No Such Thing As I Can’t || J.B. S.V

insane thoughts hours but i really can't stop thinking about being in the middle of a lewis + fernando sandwich... what do you think

it's insanely competitive - the moment they get you back to a hotel room, though you're not sure whose of theirs it is, you get the sense this might be more about a silent set of mind games between the two of them, and less about you.

the position keeps changing and it's hard to keep up with who's where, with whose hands are doing what to you. you don't really understand what the goal of this is, until lewis takes you apart on his tongue and fingers, sucking on your clit as you orgasm with his name moaned around fernando's cock.

it's like a switch has been flicked, then. fernando manhandling you so you're on his lap, your back to lewis (and fernando grins at his glare), sliding three, even four fingers into you and setting a relentless pace until you're biting down a scream into the thick muscle of his neck and squirting all over his hand.

you don't get to recover before lewis is pulling you back towards him, positioning you on your hands and knees before burying himself to the hilt in your oversensitive cunt, telling you to keep looking at fernando, baby as you gasp for breath with how fucking deep he is inside you. that's what this game is -- one upping each other with your body, showing off who is better.

(and, of course, if fernando makes you squirt, lewis needs to match it, beat it.)

fernando pulls you under him and hoists your legs to his shoulders after lewis makes you orgasm again, soaking the sheets one more, sobbing his name and digging your nails into his biceps. nando is equally merciless, slowly rolling his hips deep, your thighs pressed up to your chest, before setting a brutal pace.

when you cum again, you're limp on the bed, moaned names collapsing into incoherent moans and whines. when lewis slides his fingers into your cum-slicked pussy once again, you faintly register how deliciously, painfully long this night is going to be.

love thy neighbor - t.wolff

masterlist

pairings: Toto Wolff x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of ideas not intended for minors + next door neighbor trope + NO age gap!(for the sake of the fic both reader and Toto are relatively close in age)

a/n: been working on this one for a hot minute! hope you enjoy xx

you never hated your neighbor. to be fair, to hate someone you have to know their name and all you know is he has a extravagant life style to afford vintage Mercedes Benz cars and have shelves full of trophies. call yourself a snooper, but the man across the way was never good at hiding his life from your window.

his lifestyle was far different than anyone in the cul de sac you live in. half of them being retired home owners, plus you two. middle aged adults with paychecks able to afford the expense of a home in Monaco.

you don’t question why he has so many trophies, and you’ll never have the time, but it doesn’t stop your morning coffee imagination at the dinning room table. you have the perfect view inside a part of his space.

yes, whoever created these two houses must’ve been complete creeps or family, because nobody ever has windows that are directly into another persons house. but you never questioned it, you just closed the blinds at night or whenever his light was on too early in the morning for you.

today was a morning he was dressed to the nines. a blazer, white dress shirt(typical fashion of his), and dress pants. he lays two ties out and you watch him decide which one to wear. you feel awfully embarrassed when his eyes catch yours, but he sends a slight wave, and you hold up a finger indicating which option was best.

you can’t hear it, but all you see is him laugh and it makes you wonder what it sounds like. is it husky? more from the belly? is it contagious?

you need sleep, these thoughts about your neighbor are certainly overpowering any senses that coffee can’t seem to help.

—

he’s gone most weekends. his vintage Mercedes sits in the driveway, top on in case of a rainstorm, but his lights in the house are off. he’s got endless amounts of packages piling up outside his doorstep that would have you eager to rip them open if they were yours.

a long day of grocery shopping and dinner at your parents in town took a lot out of you. you shove your key into the lock of your door, hearing the rumble of the infamous neighbors Mercedes speed around the cul de sac until he pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine.

your door is half open, you’re halfway in it, but it’s like you’re watching something out of a movie scene. the way he gets out of the car is like in slow motion. his rolled up white dress shirt sleeves have creases across the arms. his brief case sits on the top of his car as he slams the door shut behind him rudely awakening your little stare.

a blush forms to your cheeks as you quickly slam your door behind you once you’ve shoved yourself inside. your back rests against the door, heart beating against your chest it’s almost as loud as the knock that comes next.

you jolt away from the door, moving yourself onto your tippy toes you see him. he’s holding one of your bags of groceries you left at the door step, he’s got one hand clutching his brief case, the other gripping the plastic bag full of embarrassing items (ie: tampons and other toiletries).

if you could hate one person right now, it’s you. how could you let yourself get so immersed in him that you literally dropped what you were doing and stared like a little girl in a candy shop?

you swallow the little pride left in you and slowly open the door up a bit. you get a peek at the lines across his face, most likely due from stress, and the way his brown eyes find you. you can feel the thudding of your heart against its cavity.

“I believe you dropped these.” he extends the bag outward towards where you stand, you’re sandwiched in the little space you gave yourself. you extend your hand out, skin briefly touching before you pull away.

“I’m Toto, I don’t think we’ve properly met. and you are?”

his accent. it’s so unfamiliar to your ears. you never would’ve expected his voice to be as deep but light as it was. it was smooth like butter on toast to your ears, it made the hairs on your arm stand up, your back straighten.

“y/n.”

a sparkle shines in his eyes. it’s one you notice once you’ve said your name. he repeats it softly back to you in a question, like it’s not what he was expecting, and he likes it. he always pictured you with a unique name, or maybe one that was a bit basic, but yours fits you perfectly.

“well I better get going. it’s nice to meet you.” he waves you off before he slips into his own house and both of your doors slam in sync.

now that he had a name, there was no stopping your imagination.

—

mornings were the same. they always were.

freshly brewed coffee in front of you, as you watch Toto dance around his kitchen balance a smoothie, a laptop, and a muffin. the man was always busy once the sun shined through his blinds. you wonder if he ever truly gets sleep.

like usual, your mind shifts to him. does he drink coffee in the morning? how many of those white dress shirts does he own? what does his house smell like? does he make a good smoothie?

these questions, once again, couldn’t be drowned with a cup of caffeine, but when he glances over his shoulder and flashes you a wave, the questions silent themselves.

he’s handsome.

you knew this, your heart knew this, your mind knew this, and certainly your body knew this. the hum between your legs was never going to stop when he looked your way.

you lift your coffee cup into the air before taking a sip from the hot contents. it soothes your brains rambles down and puts the energy you need right back into you. the work day was just beginning, and Toto was just heading out the door.

what a shame, you wished he could’ve stayed. oh the things he missed when he’s gone.

—

the evenings are a bit lonely when the sun goes away and the stars crawl in, you watch the rest of Monaco get ready for lavish celebrations while you stick to a movie and a snack.

he’s just arrived home. you hear the rumble of his car in your quiet cul de sac. he kills the engine and before you know it there’s a knock at your front door. it’s rare, you never get visitors, unless for the elder neighbors begging to help you with your garden, but even then they knew to never knock and just help themselves. so this knock was awfully unusual.

unlocking the door to see Toto was a surprise. he stands there, brief case in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, with a goofy grin.

