few more basic questions, and a couple that dug a bit deeper, before being notified that your time was almost up.

“Well, Mark, and Seb, I wish you both luck at qualifying, and I will see the two of you tomorrow for post race interviews.” You said, smiling at Mark, and not Sebastian.

“Will you be wearing the dress you wore in France?” Seb asked, and you begged your cheeks not to flush like they always managed to. “You know, black, very tight-”

“I didn’t pack it.” You interrupted.

“A shame, it would’ve given me more motivation to show up.” Seb said, shaking his head lightly. You frowned.

“Does the twenty five thousand euro fee for skipping not motivate you enough?” Mark asked jokingly. You took that as the perfect time to finally close the interview, clapping your hands together unexpectedly loudly.

“Well, that’s it for today’s interview, I will see you, and the Redbull boys after the race on Sky Sports!” You told the camera cheerily. The cameraman gave you a thumbs up, that it was over, and you smiled. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Sebastian open his mouth to say something to you, it was most likely something insulting, and so you turned to Mark"

“Good luck at quali tomorrow, Mark!” You told the dark haired driver before speed walking away, completely forgetting your bag.

Seb watched as you quickly walked off, a frown settling on his face. He understood that you most likely assumed he was going to say something rude, and rather on brand for him, but that wasn’t his plan. He just wanted to ask you if you needed a ride to the race tracks, after all, he had heard that the two of you were staying in the same hotel. He looked down, your bag still laying on the ground. He reached down and picked it up before turning to Mark, the driver you seemed to like so much more than him.

“Y/N left her bag, do you know her next interview?” He asked Mark. The brunette shrugged.

“I think she’s mainly broadcasting this weekend. I’m sure you can find her room number though.” Mark told Seb. The blonde nodded, and began rummaging through the bag. “Not like that! Just ask someone!”

Though Seb did find the room key, and read the room number over in his head, memorizing it quickly.

“She better have grabbed an extra.” He told Mark, holding up the key. 

“Y/N can sometimes be a mess.” Mark told Seb. Seb frowned.

“I mean, she’s very organized, and prepared usually . . . ,” Seb started, realizing what he was saying. Mark couldn’t know Seb’s actual thoughts about you, couldn’t know that he genuinely thought you were an incredibly smart, and rather beautiful woman. That would be a nightmare! As he walked down the pit lane, examining the other cars, Lewis walked up to him. The world champion held a blue sweater, Seb’s blue sweater. His mind ran through all posibilities, maybe you had given it to Lewis, those few interviews you had done together turning into something more.

“Hey, Seb!” Lewis said, smiling kindly.

“Hey, Lewis.” Seb replied back, trying to match the energy of Lewis.

“Is that my sweater?”

“Yeah, Y/N gave it to me this morning, said it was yours.” Lewis told Seb, handing him the sweater. “Since I couldn’t find her, I figured I’d give it to you. I didn’t know the two of you were close.”

“Yeah, well, some things just happen.” Seb said, trying to seem vague enough so that Lewis couldn’t be certain of what he was trying to hint at, but could also sense that Seb did not want Lewis and you dating

Seb waited in the hotel lobby for you that night. He was feeling good about himself. He had gotten pole position in the first race of the season, the Ferraris behind him. His plan on winning the race, and hopefully the championship were looking good. You arrived at the lobby later than Seb expected, he sat silently, and watched you talk to the woman at the front desk. He couldn’t look as if he had taken actual time out of his day to give you back his bag, and his ugly blue sweater.

“I know, I know! I don’t have my wallet. I left it at the race track, come on, do you watch Formula One?” You pleaded, hands placed together as if in prayer. “I can introduce you to Jenson Button, he won the championship last year!”

“I don’t watch Formula One.” The woman deadpanned and your face dropped. Sebastian felt himself standing up and walking over, feeling slightly bad for leaving you to suffer.

“I didn’t know we were both staying in this hotel.” Seb said, even though he did in fact know exactly that, and had asked a few other journalists what hotel you were staying in.

“Seb, hey.” You said, rather unenthusiastically, scratching the back of your neck and looking down at your bag. A smile appeared on your lips, and Seb pumped his fist in his mind. “You have my bag.”

“You left it at our interview.” Seb said, placing his hand on the counter, and then quickly removing it. It looked weird. He quickly reached in the bag and pulled out the sweater. “And Lewis gave me this.”

