#para: you had me at hello

[batmanego]

for me, losing someone i considered to be a sibling to me was the most devastating thing i've ever been through. for people in gaza, the threat of death of their friends and family hangs over them every day. they don't have the privilege of not getting to worry about losing people.

ibrahim is no exception. every day, he has to worry about his family members. he has lost more than most people are capable of imagining.

his campaign has currently raised €11,392/€20,000. a boy his age should not have to worry about what he would do if he lost loved ones.

please, please, please. match my donation. if you can't donate €10, donate €5 or even €1. if you really have nothing to spare, tag a friend and reblog this post.

[likelysobbing]

𖥻 FOR THE STREETS. paige bueckers x reader

synopsis: baby, what’s meant for the streets will never be yours.

notes: based off hev abi’s song ‘para sa streets’ — made mainly because i wanted more paige angst on my feed . so like, give me my angst. might write a part two if this gets enough attention . the synopsis and overall theme is like a genuine LYRIC from the song btw. lastly. this is fiction guys this is completely NOT paige paige would never do this and i will not knock on wood three times when i say that because WE ALL KNOW PAIGE WOULD NEVER DO THIS. chill on me for a moment you guys …. (PART 2 HERE: STUNNED)

cw: once again, based off hev abi’s song ‘para sa streets’ so you KNOW it’s notorious player!paige, angst lowkey no comfort besides the fact that reader now hates paige’s guts, INFIDELITY + MENTIONS OF ORAL: paige gets head from a different girl, but i don’t write it explicitly because god forbid. lovers to exes. angsty, angsty, angsty. reader’s kinda a wuss. ignore the existence of curfews for this fic btw, thankies!

paige bueckers.

big name. legendary name, even, but on your tongue?

it burns.

everytime you have to say it, you have to stop yourself from clawing your tongue off, skinning it clean of the layer that said her name—because you hate it. hate her. hate her stupid smile that’s all teeth, her eyes that she knows are pretty, all her muscles that probably wouldn’t help much in the event she got herself pulled into a scream-esque horror movie. you hate her fucking fashion sense … and how she looks better with all her clothes off.

you hate her.

hate how she lies through those teeth, through that smile, so easily—hate how she knew her eyes were nice and always gave you puppy eyes so you’d forgive her every apology, hated all her muscles and how when they held you, you felt protected—and when they held you down, you felt hot and bothered. you hate her fucking fashion sense with every goddamn bone in your body because deep down you know she looks good in every damn thing— but she looks the best with her clothes off. you hate her. you hate paige bueckers with every bone in your body.

but there was a time in which you didn’t. there was a time in which you looked at paige with love instead of the hatred you look at her with now, and a time in which you stopped her in halls instead of hoping you wouldn’t see her in them in the first place. there was a time you loved her smile, and her eyes, and drooled over her muscles—and that time? was the time of your fucking life.

and she chose to end it through a fucking phone call.

she always knocked on your door three times.

i love you— she said it through those knocks. you told her she didn’t need to, she was your girlfriend, she had special privileges (and a dorm key), but she insisted, because she wanted to say i love you before you even saw her. you always found it cute.

she was your girlfriend, then. she gave you toothy smiles whenever you went to her games, kisses throughout the campus because she believed a ‘hello’ was never enough, she even held your hand when she knew you were getting overwhelmed. she was, like, literally perfect. there was no doubt in your mind that she was it for you—she was the one. no worried looks from your friends whenever paige placed a hand on your hip, no whispers among students you didn’t know surfacing as you held her hand through a crowd could deter you. not even whispers of how paige had notoriously wandering eyes, or how she had a history of playing games with girls who didn’t know they were pawns. you were warned that paige wasn’t meant to settle down, that she was meant ‘for the streets’, and would never truly be yours— as they so bluntly, and also rudely, told you. you did nothing but scoff. those warnings did nothing. paige was it.

paige bueckers was the one.

you had no doubt about it. you were hers. you didn’t think twice about the wedding in spring you imagined, expecting it to be your problem in the future you had together, when in reality? paige didn’t even want you in hers.

it started with her smile.

her smile was all teeth back then, when you were still in that early honeymoon phase and you felt as if nothing in the world could tear you apart. she was always happy to see you— you’d know from the way her smile was always so big. so wide.

and suddenly, somehow, some way— on some random thursday, it faltered. you didn’t notice at first. she didn’t smile as wide anymore. when she saw you at her games, she nodded her head and went back to her bench.

you just thought she was tired. that was okay, you thought.

and then her eyes started wandering.

like the crowds you once easily ignored whispered she was notorious for, her eyes started wandering. she looked at a cheerleader, her eyes trailing down the girl’s slim waist—and then the next week, she was looking at a point guard from another team; she just kept… looking.