“I don’t really drink wine, did you want this?” he asks, extending the expensive bottle of red outward towards you. he’d noticed in your bag of toiletries the bottle of cheap red wine, and when he’d been gifted the rather expensive one from George for his birthday, he knew someone who might enjoy it more.

“you didn’t poison this, did you?” you take the bottle, and push open your door further to invite him inside.

“it was a gift from work, he would know better to not poison me.” he steps inside your house and allows you to close the door behind him. he gets a good look inside your place, the endless amount of candles, minimal paintings hung on the walls, and your infamous kitchen. the one he’s stolen many glances across at.

“and who is this he we should be blaming if we die?”

“George Russell.”

you chuckle at the name, “he sounds very posh.”

you quickly pull out two wine glasses while he begins to undo the cork; once opened, he pours the liquid into the glasses for the both of you.

“with the money he gets, darling he makes posh look silly.”

you feel the butterflies rumble around your stomach, a blush creep across your cheeks as you take the glass from his hands, skin once again touching for the briefest moment.

“and how much is he making exactly?” you ask leading him to your deck where two Adirondack chairs are placed looking out at the sky. you don’t tend to come out here often, as the chairs were a gift from a friend, but the stars were shining just bright enough to enjoy.

“six million euros.”

you spit out the wine in your mouth, luckily it landed back into the glass, but it wasn’t a very classy move to make. not around the man you’ve been crushing on since you’d moved in. this was the most he’d ever spoke to you, and at this rate, he might not again.

“he could buy Monaco.”

“I could buy Monaco.” he corrects you with a mischievous smile that makes your heart pick up, and your stomach do a back flip. he looks good like that.

“alright what are you mr. Forbes?”

he laughs. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. it answers your own question, the laugh sounds like it comes from his heart and his belly. it’s a genuine emotion.

“well I have been on Forbes, but is money really a concern to you?”

you shake your head violently at the question. you lean closer to the edge of your seat, legs crossed to try and tune out the hum in between your thighs, “no, never.”

“but I must say, you have to make a lot to afford those vintage Mercedes Benz’s that you drive.” you add to your statement. watching him nod, he takes a look up at the stars, it gives you a chance to take in his side profile. the stress creases across his forehead, the smile lines around his mouth, the dimple in his cheek. every part of him is jaw dropping.

“you don’t come out here very often, why’s that?” he turns to you, it’s his turn to take in your beauty as you stare up into the stars. they were much brighter away from the city, you always liked that the most.

“I didn’t notice you watched me that closely.” you joke, a smile forming to your lips that reaches your eyes. he’s never seen you smile much, you’re usually grumpy in the morning or lost into your thoughts while drinking your morning coffee. he enjoys this much more than the toiletry run in where you both were a bit on the edge of anxiety.

“I’m not home very often. I try to get out when I can, and you should too. I grill, I know how much you enjoy looking at me.” he says, and hesitantly places a hand against yours. his palm is warm, but nothing like clammy, just the kind that heats up your skin in the middle of winter. the skin to skin contact ignites the flame in you to burn like a warning signal, one that he notices. this man did many things to your brain.

“I’ve never seen you in anything but this shirt.” you remove your hand from underneath his and reach over across your chair to the plastic buttons holding the dress shirt together.

your fingers carefully undo the second button, the top one had already been undone since he doesn’t like to wear it that neat anyway. you can feel his breath hitch, his heart beat is pounding against your knuckles that gently glide against his skin.

“do you wear this all the time?” you pull away, resting back against the chair and watch him fix himself.

“it’s work attire.” he finally breathes. you both can hear him exhale all the pent up emotions. he turns to you, fingers reaching towards your collarbone where the charm of your necklace sits. it’s his turn for payback.

“and who bought you this lovely charm?”

“my mother.” it comes out a bit snippy. his knuckles against your collarbone slip away and for a moment you curse yourself for being so hostile to such an inviting man. one you’ve wanted for so long to get to know.

“who taught you how to talk to your neighbors like that?”

“my father. he was an ass.”

he barks out a laugh taking the last sip of his wine. you don’t want this to be over, and you’re thankful it’s not when he offers to pour refills for you both.

you watch him walk inside your house leaving you alone with the beautiful stars of the sky and your tempting thoughts. having him this close wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t any good. you’d want him as much as he was making the efforts to show, and the buzz in between your legs was loud enough for him to hear. he wanted you too. but what would this do for your friendship? truthfully, nothing. Toto Wolff wasn’t a friend, just a neighbor who sometimes gets your mail instead of his. you could live looking across the window knowing he fucked you senseless.

what drama this cul de sac would have, and it seems they haven’t experienced this much since you two came around and played ding dong fuck every other night.

I guess you both took loving thy neighbor a little too seriously, but you’re sure Jesus wouldn’t mind the kind of love you were making.

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa

want to be apart of my taglist? let me know here!

jenson/reader/seb threesome/pairing would literally be everything is about reader 98% of the time (2% jenson unless we’re talking rbr!seb then nothing is about jenson it’s all reader and him). reader would be precious GOLD to them (i have many nsfw feelings about this too but idk if you wanna hear those)

YOU GUYS FEED ME SO MUCH 😩💖💖💖 LET ME HEAR THEM THOUGHTS,,, THIS IS A SAFE SPACE FOR SLUTTY ONES!!!

they're gentle and considerate, and all sorts of doting when it's outside of that whole.... dance. but they give very heavy overstim and filthy words vibe esp when you're warmed up to that whole concept/dynamic.

it's centered around you; you're the prize. and they're very... very competitive.

you'd be soaked with tears and.... 😩😩😩

i am the worst person to sit beside watching the brawn documentary because they’ll be talking about something very interesting and important and then the camera pans to baby seb for a split second and i have to shout SEB!!!!! and point at the tv

king of my heart requested!

toto wolff x ex!driver!reader

( Ok hear me out... Toto Wolff with a ex driver reader (first female driver maybe in redbull or Ferrari but retired) and she knew toto back when he was racing and she was racing and they liked each other but never confessed

Fast forward to now where she's been invited by (redbull/ Ferrari ) and idk somehow they reconnect )

In the heart of the bustling Formula 1 paddock, where speed and ambition were matched only by the relentless buzz of the media, Toto Wolff stood by the Mercedes garage, his delicate dark brown eyes scanning the sea of people moving about. It was another race weekend, but this time, there was something extraordinary in the air. He had received a message that someone from his past was back in the racing world. A name he hadn't heard in years: Y/N

You had been a trailblazer, a pioneer in a sport dominated by men. You were the first female driver to ever compete in Formula 1, but your career had been cut short due to an unfortunate accident that left you sidelined. Yet, you had never truly left the world of racing. You had become an advocate for women in motorsport, working tirelessly to break down the barriers that had kept so many talented females from reaching the pinnacle of racing.