“Oh.” You said, frowning. “You can have it back.”

“I didn’t think you’d keep it. I thought you’d leave it in France.” Seb said, wringing the soft fabric through his hands. Seb was glad that even though the sweater was ugly, it was still good quality, most things he bought were.

“I live out of a suitcase, and I had planned on going home for winter break, so I actually don’t own any winter clothes.” You explained. It sounded like an excuse, but was probably the truth. He handed back the sweater and the bag.

“You should probably keep it then, can’t have a journalist getting cold at the paddock.” Seb said. You furrowed your brows, but Seb kept on talking. “What floor are you on?”

“Fifteenth.” You replied, beginning to walk away from the counter, he trailed slightly behind you.

“Perfect! I’ll walk you to your room.” He said, not giving much time for you to deny his offer as the two of you entered the elevator.

“Um, okay, what floor are you on?” You asked, looking very suspicious of the formula one driver who stood next to you.

“Twentieth.” Seb replied with a smile. 

“Huh,” Was all you said for the first ten floors, but on number eleven progress was made. “Nice job at quali today, a flying lap.”

“I’m pretty proud of it.” Seb replied with a shrug.

“Do you genuinely think you’re going to win the championship?” You asked. Seb paused before speaking, not wanting to seem overly confident, even if that was how he tended to act.

“I can, I have the skill, I have the car. Now it’s all about luck.” Seb told you. He watched intently, analyzing your reaction while you analyzed his words. Your lips pursed together, and you gave a single nod. Seb couldn’t tell if it was a nod of approval, or you thinking he was delusional. He had to continue speaking, maybe say something awkward or mean that ruins everything, but that’d be better than watching you over analyze his words. “If I end up winning the whole thing, do I get a date?”

Your head snapped up immediately, eyebrows shooting to the top of your head. You spoke slowly,

“If you win the WDC, you want to go on a date with me?”

“Sure, why not?” Seb asked. You looked confused when you exited the elevator, Seb taking a step out as well at the last second.

“Um, okay. If you win the 2010 World Drivers Championship I’ll go on one date with you.” You told him, trying not to laugh. You swiped in your hotel key card, Seb briefly glimpsing a messy hotel room. “See you after the race.”

Seb didn’t get a chance to offer to take you to the race tomorrow before you shut the door quickly. Leaving him standing in the hallway. He didn’t quite know what he had expected, you to invite him in? No way, you would never do that. He supposed he wasn’t used to rejection.

Your alarm thankfully went off early in the morning, you had fallen asleep insanely early, you had ordered takeout, too lazy and busy to go out. After multiple years of working in formula one, you had come to accept that you needed to relax on most days, and most likely wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate the cities you stayed in. You woke up early, doing a quick workout in the hotel gym, showering, and preparing yourself for the race. The hotel offered free breakfast, and so you devoured it quickly. You smiled at the mirror, pleased with your pleated white trousers and blue top. You checked your watch, a prized possesion of yours, the gold watch looked expensive, and it was, but it was a hundred dollars, not a few thousand. You had to leave for the race, you smiled, happy at the start of your day, especially compared to your nightmare start the day before. You slipped on nice shoes, and opened the door, doing a double take immediately.

“Seb! What are you doing in my hotel room doorway?” You asked, lips pursed together as you looked at the Red Bull driver, wearing red bull gear, of course.

“You were late yesterday, do you want to be late today taking the fan bus?” Seb asked, raising an eyebrow. You held up your hands in defense.

“I was going to take a normal bus today.” You stated, rolling your eyes.

“Okay well now you get to drive in an Aston Martin.” Seb said with a confident smile. You shrugged, you would go, but Sebastian Vettel would still be annoying, not much could ever change your opinion on him.

For the Bahrain GP, Sebastian was gifted a dark green Aston Martin. You could appreciate a beautiful car, and decided not to slam the door this time. You held your fancy tote bag in your lap, leaning against the seat and feeling a strong sense of deja vu to the end of winter break. Thankfully, you were comfortable in your outfit, and not planning on regretting your time during the first race of the season.

“Do you like dogs or cats?” Seb asked as you reviewed the words in your notebook.

“What?” You asked, wondering if you had misheard Seb. 