by the next month she was looking at every one else besides you.

there were times when you locked eyes, and paige always did love those moments—you’d have a staring contest, and those butterflies in your stomach made simply because of paige looking at you so intently it made you feel like the only person in the room? well, you always fuckin’ lost. paige loved looking at you.

it’s why you noticed when she stopped.

suddenly, her arms didn’t wrap around you anymore.

there was no longer the familiar warmth she brought with her, no sign of the tight, constrictive hold that was somehow comforting. when paige hugged you, she did it with one hand. she pulled away first.

you always joked about paige’s arms being a cage.

unfortunately for you, that cage was all you knew. and when it began to open, you didn’t want to go. so you didn’t. you stayed with her. you stayed with her, and she got worse.

by then, she had stopped knocking three times.

by then, she had stopped coming. coming through for you, and coming to your dorm, and coming to you in general.

you don’t know why it only took you that one fantastic (sarcasm detected!) night to really leave.

CONNECTICUT — 2:54 AM, BELDEN HALL (UCONN ALUMNI QUAD DORM)

11 missed calls, exactly 29 texts and counting, and thirty minutes pacing around your dorm, as small of a space as it was—paige promised to be back by 10:30 . that was exactly four hours and and 24 minutes ago. safe to say, you were fucking horrified. she promised to be back by 10:30; you were going to have a movie night together. your popcorn is untouched now, cold and stale.

and she is still not back.

so you call again.

there is exactly three rings before she finally answers. you gasp, a sigh of relief escaping you. her name is so sweet on your tongue.

“paige!—“

there is a click of her tongue on the other line and the giggle of another girl that makes your ears ring. “what?” she groans, “what is it?”

“paige?” you repeat her name again, softer this time, a tingle on your tongue.

“bro— hhh—fuck, right there, right there—what is it?”

a blade pierces your heart. “paige, what are you doing?”

there is a shuffle on the other line. she stays silent for a moment, the only sound from her is the soft sighs she let out and slurping you choose not to hear. you might puke.

you swallow down bile that feels like blood, and ask again.

“paige, what are you doing?”

“getting great head.”

you didn’t expect her to be so upfront, hoping that maybe even in all her drunken stupor she’d end up softening the truth. she didn’t. you froze.

your mind was moving a mile a minute, and so in desperation to just speak—you spoke with your heart. and all your heart had?

“why?”

it was broken enough for a mocking scoff to be heard on the other line, “why?” she repeated.

every word she said there after pierced a new hole through your already bleeding heart.

“i don’t give a damn ‘bout you, baby. what are you on?” she groaned, and you could hear her eyes roll from here— “i was just feeling ‘lone lately, you know how it is…”

by then, you knew she meant it. you stifled a sob. by then, you knew she meant it—but you still said, you still said— “you’re just… you’re just drunk—“

“you get drunk too, don’t be a fucking drama queen. i know you. from head to toe, actually.” it’s mocking, and you bite your lip— “you know how it feels to get— ohhh fuck, fuck that feels good, that feels good,”

you could barely believe her own audacity. she was so shameless in her disloyalty— with every moan, rage reverberated through your body. with every giggle you heard from that girl on the other end, your fist clenched harder.

and yet, trumping every other emotion, was sorrow.

“we’re done, paige.” you said, through a hoarse, shaky voice. “we’re done.”

“are we?”

“yes, we are.”

“but you stayed this long, baby. if i get bored again, i might need you. you’re so grumpy all the time, you— fuck, fuck— you know? when you’re with others, you’re grumpy, but with me, you’re so sweet. when you’re with me, your ass is flirty— all that pain you told me about disappears, right? that’s funny. you’re a pain in the ass when i’m tryna get a quick fuck in. gotta stay loyal to you… but nahh… i’m bored, actually. real bored. like super, super bored. but it like really depends—“

why are you letting her speak this long? there are tears in your eyes, and you fear your skin might split if you keep clenching your knuckles this hard. why are you letting her speak this long?

you don’t want to stop hearing her voice.

you don’t want to, even if she made you wait for four hours and 24 minutes, even after all she’s put you through—even after every second passing right now, in which you find paige has probably been continously cheating on you.

“paige,” you try again. you interrupt her. this time, her name on your tongue burns. it bleeds like a cut, aching. “paige, just… stop.” you defend yourself pathetically, you acknowledge it, you cannot stop it—but maybe, you can stop her. “just stop.”