As Toto watched the cars zipping by on the track, a voice called out his name. He turned to see a familiar face in the crowd. It was you, unmistakable with your beautifully tied hair and a smile that lit up the paddock. Toto felt a rush of emotions he hadn't experienced in years.

"Y/N," he said, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight.

"Toto," you replied, a hint of nostalgia in your voice. "It's been so long."

You embraced, the years melting away as you held each other. Toto couldn't help but remember your time as fellow drivers, the camaraderie you had shared, and the unspoken connection that had always simmered beneath the surface.

You walked through the paddock together, catching up on each other's lives. You had taken a break from racing to focus on your advocacy work, and your efforts were starting to bear fruit. You had even received invitations from both Red Bull and Ferrari to collaborate on their initiatives to promote diversity and inclusion in motorsport.

Over the course of the weekend, Toto and you found yourselves spending more and more time together. You attended team meetings, watched races, and shared meals. It was as if you had never been apart, and yet, there was a certain tension between you two, a question that lingered in the air, unspoken.

One evening, under the starry sky of the Grand Prix city, Toto and you found yourselves alone on a rooftop terrace, overlooking the glittering lights of the city below. The moment felt right, and the words spilled out.

"Y/N," Toto began, his voice soft but resolute. "There's something I've never told you."

You turned to him, your eyes curious and expectant. "What is it, Toto?"

"When we were both racing," he said, "there was something more than just friendship between us. I never had the courage to say it then, but I… I cared for you deeply."

Your eyes widened, and a smile played on your lips. "Toto, I felt the same way. But we were young, and the world of racing was a different place back then. We never got the chance to explore what might have been."

Toto reached out and took your hand, your fingers interlocking. "Y/N, the world of racing is changing now. And maybe it's time we explore what might have been. If you're willing."

Your eyes sparkled with a mix of emotion as you nodded. "I'd like that, Toto."

As you leaned in to share your first kiss, the city below continued to glitter, and the echoes of your past merged with the promises of the future. In a world where speed and ambition reigned supreme, your love story was a reminder that some connections, no matter how long they've been dormant, are simply meant to be.

prize

{toto wolff x fem!reader x lewis hamilton}

in which toto gifts lewis his most prized possession

warnings: smut with no plot in sight, threesome sex, free-use/sharing, blowjobs/intense deep throating with some references to light gagging + choking / hand over throat and swallowing, voyeurism/exhibitionism with m!masturbation, fingering, unprotected + risky/irresponsible sex, some vague dom/sub controlling dynamics with use of “sir” + “good girl”, some dirty talk, possessive behaviour and ownership talk that is concerning to feminism.

a/n: sometime last year, I was writing something that was so dirty I wanted to create an entirely new blog so I wouldn’t be associated with it. This is the fic that spurred that impulse. i promise I don’t usually write filth like this, but I was possessed by the need to get this out of my system.

They got you splayed out flat on the huge bed that sits in the middle of the hotel room, your tight skirt hiked up to your hips, legs spread. The taller man stands in front of you, a balled fist under his chin as he contemplates how delicious you look, naked and wet for him and his prized, 7-time (or 8, depending on who you ask) world champion who’s still in disbelief, having come straight from his most recent podium finish.

“See, Lewis,” Toto’s deep voice reverberates through the room, making your skin pebble with awareness of its sensual timbre, “I told you I’d get you a fitting prize for your win today.”

Lewis’ eyes glint with amusement, tongue flicking out to swipe over his bottom lip that’s still sticky with champagne. “She’s so pretty, Toto. She yours?”

“Mmmm.” He nods in agreement, reaching over to slide his hand up the soft curve of your inner thigh, making you shiver with want. His hands are so big and warm as they inch up to cup your pussy between your legs, pressing into you with skilful, familiar hands that have you bucking up into his sensual touch. Those long, elegant fingers stroke between your folds, teasing you until you cry out and beg, “please, Toto!”

He withdraws instantly, and you groan from the loss of his touch. When he speaks, it’s unbearably deep and authoritative. “What did you just call me?”

“I’m s-sorry,” you whimper, feeling the shame burn in your cheeks, “p-please… sir.”

He crooks a grin at you, voice still holding traces of his stern discipline. “That’s much better.”

And with that admission, he licks his fingers, already wet with you, so that they’re even slicker so he can push them into you, curling up and rubbing that perfect spot inside you that’s got you arching, undulating against his hand. Toto’s smile widens when he feels your walls clenching around his fingers, endeavouring to slide a third finger inside the tight squeeze of you. He darts a look at Lewis, as if ready to issue orders over a team radio, and Lewis is so quick on the uptake, understandingly perfectly what Toto wants and starts stripping himself from fashionably loose top. He’s beautiful - so muscular and taut everywhere, and deliciously hard where it matters most. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way his fingers - tattooed, long, elegant - peel his clothes away with such a finesse.

“Make him feel so good with your mouth,” comes Toto’s order, his fingers still working you, and you twist up into the pleasurable rhythm of his touch, and the prospect of obeying him, of getting to taste his champion whom you’ve had your eye on for longer than you cared to admit.

Lewis steps forward, not shy in the very least, but you sense his apprehension in crossing this line with you tonight. That, you think, won’t do at all. He needs to know you want this - you’re eager to show him how happy everyone is after his victory - how pleased Toto in particular is.

Toto can be very generous with his gifts when he wants to be. And you never want to disappoint.

Your tongue licks Lewis’ dick from the base all the way to the tip, tracing the vein that runs across his cock so beautifully. He makes such encouraging sounds as you worship him with your mouth, with kisses and long sweeps of your tongue, until he’s fully hard, and he’s got his hands cupped at the back of your head with gentle persuasion.

“Such a good girl. Showing him what your mouth can do, hm?” Toto slides his thumb over your clit, rubbing a sinister, torturous little pattern that makes you moan as you gaze up at Lewis, watching his eyes go half-lidded with desire as you take his cock further into your mouth, swallowing around him. “That’s it, sweetheart,” Toto praises, fuelling your desire to please him and Lewis even more. “That’s my good girl.”

You suck Lewis in your mouth so deep that you have to concentrate to suppress your gag reflex. His lips part, eyes darkening as you reach for his hip and pull him even further inside you, until he’s past the tight squeeze of your throat and you choke slightly, eyes watering from the sensation of him buried in you fully. This blowjob, coupled with Toto’s relentless fingers fucking you, teasing you until you’re mindless, makes you gasp out, making rough noises of struggle as you grow overwhelmed with the sensations they’re building inside you.

Lewis brushes away the stray tears that fall from your eyes, pulling back slightly to ease your discomfort. “You look so fucking pretty like this…” he says, flicking his tongue over his lower lip.