“Are you a dog or cat person?” Seb repeated.

“I think I’m a dog person, but my parents had a lot of cats.” You said, still confused by Seb’s sudden change of attitude over the past few weeks. “What about you?”

“Dogs, I don’t like cats.” He replied, eyes focused on the road.

“Are you allergic?” You asked, always wanting to ask questions.

“No, I just don’t like them.” He replied honestly.

“Oh, cool.” You said. You weren’t as fast speaking, and your brain never worked as quickly as when you were working. Those two versions of yourself were very different, you always assumed it was because you often needed a break from formula one. You could sink into another girl, and then become fast talking and thinking on race weeks. A part of you wondered if the people you met in formula one were surprised when you acted differently, wondering if Seb was one of those. You were still smart, and well spoken, but it was different, you didn’t feel the need to prove yourself to the thousands watching formula one when you were on the way to the Grand Prix.

“I think I’ll get a dog when I retire.” Seb told you.

“Why not now?” You asked. “You can get a dogsitter.”

“Yeah but then I wouldn’t be able to hang out with it, and it wouldn’t think of me as its owner.” Seb said. “And that would be sad.”

“My grandma had a little purse dog that she brought with her whenever she was traveling. She said it was a service dog but it was definitely not.” You told him. Maybe you were bordering the lines or over sharing, but you really weren’t sure of how to act during that situation. You couldn’t just start liking Sebastian Vettel because all of the sudden he decided to be nice to you. The two of you made slight small talk on the drive, and arrived in silence. Fans were waiting when Seb parked his car, only a few, but they were there. You  exited the car, trying to seem slightly invisible to the audience Seb held up his hand to help you up, but you stepped up away from him, and began walking away as fast as you could, while still looking normal. You arrived at the paddock, tapping your key card in and waving to a few photographers that you knew. Little did you know they would catch Sebastian sprinting behind you while you looked onward peacefully.

“You ran away from me!” Seb called out, stopping next to you. He hadn’t broken a sweat at all, stupid formula one drivers.

“Yeah, we have separate places to be!” You shouted back. The photographers are still snapping away at photos.

“Where are you going?” Seb asked, brows furrowed together.

“Mclaren.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“You don't need to walk me there!” You exclaimed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t get it, I don’t like you, you’ve been mean to me since I started in formula one, and it’s fucking weird because now you think you can be kinda nice to me. No, you can’t!” 

“I’m just trying to be nicer, okay? I don’t get why you’re so mad about that.” Seb told you.

“I’ll be mad about whatever I want!” You shouted back. You stormed off to the Mclaren garage, and thankfully Seb didn’t follow you, but a teeny tiny part of you wished he had.

You pushed your way through the fellow journalists to take your seat in the second row. Seb, Nico and Jenson sat at the table. Jenson smiled and waved, and you smiled in return, hands too full to wave back. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Seb’s gaze flickering between the two of you. You listened adamantly to the driver's response as to how they had performed. Nico thought he had done a good job pushing to advance, but thought he could have pushed a bit harder. Jenson, the reigning world champion, definitely was expected to achieve more, and Seb, he was mad. He wasn’t showing it very much, but you could tell. Losing three positions might not be terrible if you started out of the points, but from pole? No driver would be happy about that. You were handed the microphone. You weren’t quite sure who you wanted to ask questions to, and you decided on Jenson, a driver you were on speaking terms with, and was nice to you outside of work. Hopefully you wouldn’t ruin that.

“This is for Jenson. Obviously, there is more pressure on you to win a lot of races this year, and rank high on the World Championship. You gained one position this race, and people might argue that last year you could’ve placed higher. Do you think this is the result of driving for Mclaren, is the car better or worse then your car last year? Or is it a driver thing?”

“Obviously it feels different driving for a new car, but I believe I can continue to win and get high results this year.” Jenson that with a smile, you thanked him and passed on the microphone.

“Wait, I have a question for Y/N,” Seb announced. You furrowed your brows and accepted the microphone.

“You can’t wait and ask me later?” You asked, not enjoying being put on the spot in front of millions of watchers. You slightly fixed your posture, and glanced at the camera, and back at Seb.

“I can take you back to the hotel and tell you there.”

“No.” You said straight up. You were planning on treating yourself to a nice dinner, and in that moment was not appreciating seb's actions enough to invite him.