“…okay?“

okay, is all you get. that’s all you get.

you open your mouth to speak, but you’re cut off by paige’s pornographic moan that claws at your brain the moment you hear it—and then a click is heard.

paige ended the call.

paige ended it all.

you would’ve collapsed if you weren’t already slumped against your bed in tears. you fall asleep with your head resting against the edge of your mattress and a bucket of popcorn untouched by your desk.

and the next morning, there are no more missed calls. your roommate knows about your breakup before you even tell her; she tells you paige was fucking drunk off her ass last night, and she announced it at the party in a tone so jolly it made people double over and laugh. your roommate heard paige say that she was free, now, and that the moment she said so—a bunch of girls had came near her corner. they were waiting.

your roommate can’t resist saying ‘i told you so’.

this time, you don’t even think to defend the person you thought you’d willingly spend your whole life defending.

instead, you say, “you were right.”

because she was. as unheard of as it seemed back then, she was right.

what’s meant for the streets would never be yours.

@likelysobbing.

[dilf-docs]

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast

professor!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, pwp, rivals to ??, hate sex, p. in v. (do i even wrap it atp), degradation kink, daddy kink, lwk exhibition kink bc this happens on his office (rip to the furniture), bit dom!pedro + brat taming (again?? stop it mayor we get itttt omg) sprinkled here and there, fingering, squirting, creampie (everyone got invited to the party), reader is a loud-mouth (who's this divaaa), pedro's kind of an asshole and a perv in this one (ooc sorry), don't expect a second part this is literally just self-fulfilling filth without a storyline

word count: 6,451 words

side note: hello! this won the poll. am i the only one with this fantasy? pls tell me not; i feel insane looking some of my professors like a fucking starved drooling dog. giggling as we speak, bc the movie's got everybody insane between marvel renaissance, gif dump, new content, husband!pedro material and professor wet dreams out there... this piece of work is the last. hope you enjoy it, citizens! ps. jin of bts makes an appearance bc i love my seven men and i'm currently sick so he is sick too lmao (ah pero para escribir cochinadas ahí sí estás sana verdad)

It's your fault, really, for opening it in the middle of the class. It was a link, and you should've saved it for later, but then your thumb clicked into the blue underlined text your friend sent, and the reel popped up on your screen.

Your laugh erupted before you could cover your mouth, your professors' words hanging mid-air.

"Who did that?"

Everyone looks at you. Those sell-out, ass-kissing, boot-licking dicks.

His eyebrows furrow until they seem to melt into one, a big angry scowl on Mr. Pascal's face.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Y/n?"

His voice reverberates on the class' walls, sounding even scarier.

You shake your head, tone quiet as you let out a small, "No"

"No?" he repeats your words, mocking your insecure demeanor, "because with that loud ass laugh, it seemed like something important enough to dissrupt my class. So please, share. You can't leave us wondering in here"

People cough and avoid your gaze while you wish the building would collapse and kill everyone inside, you included. Oh, that would be good. But no, you're stuck on a space that now feels too small and his persistent gaze cuts right through you.

"I-It's not important-" you stumble over your words.

"Can't speak anymore? All that boldness, suddenly gone"

"Mr. Pascal" you plead. God, you had never even begged for anything in your life. But there's always a first.

"I said share" his voice menacing, like he's got not an ounce of sympathy in that sturdy body that could fit plenty. No, wait. Focus!

He grows impatient at your lack of movement, practically growling his next words:

"I won't repeat myself"

"I-I I don't know how to-" you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sound. "It's a video, so-"

"Then cast your phone and project it" he clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying this. What a sadistic motherfucker.

"I-I can't-"

Can Jesus please hurry up and come fast? Even better, immediately take this one to hell, please.

"Aw, you poor thing" he tuts, mockingly. No one dares to speak, and you'll learn later that he's got his own reputation. For a reason.

"Don't worry, I'll help you myself"

Turns out, the fucker made you and your shaky legs stand up and walk the walk of shame. Then, you had to proyect the silly video, which in handsight, wasn't funny anymore. While some of your classmates laughed, that didn't lessen how humilliated you felt.

It had happened during your first year at university, on a subject you really couldn't care less and when you were still (practically) a baby; freshly eighteen. But now you were twenty, almost finishing your career, and the shaky insecure teenager was long gone, replaced by a secure (albeit a bit of a bitch), confident woman.

That had been your first encounter with professor Pascal.

You have to give him some credit: he is kind of the reason why you did a full 180 on your personality.

But life always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"What do you mean you're sick?" you scoff, "we were supposed to go to Dave's party tonight!"

Your friend lets out a cough that sounds borderline animalistic.

"First of all, don't come closer. I'll pass it to you" Jin speaks up, voice rough from the earlier death-threatening cough. "And second, do you think I care about a stupid party? I'm dying here"

"Don't be so dramatic" you roll your eyes.