You whimper, pushing back to find that satisfying girth of his cock, the pressing it to the back of your throat again, and this time it makes his dick throb. You gag slightly, the sound making Toto hum encouragingly, and so you take more and hold back the reflex that’s pushing his cock out. You keep Lewis in the squeeze of your throat for long seconds, until he’s swearing, pulling out desperately because it feels too good, and you’ll make him want to come too quickly. You can taste the musky sweetness of his precum all over your tongue when he slides out, his cock a mess with your saliva.

“Fuck.” He says, eyes shiny, staring at you with an incredulity that feels like the best form of flattery.

“Got her all ready for you, Lewis.” Toto withdraws his fingers and, with a wry little smile on his face, draws P1 in your own wetness in the blank canvas of your inner thigh, and Lewis traces it with his own fingers, his face aglow with pride at the memory of his victory.

“On your back, pretty girl,” Lewis says, and you hurry to comply. He gets on top of you, his warmth engulfing you. You tip your head back to watch Toto press his palm over the bulge at his pants, as if to ease the ache there, and you whimper, reaching out for him.

Toto shakes his head, settling into the chair he pulls up next to the bed to watch you two. “You’re all his tonight, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, flushing at the thought of Toto sharing you so freely, especially when he’s ordinarily so possessive. You turn back to look at Lewis, who’s so handsome especially up close, and you wind your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss that’s tentative, sweet - showing Toto exactly what he’s missing out on tonight. Lewis deepens the kiss with a hand cupped to your jaw, and you moan when his tongue slides against yours - you know he can taste himself on your tongue.

At the side of the room, you hear Toto unzip his pants, and when you turn to look, Lewis pulls your face back to him. “Eyes on me,” he says, a tad sharply, and you shiver at the authority you hear in his voice, “you’re mine tonight, remember?”

You swallow, feeling heat rush to your cheeks at the thought of fully surrendering to him. He rubs his nose against yours, and you exhale at the feel of his soft lips coming to kiss you again - this time, it’s this intoxicating, drug-like thing that makes you dizzy with want. “Lewis,” you beg, stroking your hands down his smooth back, feeling the shift of his muscles underneath your touch. “Yes. All yours.”

Lewis pulls back from the kiss - raises his eyebrows. And you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing exactly what he wants.

You take a steadying breath, before telling him, “I’m all yours - sir.”

At the side, you can hear Toto’s hitched breath, as if he finds this transgressive act of you calling Lewis the name you reserve only for Toto so unbearably, ridiculously arousing. Behind that, the sound of his hand coming to stroke his cock with teasing slowness - as if he wants to savour this - to prolong this.

Lewis smiles into your kiss, his hands now gliding across your thigh, guiding you to wrap around his hips so that he can be so close to you - his prize. His cock is so hard against your belly, but he seems content to grind up slowly against you - letting the heat build in torturous laps. You whimper in frustration, pushing back into him, the ache between your legs too much to ignore any longer. “So impatient,” he teases, “are you this whiny with Toto?”

“Worse,” Toto says, the low rumble of his voice an erotic reminder that he’s relinquished you tonight. “She’s always so fucking eager for it.”

Lewis chuckles, letting his hand wander past the slope of your thigh, up to your slick folds that part easily for his fingers. You gasp when he finds your clit, making messy circles as his free hand finds the curve of your breast to cup its weight, tease your nipple into an even stiffer point. You arch your back, bucking into his touch. “So good for me,” he murmurs, glancing over at Toto now, and you follow his gaze, meeting your boyfriend’s eyes and seeing them glazed over with affection, with yearning, with an arousal that you’ve never quite seen before. Toto’s hand’s gripping his cock in twisting, deft strokes. Your belly tightens, jaw going slack as you watch, hypnotised, feeling yourself tip past the point of no return, having Lewis’ fingers on your clit, watching Toto touch himself to this - you come all too easily, melting into the sheets with endless shudders and a wet rush over Lewis’ fingers. You can’t help the mess you make, and judging from the look on Toto and Lewis’s face - they can’t help admiring it.

“Don’t keep her waiting, Lewis,” Toto says, an order that’s clearly for his own benefit too. From the way his breathing’s gone ragged, a flush spreading down the open collar of his button down shirt, you know he wants to come, too.

Lewis nods, keeping his eyes on his boss as he whispers into your ear, “he likes to watch, huh?”

You grin at him. “Turn me over and fuck me, and you’ll find out just how much he likes it.”

Lewis laughs. He’s left the skin along your belly sticky with precum, from where his cock’s been grinding against you, and you feel an answering pull to have him make more of a sticky mess all over you. Inside you.

He turns you over gently in his hands, until you’re on your belly, in direct view of Toto. Facing him.

Toto winks at you, and stills his hand. You lick your lips and gaze at the erection in his lap, already beaded with moisture from the tip. Fuck, you mouth to him, and from the way he smirks, you know he feels the exact way you do now.

Lewis slides a hand in your hair and tugs, making you cry out in surprise. He kisses your cheek, and you wriggle back into his cock, sliding it along the cleft of your ass. Back and forth. Toto spits into his hand and you watch him drag the shiny smear across his cock with fascination. “Need you, sir,” you say, unable to distinguish exactly who you’re talking about - because maybe it’s not just Toto or Lewis - but somehow both, fulfilling exactly what you want. What you need.

Lewis tightens his grip in your hair, guiding his cock with his free hand to the slippery heat he finds between your legs now. You spread your legs for him, unable to keep at bay the shameless wanting you feel - intensified only by the fact that Toto’s watching you two, touching himself to this.

Lewis gazes at Toto with a keen eye, as if needing that final push towards the finish line, an extra injection of assurance and confidence, and all Toto does is to give the most subtle of nods, and to tell him, “go on, Lewis.” He grins in a way that befits his name - teasingly wolfish. “Push, push.”

Lewis hums, “understood.” And he does. Oh he fucking does - pressing thick and hot into you, with a grunt that you echo as well. He feels so solid inside you, and it almost aches to have him fill you up. Your face scrunches up with that ecstasy of feeling all of him and you grip the sheets while you breathe through this new sensation.

Above you, Lewis is pressed against your back, practically vibrating with energy. You clench around him when Toto groans softly, squeezing at the head of his cock until a tantalising drip of precum leaks out. You want to lick it all up, and the look in Toto’s eyes promises you that you can - later.

Lewis sucks in a breath, and starts to move inside you, using the grip he has in your hair as leverage to fuck you deeper, rougher. You cry out with each thrust he makes, keeping your eyes on Toto the whole time, the lines of his face becoming more pronounced when he’s this turned on. “Such a good girl,” he says, and you bask in his praise, tightening around Lewis in a way that makes him groan.