“Well, okay. Then, back to my question, are you going to the Red Bull Gala?”

“I wasn’t invited.” You said with a frown, a small flush creeped up your cheeks. You could never control when you blushed or not, it just happened, and you felt embarrassed, which always made it worse. Why was he doing this? You had stated your opinions earlier and wasn't planning on dealing with this.

“Do you want an invite?” Seb asked. The people watching would certainly see a taken aback journalist, surrounded by other confused journalists flash across the television. You were about to deny the offer, until Nico Rosberg burst out laughing. He pressed his face into his elbows, and Jenson covered his hands with his mouth, holding the laughter in.

“Okay, so . . . ,” You started, not planning on continuing your sentence and handing the microphone over to your fellow journalist. Seb’s eyes fixed on you the whole interview.

next

First Order!Poe Dameron

Oscar Isaac Week | Day Five

AU Day:

General Dameron is one of the most respected generals of the First Order and also the most skilled pilot in the galaxy.

His main goal is to take down the Resistance for good.

FERNANDO ALONSO                          one must fight.       (aka very important back shots)

This man.

May I ask for a first kiss blurb with Eric? I'm obsessed with him

Survival

A/N: yes you certainly may!! thank you so much for requesting something for Eric!! he's so boyfriend-shaped it hurts, and I still get teary while thinking about the movie. I'm enjoying exploring writing for him when there's so little to no dialogue in the movie! // words: 900.

His frantic breath won’t ease, regardless of the weight of your head on his chest as you both seek solace in a deserted bodega. He’s trembling so much that you fear the sound of his rattling bones will give you away to the monsters, even underneath the feral growls of the thunderstorm. Your heart feels just as restless as his, not knowing anymore if what you hear is the crackling of lightning or a guttural howl of the invaders. 

You soothe Eric’s side with your palm with great effort; his clothes are soaked, clinging like a second skin. He’ll never warm up this way. 

His big doe eyes seem to bulge out of his face as he looks at you desperately for help – meeting your equally perplexed look. You were his best friend, you accompanied him on this journey out of a pure sense of adventure and a lack of career purpose, similar to Eric. The path of law had been imposed on him, not quite desired. Now you curse your fate, chewing you up and spitting you out into this inescapable hell for which you’re unfit to survive. 

If only you had seen more survival shows instead of silly movies before all of this…you feel so helpless, so useless, and weak. There’s only one thing you’ve seen in movies that could work out, but, god, you don’t know. You don’t know if it will make things worse. There’s a phrase that goes, ‘You’ve got nothing to lose if you try’ but that’s far from the truth right now. Or at least that’s what it feels like when, at the slightest creak of your foot you might die. 

But Eric won’t stop shivering. You’ve got to try. 

You strip out of your sopping cardigan and t-shirt. His wet eyes nearly fall from his sockets at the sight, and under a different circumstance you might be flattered. Countless times you’ve imagined stripping for your best friend, and falling into his embrace. 

But not like this, not as you’re urgently mouthing out, ‘I’m gonna take it off’ as your twitching fingers struggle to undo his tie, take off his suit jacket and then cautiously unbutton his shirt, little by little, revealing Eric’s creamy skin to you. Weary that he’ll bit off the flesh of his bottom lip as he mouths, ‘okay, okay, okay’, you rush to finish undressing you both.

In a flash you’re taking him into your arms, so snug, like the embrace of a snake or a koala or god knows what other animal, you’re not thinking right now. Your brain is short-circuiting, buzzing with the knowledge you’re holding Eric, skin to skin like you’ve always dreamed of, but with a dreadful sense of urgency as you’re desperately trying to calm him. 

You tentatively look up, the moment you feel his shivers ease as you share body heat. He’s got his precious eyes closed while tears stream down his cheeks, focusing on breathing without loudly huffing through his nose or grunting. You nod to his calculated breaths even if he can’t see you, waiting to catch the moment when his furrowed brow finally relaxes. 

Honeyed eyes finally land on you, so wide and teary, looking like a little lost boy in the rain. He nods, over and over, as if he’s muttering his endless string of ‘okays’ without speaking, but there’s still this sense of hesitancy and fear. 

You’ll be damned if he tears through those beautifully plush lips of his, so you act on instinct. You take his cheek in your palm and kiss him without thinking about it. 