Lewis rewards you with kisses littered along your shoulders, your neck, finding a particularly sensitive spot that makes you melt into the bed as you exhale a trembly breath for him.

“You can bite, too,” Toto chimes in, and your whole body goes taut - he looks so smug, being so thoroughly in tune with your body that he knows what you need even before you need it. You could come like this, to Toto’s open adoration of you and Lewis together, to his orders, to the way Lewis fucks into you with the perfect balance of roughness and tender care. Lewis is no fool - he’ll take every advantage that’s offered by his boss. He snaps up the instruction with ease, sinking his teeth into your nape and sucking at the soreness he leaves. You moan, desperate now because your body feels like it doesn’t belong to you any longer, it’s so molten-hot - pure liquid desire fissioning through you. Toto’s fingers speed up now, and you want him and the rewards he’ll give you later, when Lewis is gone.

“You know he saved it all up for you,” Toto’s voice turns conspiratorial, “he doesn’t fuck before a race.”

You turn to look up at Lewis - his sparkly, pretty eyes, the determination underscored in them, and lean up to kiss him. He deserves this so much - his patience paying off incredibly well. “Don’t stop…” you whisper between the kiss, and Lewis nods, chasing your mouth with his, sucking on your bottom lip. “Don’t stop until you get what you want. What you deserve, sir.”

He pulls back, eyes bright and eager with possibility. He uses that hand in your hair to turn you back to Toto, leaning in to echo the same words Toto issued just moments earlier. “Go on baby,” Lewis whispers, mischievous now, “show him what your mouth can do.”

You gasp. “Holy fuck - yes.”

Toto grins with delight, like Lewis’d just overtaken two cars in a tight corner. He gets up and you don’t waste time obeying - getting what you’d been wanting all evening - taking his cock between your lips now, sucking him in a way that you know he likes. He fills your mouth like no other, and you swallow around him, wanting nothing more than his cum on your tongue, on your face. Lewis doesn’t stop fucking you, hips snapping into yours eagerly, purposefully, and it’s delicious, the dual sensation of being filled at two ends.

Lewis gently eases your head down into Toto’s cock, and you relax your throat, swallowing and breathing slowly until he’s lodged firmly in the tight column. Toto grunts - he likes this, and ordinarily you can’t hold it for too long, but you’re eager to please, to keep this pleasurable for him. For Lewis.

But then Lewis moves his hand from your hair to your throat, and your eyes widen as you realise what he’s doing - trailing fingers along the bulge that Toto’s cock makes in your neck, as if he’s fascinated by how hot it is, how tight your throat must feel, and you start to shake - it’s too much to be touched like this. You pull back instantly, catching your breath, feeling an answering wet rush between your legs.

Your face feels hot when Toto tenderly strokes it, wiping away some of the spit that gathers along your chin, and you nuzzle into his large hand, feeling so comforted. “You liked that,” he observes, and you readily nod.

Lewis grins, wrapping a hand lightly around your throat now. “Can you do it again, sweetheart?”

You make a rough little noise and nod, and this time when you take Toto down your throat again, you know Lewis feels it go in, the same bulge that has you swallowing around, struggling to contain all of Toto’s cock inside you. This feels so hot to you, a challenge that you’re willing to conquer because it gets Toto flustered, that icy control he always has seeming to fracture at the edges when you’re this dirty for him.

Lewis moans, and you tighten around him. He’s going to come. You’re going to come. And Toto… he’s losing control. Fast. Pulling back the slightest before thrusting once into your open mouth now, and-

He swears, and shudders.

The hot spurt of him comes so quick, you’re caught off guard. But you hold him deep inside as much as you can, only pulling back slightly as his cock throbs and he makes this erotically-charged moan when he coats the back of your throat, his eyes never leaving yours as you swallow, suppressing the reflex to gag. He looks so wrecked with ecstasy that you can’t wait to do this again.

Lewis continues to fuck into you, biting your shoulder as if needing to find a distraction, reaching between your legs to drag some of your shared wetness over your clit so he can rub it in messy, desperate circles. You thrash against him as you pull off from Toto’s cock with a satisfying gasp of breath, filling with relief from the ache in your throat and jaw. Lewis murmurs hotly into your skin, “so pretty, fuck… so incredibly good for us,” and you’re shivering now, wanting to having him spill into you with such a savage desire that you push back urgently into him.

“Gonna come,” you warn him, and he groans in return, not stopping for a goddamn moment, letting you ride the momentum you need, that he needs.

Toto cups your face, panting, letting you peer up at him. “God, you’re going to come so hard for him, aren’t you?”

You whine almost pathetically. He’s right. He’s so fucking right.

The orgasm crashes into you with thunderous force, and you cry out hoarsely into Toto’s hands, tears and agonised pleasure written all over your face. The room echoes with your mingled scream of Toto’s name, of Lewis’, with a “sir” and “holy fucking shit” thrown in for good measure. You come and don’t stop coming until Lewis himself is moaning, shoving into you erratically and spilling himself into you. Risky. Reckless. Fucking hot.

You wonder if Toto will make him clean you up, and the thought makes you shiver. You collapse against each other - breathlessly satiated.

The exhaustion that sets in after is profound, but there’s something inherently satisfying in having Lewis pull you over to the centre of the bed, while Toto climbs in at the side, sandwiching you between him and Lewis while he hands you water that you sip at, gratefully, before passing it over to Lewis.

Toto looks so fucking proud of the two of you, as if it’s a shared podium, and he tells you this in the soft kisses he makes at the sore points of your throat and jaw, licking tenderly as if to soothe over the ache. “You did so well,” he murmurs, but there’s no telling if he’s talking only to you, or to Lewis as well. There’s a faint rumble in his chest when you make appreciative noises for his gentle aftercare. His hands stroke over your bare hip, the curve of your waist, and you whimper softly, curling into him. Lewis snuggles in too, spooning you into Toto, sleepily nuzzling his face into your hair, dreaming, you imagine, of future podiums with you and Toto.

—

so happy to purge this fic from my system!! quite a different vibe from the last Lewis & Toto fic I wrote. also yes, I know this wasn’t the threesome that was promised but my Charlos one will be up as soon as I can manage it!

been thinking a lot about threesomes these days if I’m honest. That threesome poll really got me thinking 👀

would love to hear what you thought of this, if you’d be so kind 💛

love ives ✨

masterlist

so i'll take the nightshift

sebastian and his ex wife have a chat after the last weeks events

part one here

wc: 1.3k words

cw: absent father? again not intentional

It had been a week since you had admitted to both yourself and your daughter that you missed Sebastian. In that week, he had been at your apartment first thing on Monday morning to pick her up so that he could spend his week with her, since he had already missed her birthday - which was truly no fault of his own - he had vowed he would treat her like the princess you both knew she was for the whole week he was able to spend with her. You knew that Sebastian was a great father, in your daughter's eyes? The best - even if her mommy and daddy didn't live together, she knew that they both loved her with everything that they had. Your week without her had been peaceful enough, managing to get all the housework that needed done did before her arrival - But the silence that came with the lack of her had you deep in your thoughts, as you remembered your admittance of missing your ex-husband: You were hoping that she wouldn't relay what you had said to Sebastian.

You were sat on the couch, Sebastians throw blanket tucked around you - You couldn't bare to get rid of it after you had separated, everything else was fair game, but part of you didn't want Sebastian out of your life entirely, you still loved him and missed him dearly. Hearing the door knock, you paused the movie playing on the TV, your daughter had already walked in on you watching a horror movie before, and you would rather not want to go through that again. Keeping Sebastians blanket wrapped around you, you heaved yourself up off of the couch and shuffled to the front door, opening it and seeing your daughter asleep in her father's arms.

"Oh, hey," You greeted him, your heart stopping as you realised that this was really the first time you had come face to face with your ex since you had admitted missing him, the Monday past where he had picked her up, you had been too busy getting her ready to really have a minute to process your feelings.

"Hi, I don't know if she's pretending to be asleep or not but she's not waking up," He smiled at her and then you, and you returned the smile, remembering the days where she would be pretending to be asleep to get you or Sebastian to carry her into the house. "Can I come in?" Sebastian asked you, you nodded in response, stepping aside to let him come into your apartment.

"How was she?" You asked him, brushing her blonde curls out of her face as she slept peacefully in her father's arms. Sebastian smiled, he held so much love for the daughter that you and him had created and loved nothing more than getting to spend time with her - well, he loved one thing maybe a bit more.

"She was great, I'm sure she'll tell you all about it when she wakes up, she's really talkative now, huh?" You chuckled at Sebastians words and nodded, you knew all too well how chatty your daughter could be, especially when she was excited or had something fun to tell you.  You sighed as you realised that you couldn't deal with the conflict that you felt within you anymore, you needed to talk to Sebastian about how you were feeling, about how your daughter was feeling.

"Seb, can we talk?" You asked him, placing a hand on your daughter's small back and then looking up at Sebastian, who nodded in response to your question. "You can put her to bed if you want, her room is down the hall and to the left." He smiled and nodded, internally fighting the urge to place a small kiss on your lips like he would always do. You paced your living room as you thought of how to vocalise your feelings without bursting into tears.

"Is everything okay, Y/N?" Sebastian asked you, as he settled down on your couch and watched as you sat down beside him, playing with the bracelet that your daughter had made you. You sighed, knowing that if you didn't do this now, then you never would. 

"(Name) missed you last week, she was devastated when you didn't make it to her party," You started telling him, your heart breaking as you remembered the heart break of your daughter as she told you of her upset at the absence of her father at her party. "And I had to tell her the same thing that I used to tell myself, that it was because this was your job and that you couldn't help it and then she said that she missed you and then I said-"

"That you miss me too," Sebastian cut you off, frowning as he looked at you. "She told me, I was putting her to bed and she told me that you were upset because you missed me." Your heart stopped as you sighed, rubbing your face.

"The worst part is that I mean it, Sebastian," You told him. "I miss you, but I don't miss you being gone all of the time, not hearing your voice for days because of the time differences, but now I have to make the same excuses I made for myself for you being gone to our daughter, Sebastian." Your voice was wavering and you knew that at any point, you would burst into tears and his next words would determine the possibility of that. He reached forward to hold your hand as he always did when he could tell that you were getting worked up, even separated, he still knew you so well.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm going to be retiring at the end of this season," He dropped the biggest bomb you had possibly ever heard. You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at him, you didn't understand - Sebastian loved his career, so why is he giving it up.

"What? Sebastian, you love racing," You voiced. Sebastian chuckled as he shook his head, still holding your hand in his.

"I do, but I love you and (Name) more, and I don't want to miss out on any more of our girl growing up," He told you, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you gained some sort of inkling where this was going - were you ready for this again? Was he being genuine? Of course he was. Again, even separated, you knew your ex well. "And I'm not expecting you to take me back straight away, I know me being gone so often really hurt you in ways that I could never imagine, but I would really like for us to try again. I still love you, Y/N. I think I always will love you." 

You didn't even think over his offer of trying again before you threw yourself into his arms, craving the feelings of his touch after being starved of it for so long. You were getting your Sebastian back. 

"I don't think I ever stopped loving you, Seb," You cried, looking into his eyes which mirrored your daughters perfectly. He laughed as he looked into yours, finding nothing but the woman he had loved since their first meeting, the woman who was the mother of his beautiful daughter, the woman he loved.

"Me neither, my love."

Maybe this time, things wouldn't be the same, but better. 

note: idk whether I love or hate this pls give me some feedback to work with

baby trapper wilson... oh i'm unwell, oh take me to the hospital

you're wilson's pretty young thing. you're the arm candy he carries around, the kind of girl that gets stared at wherever she goes. and he's him, he's the sweetest man ever, the most caring, gentle, kind man you've ever dated. you're young and naive and he's divorced thrice, that's not lost on him. or you. but you like it, you like that he's older. but for how much longer? how much longer will you let him subliminally make all your decisions? even when you think you want something, you scarcely realize that he's the one who put the idea there in the first place. you're so fucking naive, so fucking stupid, he thinks sometimes. and he loves it. you don't talk taxes or bills or medicine or divorces. he likes that. you talk about inconsequential things that you'll grow out of a month or two later. he's always afraid he's one of them. he's so afraid of you growing up or changing or anything because he knows deep down that he's alone at his big age and you've got the whole world wanting you, if only you stopped seeing him, if only you stepped outside to the world he's shielding you from.

it starts that way. it starts with that fear.

that's why he doesn't let you take birth control. he strictly advises against it, purely his medical opinion of course. he'll wear a condom, he doesn't want your hormones to be so imbalanced, that's dangerous. and god forbid your taste in men changes and suddenly you feel stupid for wanting this old man as much as you do. so you shouldn't take pills. and iuds are too scary. he pledges to always wear a rubber, for your sake and his. you don't doubt him once. why would you? james wilson, doctor james wilson, is the most responsible, sensible and well adjusted man you've met. you trust him, always, to be good to you and only want the best for you. so you agree, and he tells you that he loves you. because he does, the guilt is caught like rheum in the back of his throat.

you're all over him, giddy at his touch and so wet and pliable under him and he knows you're ovulating. even if he wasn't tracking your cycle, he saw you were in your best mood. so hungry for him, and he intended to give you exactly what you wanted. but to break the promise he made, the one he never intended to keep, he had to make you cum as many times as possible. till you became a weak puddle of desire and need. till you became incapable of responsibility. he devours you. his tongue and fingers work tirelessly to bring his plan into fruition. he's fucking you like he knows he'll be missing out on nine months of this. and you're begging him to be inside you, fill you up. it's till you're tugging at his hair and pleading inside, please james, inside... me till he thinks you're ready. or he is.