Suddenly, the world world stops. 

Or spins. 

Or rattles like a mechanical game on a summer carnival. 

His lips are so, so soft, like pillows, or cotton candy, like a bed of roses. He freezes for a moment before he kisses you back so delicately that he makes you believe you might be made of glass. You certainly felt that way amidst adversity. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer, carding your hair through his short wet curls, and moan softly when his tongue timidly enters your mouth – the hushed noise making you pull back with an alert look. 

Luckily, the storm was still raging outside, it was okay. You were safe. 

When the initial shock wears off, you’re gazing coyly at one another. It’s the first time you’ve seen each other completely naked and, not only that but your bodies are intricately intertwined as you exchange body heat. It feels a bit awkward to look down at your bodies and see how your pelvises rub against one another like puzzle pieces. It’s not about that right now. 

It’s about survival. 

And yet, he’s resting his palm against your cheek, his thumb soothing along your chin and bottom lip. His eyes are so transparent – crystalline with the effect of his tears. You see his thoughts cross along those chocolate irises, as he leans closer and closer. When he’s close enough for his nose to brush against the tip of yours, he murmurs, “Okay?” 

“Mhmm…” 

Your lips part to welcome him in; his kiss is more shared breath than anything else, brushing against yours as softy as a light, idly caress of the pads of his fingers on the top of your hair, on a time that seems so distant now, when you’d fall asleep on his lap while watching movies. 

His kiss tastes like salvation, survival in the heat of his tongue as he wraps it around yours in languid motions.

His kiss feels like the oxygen you need to breathe as you feel like drowning underneath this new harsh reality. 

˚ ⟢ .˚ 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 ˚. ⟢ ˚ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

[ oscar piastri x fem!reader ] - REQUESTED

┈⋆⭒ summary. after accidentally discovering one of your boyfriend's kink, you can't wait to try it out with him.

┈⋆⭒ word count. 2.3k

┈⋆⭒ tags. smut, pegging, slight fem!dom

⌇WARNINGS. none ‹𝟹

You hadn't meant to, really. You had forgotten to send an important email to your boss and were too lazy to get your laptop from downstairs; so you took your boyfriend, Oscar’s, laptop and opened it before typing the password in. It’s not like he had anything to hide or even that he didn't know that you sometimes used his computer: he was literally the one to share his password with you. But as your eyes widen at the video playing on the screen, you're beginning to feel guilty for peeking into Oscar's personal stuff. 

Before your eyes is a video of a couple, naked, on a bed. Now, you were not a prude, and with all the travelling he did, all the time spent away from you, it was not strange to learn that he might occasionally watch these kinds of videos but the fact that he was watching porn was not what shocked you about this. No, the man on the screen was on his knees, muffled moans and whimpers coming from where his head was hidden in the pillow. The woman was behind him, a blue dildo strapped to her hips buried deep inside the man’s ass as she stroked his cock. 

"Taking me so well honey, such a good boy for me." The woman’s voice is sultry as she praises the trembling man beneath her. She’s folded over his back kissing his shoulders as she jerks him off faster, never letting the movement of her hips falter. "I’m gonna come, mistress" The man whines and before he starts shooting ropes of white onto the bed, you close the laptop, your cheeks burning from embarrassment. Or was it desire? You weren't sure then and still weren’t sure once the strap-on you had ordered immediately after this discovery had arrived at your apartment. 

You hid the box inside your closet, your mind racing with dirty thoughts and a bit of doubt: what if he had been watching just out of curiosity? Even worse, what if he had watched it with disgust? What if he ended up being weirded out by how wet the idea of fucking him made you.

—

You'd almost forgotten about it until the winter break came. He had spent the first few days of his time off with his family in Melbourne and had planned to spend the rest of the break with you, in your shared flat. You loved seeing your boyfriend achieving his dreams and if you were honest, getting to visit multiple places around the world was not too bad either but lately, you really had embraced the calmer, more domestic lifestyle with the racing driver. You were currently seated on the couch across from Oscar, watching— or in your case pretending to watch— some boring Netflix show. You kept glancing at him, trying to find the courage to ask him about what had been plaguing your mind since all those months ago. 

"What's up?" He finally asks, realizing you weren't going to ask him about what was bothering you anytime soon.