he kisses you, tasting of you, smelling like you. you taste like nothing, just yourself; clean, pure, just the way he likes you. his tip ghosts your entrance and you're quick to buck your hips to meet his. that is, until god knows who reminds you to be responsible. you gesture at the drawer next to the king sized bed. you don't trust yourself to be coherent. wilson sighs, it's the silent kind of sigh he does when he knows his patient is dying or house is going to do something stupid and reckless. for a moment there he really hoped it would've been that easy.

he began rubbing circles on your clit. you looked away teary eyes, overstimulated, overwhelmed. you pleaded, you begged. he shushed you, he shushed you like a crying child. he placed small, soft kisses on your body, almost as if he was afraid. he opened the drawer, took out a condom. he tore the wrapper and watched you exhale, relieved. you spread your legs instinctively at the sound.

wilson enters you, bare. and fast. so you don't dwell on the feeling of his tip for too long. his hands run along your sides to soothe you, as him. his head falls forward at the sensation of your tight, spasming cunt and he sees reason in doing this all over again. his forehead touches yours. it's all so tender, you think, all so sweet and beautiful like james himself. you open your eyes to look at him. his graying hair sticks to his forehead, glued by the sweat. there's a sheen around his mouth from where it once was. he has these fine wrinkles that seem more prominent in the low light. he has those rough, experienced hands that hold you in place, because you need to be held in place. you need to be pinned down where you belong because you're restless and young and hungry for more more more. you touched his hair, his cheeks, his face, his lips. all of it.

"i love you," you told him, your voice small.

and that fear dissipated into the steamy, sex-smelling air. it was his fucked up way of thinking you wanted this. his strokes were deep, hard and punctuated with grunts, just the way you liked. he took things slow, promising to make you feel every inch of him. you clenched around him in that painfully delicious way that made him cum in minutes. he muttered a string of profanities.

he looked down at your messy, glistening cunt and thought, this is what it will look like. this is the sight he'll see in a few seconds when he fills you up and lets it drip out of you. he lets his eyes rake over the rest of you, all changed and plump in due time. and then he'll have you, he'll have baby wilson and all the people in the hospital to brag to. he'll take you wherever he goes, conferences, talks, medical stuff you never had to attended before. he imagines being seen with you and your creation in the hotel lobbies. "doctor james wilson," he'll introduce "and my wife." he'll say with a loving, doting smile. it could all be so perfect and sappy and comforting.

his hand now pressed your thighs into a gruelling mating press. he had to go as deep as he could. he was close, he could feel it. his paced switched from slow caresses to hard smacks. your body pained in this new position for a while, but you liked it so very much. you arched your back, you moaned so loud the walls reverberated them back to you. god, he fucked so good when he wanted to. you wonder why he never pushed you this far before.

"i'm gonna cum. baby, i'm gonna cum." he left inside you unspoken.

you nodded, feeling yourself close for the hundredth time today. his cusses turned into i love you's. he threw his head back, his hot, white seed spurred inside you. comfortably. like that was where it belonged anyway. you came seconds later, on the verge of passing out. he stayed perfectly still inside you. he exhaled, almost like a sigh. he couldn't pull out of you, not until he's sure you're going to get pregnant.

your lips utter a silent thank you, almost like a prayer. wilson shakes his head, telling you there's no need. he kisses you on the cheek before finally pulling out. you fall asleep in seconds. so peaceful, so oblivious.

mvm monday; bestfriend james Potter with a shyly horny-when-drunk reader!! just imagining him bluescreening n crashing when she mumbles out a gonna go touch myself now jamie, g’night

this post is 18+, minors dni.

You stand up at precisely 12:00 midnight, three hours into a party that you've drunk yourself silly at. James, who'd been sitting beside you, thigh happily pressed to your own, sends you a questioning glance, reaching out to grab the tips of your fingers as you sway slightly in place.

"Where you goin', love? Think you've had enough to drink." He looks up curiously at you, his own brain slightly fuzzy from booze.

"M'gonna go get in bed," You bend your thumb to squeeze his own fingertips, just barely not holding hands, "Gotta get up early tomorrow, 'n I wanna have enough time to masturbate."

James drops your hand. Then he goes back for it when you try to leave, lunging to catch you before you head upstairs.

"What?" He narrows his eyes, bushy brow scrunched, "What did you say, love?"

He must have misheard you, surely. After all, it's loud, the music is thrumming through his entire body, he's sure he's just mixed up your words.

"I'm horny," You whine, alcohol infecting the words that you'd never say sober, "I always get needy when I drink. So I've gotta touch m'self before I go to sleep, or I'll get all antsy."

"I- Alright..." James nods, dumbfounded. He blinks, once, twice, thrice, then lets your hand go, "Um- goodnight, love. Have a.. good time."

"I will," You giggle, leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, "Hey, Jamie? Do me a favor?"

"Uh," James flounders, not sure what he could possibly ethically offer you at a time like this, "What do you need?"

"Call me pretty," You beg, eyes wide and shiny and imploring, "I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later."

"You," James stammers, heart stuttering in his chest as his hand instinctively reaches for your cheek. He feels like he's taking advantage of you, even though you're the only one benefitting from this, and you've asked for it all.

"Uh, you're pretty. Gorgeous," He murmurs, gaze transfixed on your hazy eyes, "G'night, love."

"Night Jamie," You gush, kissing the pad of his thumb where it hovers by your mouth, and turning to head up the stairs.

Sirius rams into his back a minute later, where James is still trying to comprehend the situation. He's sure he looks possessed, standing stock still and staring at your closed door, but he doesn't care.

"Jesus, Prongs," Sirius scoffs, "Just stand in the walkway, will you?"

"She thinks about me." James informs Sirius, his voice a faraway whisper that barely hits the other man's ears, "She- she thinks about me when she..."

"When she...?" Sirius looks expectantly at James, "Plan on finishing your sentences anytime soon, big guy?"

James finally snaps back to attention, eyes almost comically wide as he looks at Sirius, "I have to go."

"Okay," Sirius chuckles, confused as James rushes for their dorms, "Hey- Hey don't run into those people!"

"What's he on about?" Remus steps up behind Sirius, and the shorter man looks back.

"Dunno," Sirius shrugs, "Mumbling something about Y/N, I think."

"So nothing new," Remus snorts, "Where is she?"

"'Think she went to bed," Sirius nods at your dorm door, still closed, "Probably passed out the second her head hit the pillow, poor thing drunk herself silly."

"James too," Remus scoffs, raising his cup to his lips, "'Guess it's nice they're equally lightweight, means they both crap out at the same time."

There's more similarities between you and James than just that, though. You're mirror images of each other in your rooms, the waistband of your pants and undergarments pressing to your thighs as your hands delve between them. You're twin sinners, each replaying the other's voice in your heads while you touch yourself, 'You're pretty. Gorgeous.' and, 'I want to hear you say it so I can think about it later'.

Please Look Back

Jannik Sinner x Reader An accompaniment piece to a previous break up blurb, the same, but in Jannik's POV.

---

He told himself it was the right decision.

It had to be. He needed to give everything to this—this version of his life where everything mattered, where every match had weight, where every margin could mean the difference between winning and fading. He had plans. Goals. A career on the rise, to maintain, and not a second to spare.

He loved you, he had for months. That wasn’t the problem.

It was that he loved you too much to do it halfway. And lately, everything outside of tennis felt like it had to come second tier. His schedule, his focus, the way his mind wandered in the middle of matches or practice to whether you’d landed your flight or gotten out that game or had a bad day that you'd tell him about later. He’d scroll through your texts before bed, smile at them before your hour-long calls. He’d wake up thinking about you, and he couldn’t afford to start his days already distracted. And you didn’t deserve to be deemed a distraction.

He decided before he even knew it, and he never truly wanted it to happen the way it did—to have the comfort of loving you feel like a leaden weight beginning to be too much to bear. But he couldn’t keep burying it. It wasn’t fair to you. 

He didn’t voice his uncertainties in the month that they had come up, didn’t discuss the dilemma with you. Selfishly, he knew you could convince him to stay without much effort at all, so, silently, he convinced himself he had to let you go.

Then he ended it—and you couldn't have seen it coming.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped, and forced the words out with a steadiness he didn’t feel.

"I can’t do both right now. You and tennis. I need to give everything to this." It was a wonder his voice didn’t crack. It felt like someone else entirely was speaking through him.

He almost wanted you to fight him on it—he held his breath for it. For you to yell, cry, anything. But you just nodded. Even smiled. Told him you understood.

That was the part that gutted him. The grace.

You left his room like something hadn’t just broken for good between the two of you, and so he thought maybe nothing had—maybe not for you. 

He just sat there, staring at the door long after it clicked shut.

For weeks afterward, he kept waiting for it to feel easier. But the pain never let up.

He trained harder than ever. Played with a new kind of desperation, letting the training of the off-season take up all of his conscious space in his mind. Slept longer because all his waking hours seemed to be filled with missing you. The quiet in his room felt wrong. Your absence echoed in the smallest details—two toothbrushes still by the sink, the way he reached for his phone before bed, forgetting there was no longer someone on the other side waiting to laugh and drift off with him.

His phone lit up with notifications that weren’t from you. His victories felt smaller without your hand to squeeze after the last point. He scrolled through pictures he hadn’t deleted yet and told himself it was for the best. That he’d done what needed to be done.

Still, the ache didn’t dull. It just settled deeper.

And it threatened to rip out of him at Melbourne.

He spotted you from across the walkway to the warm-up courts. Even before your face came to view, he could read it was you from the way you walked. The way you carried your bag. The way the air stilled inside his chest, and the way your name sat just inside his lips.

You were walking toward him, with no clean way to avoid it. Not that he wanted to—not really—but he hesitated when he thought maybe you did. But you continued towards him, ever so casual.

And, god, you looked good. Strong. Steady. Like you hadn’t missed a step.

But when your eyes met, he saw a flicker. Just a flash of something soft and sad, the same thing he felt blooming low and constant in his chest.

You stopped in front of him and he offered a smile, though it felt foreign on his face.

"Hey." He started, afraid to hear your voice in response—he wasn’t sure he could take it, he clenched his fists in the material of his pockets.

With a polite, practiced smile, you replied easily. "Hi." 

And he did feel himself give out a bit when you spoke, he had to hold in a sharp exhale at the familiar sound. But he didn’t manage to hold back the way he stepped towards you after you spoke, though he opened his arms to cover up the action—hoping the offer of a casual embrace wasn’t going too far.

You accepted, and the hug was brief. Just enough to feel the shape of you again, to remind him how little time had done to lessen the pull.

He wanted to ask something, anything. About everything, maybe. But he didn’t know how to start the words, or if he had the right to at all. 

You continued instead. "How’s training going?"

"Good. Busy." Always thinking of you when I’m not, he nodded the thought away. "You?"

​​"Yeah, same here." And it sounded forced to Jannik, but he figured he couldn’t claim to know that anymore.

You looked composed. Confident. Even sounded cheerful. Like you’d rebuilt something in the months since. He didn’t want to knock that down or assume otherwise just to soothe the ache still sitting in his own chest.

Another pause. You glanced through him and behind him, and he resisted turning to follow your gaze and see what it was that held your attention—hoping it wasn’t going to pull you away from him too soon, no matter how stunted and awkward the reunion was. 

Then you sort of took a step back. "I should probably get back to it. First match tomorrow.”

The run-in was wrapping up too quickly for Jannik, but it seemed you’d decided it was over. He wasn’t about to keep you when you so clearly wanted to walk away, so he decided to let you go a second time and, impossibly, it felt just as hard. His response was brief and concise. "Yeah. I saw. Good draw."

And he hoped it didn’t come off rude and choppy, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. The truth of it was, he’d checked your line-up in the tournament before his own. The way he always used to.

You nodded pleasantly, and stepped to the side of him. "Good to see you, Jannik. Take care."

He breathed in deep as you walked past him to continue on, trying to soothe himself and catch the scent of you at the same time. And when he saw you were smiling at him as you passed his shoulder, he hesitated. He wanted to say, Wait. To ask how you really were. To tell you he missed you. That nothing had felt the same since you left.

But the words caught in his throat. What could he even say? That he’d made a mistake? That he would think about you every time he passed by the quiet corner in the player dining where you'd always steal five minutes the last year, when you had just met? That seeing you now only confirmed what he'd tried to deny? None of that would do. For so many reasons.

So he swallowed hard and nodded once more instead. "You too." 

And he had to wrench his head away from you to let you go.

Every step you took away from him felt like something was falling apart all over again. He turned back to look at you, hoping that maybe you would too. So he could at least get another look at you. 

But he watched you walk away all the way until you disappeared from his sight, and you never once broke your stride. Never once turned back.

And how could he stop you—just because he was still hurting watching you leave?

He knew he was the one who asked you to go in the first place, that you’d gone in peace, and—though he’d been stuck in a hurting battle with himself ever since—he knew wanting more and being justified in asking for it were two very different things. And, really, he wasn’t entitled to either. Not anymore.

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Okay fast turn over, but I was feeling inspired for it. Lowkey don't think I've even fully written from Jannik's POV and it was fun—especially when having something to reference. Actually proud of how it pairs side to side with the other, so if you want to flip back and forth between them to check it out, feel free... xx