Your eyes go wide; a deer caught in the headlights. You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding and slowly turn your entire body to face him. 

"Okay, well. Please don't be mad." you start, he furrows his eyebrows, urging you to go on, "I- I saw what you were watching a few months ago, I didn't mean to!" You quickly add. The poor guy looks completely puzzled. "The porn." You say, feeling your cheeks growing hot. 

He seems even more confused, "Baby, what the hell are you talking about?" 

"The pegging!" You say, louder than you anticipated.

He swallows thickly and starts looking for his words as his entire face flushes a deep shade of red. 

"I– uh…"

"It's fine! It's okay, really, I don't mind– I mean it looked kinda hot." You say, sheepish. 

"Oh." He says, although still not meeting your eyes. 

An awkward silence follows, both of you looking for what to say. 

"I, uh–" You get up from the couch and make your way to the bedroom, "Come." 

You stop when you're in front of your closet and look back at him.

"I- I bought something, a while ago. After, well, you know. I think– I'd like to try it." You tell him, pulling the box from the depths of the closet and handing it to him.

His eyes widen slightly and he looks up at you before taking the box. He opens the lid and pulls the contents of the box out, his eyes growing even wider when he sees the dildo.

"Oh." he breathes.

"What do you think?" Your voice is slightly uneven, still afraid he's going to laugh and tell you it was all a stupid joke.

"Um–" He's beet red as he sits on the bed.

"We don't have to do anything, if you think it's weird, we can just... forget about it. I–" You start rambling. 

"I-I've never done that before, you know." He cuts you off, still not looking at you.

He's eyeing the toy and you realize he wants this as much as you do, perhaps even more, but you need him to say it.

"Me neither," you sit next to him on the bed, "do you want it?"

"Yes," he admits after a moment. 

That's all it takes for you to straddle him and press your lips against his. He responds immediately, opening his mouth for you to slip your tongue in. You moan as he places his hands over your ass and you start grinding over his already hardening bulge. You pull back, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

"Strip." 

You're not used to ordering him around, especially not in bed, but the way he immediately obeys, once you get off his lap, scrambling to take his clothes off makes the blood in your veins feel electric. You look inside the box, pulling out the harness.

"Lie down."

Once again, he does as he's told, lying back against the mattress. You take your pants off and step inside the harness, adjusting the straps to fit you comfortably. You turn around, your breath catching in your throat at the sight: He's already panting, his chest is flushed and his hair is dishevelled. You follow his happy trail with your eyes until you reach his hard cock trapped between his fist, as he tries his hardest not to just start stroking it. The tip is glistening with precum and you can feel yourself dripping onto the inside of your thighs as you watch it leak along his length and into the light hair at the bottom of his shaft.

"Fuck." You groan before biting your lip. You take your shirt off and kneel on the bed, in front of him.

You kiss him softly, cupping his cheeks before running your hands down his sides and settling them on his thighs, parting them gently. You place a kiss on his nose, then his jaw and finally you start kissing and sucking at his neck. You lick his pulse point, enjoying the whimper you elicit from him.

"Please-" He breathes out.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want." You whisper in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

"I- I want you to fuck me."

You smirk against his skin and kiss his shoulder.

"Yeah? I'm going to open you up first, make sure it feels good when I get my cock in you." You're not sure where this sudden confidence comes from but when Oscar's hips buck up involuntarily at your words, you can't really seem to care anymore; you just want to make him feel good.

You grab the lube from the bedside table and pour a generous amount on your fingers, warming it up slightly before reaching down to rub circles against his entrance. He shivers at the contact and you replace the hand he has around his dick with your other one. You look up into his eyes.

"If you want me to slow down, or even stop everything, tell me and I will." You tell him and he nods as the tip of his ears turn pinkish.

"Fuck." He swears as you sink your finger into his hole.

"Good boy." You praise, feeling him clench down around your index as you push past the ring of muscle, slowly easing your finger in and out of him, trying to get him to loosen up. "That feel good?"

He hums, "Yes, fuck, don't stop."

You get back to it and after a while, you enter a second finger, curling them immediately hitting his prostate. His mouth falls open and a loud moan fills the room.

"That's it, baby, let me hear how much you love it." You say as you keep grazing the same spot over and over and slowly twisting your fist around his length, making his eyes flutter as his back arches slightly from the bed. 

You keep stroking him rhythmically, squeezing your thighs together, trying to ease the pressure forming between your legs as the sounds of your slick fingers pushing into him and his moans, groans and whimpers fill the air. Suddenly his eyes widen and he grabs both of your wrists, halting your movement inside him and around his length. 

"Fuck, stop. I’m gonna come." 

You smirk, a spark of pride growing in your chest from getting him already so close to coming. 

He's looking at the silicone cock hanging heavily between your legs: arousal and nervousness painted on his face. You drip some lube onto your strap, stroking yourself slowly and giving him your best bedroom eyes. 

"Shh, relax my love, we'll go slow," you promise as you get closer between his thighs, "if at any point you want me to stop–"

"I'll tell you." He finishes for you. 

"Good boy." You whisper in his ear, making him choke out a whine as a light blush spreads across his chest and neck.

With that, you peck his lips gently and put your hands on his thighs, keeping him open for you. You watch his hole flutter in anticipation and pour more lube onto your cock before nudging the head against his rim. You look up at him and he's got his eyes squeezed shut and his head anchored to the pillow. You push in slowly and watch his face contort into a grimace.

"You're doing great." You reassure him and he nods his head slightly, his lips still sealed into a tight line. 

As you push another inch in, you grab his cock, stroking him softly and rubbing slowly the spot under the head, trying to appease your tense boyfriend. 

"You're being so good for me, baby." You tell him as he starts relaxing.

You're about halfway in and you can't believe how aroused you are, even though you can't actually feel any pleasure from the strap.

"How does it feel?" You ask him, slowly continuing your intrusion inside his hole.

"Feel so full." He whimpers.

"Yeah? You're taking me so well my love."

You lean over his body and press your lips against his. When your hips meet his ass, you stay there, allowing him to adjust.

"Fuck," he whispers after a moment, "you can move, please."

You kiss him again and slowly start pulling out of him before thrusting back in, slow and steady only picking up the pace when he starts moaning and gasping under you.

"So pretty like this. My pretty boy, letting me fuck his pretty little ass."

He throws his head back, his mouth wide open, a low groan rumbling through his chest. You lean back, lifting his thighs and changing the angle in which you're drilling into him. He can't help the yelp that comes out of his mouth as you hit his prostrate straight on.

"Fuck! Right there. Please don't stop."

"There? Does that feel good, baby?"

He can't answer you, his brain going fuzzy with pleasure.

"Tell me." you order, "Does. It. Feel. Good?" You emphasize your words with a few thrusts of the hips.

"Yes! Fuck. Please, more."

You smirk and speed up, the sound of your hips slapping against his thighs echoing throughout the room, accompanied by the gorgeous sounds coming out of his gaping mouth. He's writhing in pleasure and you lean into him, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses against his jaw and his neck. 

"I'm close." He moans.

"I know baby, you want to come on my cock?"

He's still blushing, his eyes screwed shut and his fists tangled in the sheets, his knuckles white from the strength with which he's holding them. You wrap your fist around his length, making him look up at you and fuck, you wish you could take a picture: His hair is plastered on his forehead, his eyes are dark, his pupils blown and his lips are parted, a thin layer of sweat coating his entire body.

"You're so gorgeous, Oscar."

He closes his eyes once more and you kiss him hard, intertwining your fingers with his, holding his hand beside his head on the pillow, not slowing down your hand on his cock as you put every effort into your final thrusts, feeling his cock jump inside your fist, his orgasm quickly approaching. 

"I'm going to come, baby," he whines

"Go on, come for me." 

And just like that, his body goes rigid as he releases his load into your fist and all over his stomach. You stroke him through his orgasm until his entire body is jerking underneath you because of the sensitivity. You stay there for a few minutes, both breathing heavily, regaining your composure. 

You finally, carefully pull out of him, making him wince a bit before unlatching the harness from your hips and lying beside him.

"Was it okay?" You ask him, your initial doubt showing up again. 

He looks at you, an exhausted but blissful expression painted on his face, "It was better than okay, thank you." He says before pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. 

"Good," you mumble into his chest, "'cause we're definitely doing this again."

"I can't wait."

PLEASE LORD HAVE MERCY IM CLAWING AT THE WALLS RN

Cardan and Juliette collaborating tho💀