"Hello? Didn't you hear that cough?!" he sounds offended, reinforcing the feeling by throwing one of his used tissues at you. You dodge his lame throw with a yuck. "I think you're devoid of empathy"

"Well, thank Mr. Pascal for that"

Jin wasn't your friend when that happened, but when you became buddies, he eventually came to know about your beef with the older man. Yes, beef, because after the Reel Deal (as you both have come to call it), he made your life impossible. If it weren't for your skills and intelligence, you'd probably fail his subject. Mr. Pascal gave you the hardest time ever: be it pairing you with the absolute worst students or making your assigments more difficult, for an "unknown" reason.

Eventually, even after such a traumatic experience and subject being way behind, it became a staple in your duo to bring him up everytime something negative happened or was mentioned.

("You're so funny!")

("Thanks, a professor pushing fifty made my life impossible when I was eighteen")

But here's an even funnier thing: for unknown reasons, Jin became his TA last semester. Probably he didn't know that you were friends, and that has to be the reason he's actually a decent human being towards the younger boy. I'm telling you, Jin would insist, the whole mean asshole shtick is propaganda!

"Talking about him..."

"Stop" you raise your hand dramatically, "enough bad news today"

"You can still go to the party, you know?" he giggles, earning another cough that practically leaves him voiceless. "Why do you insist on taking me? I don't know this people!"

Jin was two years older your senior.

"But it's not fun without you!" you insisted on dragging him around everywhere after you met because he tutored you. "Who will I bore with all my failed flirting attempts?"

"Thank God, not me" he ignores your pout. "Besides, wasn't like Marcos insisting you went with him? There's your chance!"

"But Marcos is boring..." you draw out, "and I need a man who makes me laugh"

"You can't really ask for that much in this economy"

Okay, here's the deal: there's another reason you can't let go of the Mr. Pascal subject, and it's not because of the beef. Hell, Jin can't know about this or he'll never let you live.

The answer is quite simple: as infuriating as he is, Mr. Pascal is hot. Like, middle-aged hot, with the greying hair and face marked by lines that tell time. If it wasn't for him you'd probably never discover your preference towards more... aged meat. You should be furious, and you were, but during all your petty arguments over topics or slides that didn't deserve to be reviewed for more than five minutes, the fire that ignited in your lower belly? You've never felt it before, and if that managed to get you more hot and bothered than a fresh boy ready to kiss your lips, neck and below? Well, that's a serious issue.

But it was his voice, that treated you with such vitriol, a deep and rich sound reserved just for you, or be it the way his auburn eyes seem to catch fire whenever you opened your mouth, dark forests burning in flames that threathened to reduce it all to ashes; yo were eager, anticipating the burn.

He saw your defiance, and instead of putting you in your place, he matched that wild rageful spirit of yours that refused to be tamed.

And that you liked, despite the history of hate between you.

"What about him?" you appear nonchalant, while retouching your makeup for the party.

"About him who?" Jin quips, "we just talked about two fine men-"

"The much older man"

A weird smirk forms across his lips. "Sure, of course"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. But it will be fun, nonetheless" he sits up straight from his previous surrendered position on the couch. "So, remember how I'm his TA, right?"

"Yes?" you pause. "Wait, if this is for me to help you check again more homeworks, no. I am not helping you read a hundred papers again for free"

"They weren't a hundred!" he barks. "Besides, it's not that"

"Then?" you press, not admiting how interested you were.

"Do you see my poor state?" you nod, not understaning where he's going. "Then, you're aware I'm not capacitated to do said task as of right now"

"I'm aware" you repeat, "what I'm not, is what does that have to do with me?" you resume your activity, going for your eyeliner. "So much mystery when you could've just said it in a pass"

"I need you to cover up for me"

The liquid eyeliner paints a line across half of your face. "What?!"

He laughs at your reaction, "You heard me"

You leave the mirror, now focusing your attention on him. "It's not April Fools yet, Jin. Heads up, it was a terrible prank"

Even if it made you hot to have such dynamic with your former IM professor, you weren't exactly keen on seeing him again. For you, he had turned into a memory slash fantasy at some point: an asshole that got your panties wet and pussy slick when you touched yourself at night, on behalf of all the dumb uni boys who couldn't reach that sweet spot of yours. What a dirty girl, his velvet voice on your head would say. Why are you touching yourself to your supposed foe, a much older guy? Fucking slut. Yeah, there was no way you'd go back to the real thing for the real him to taint the image you got off almost every night to, so he could say your name in that animosity that leaked with a barely contained rage and poorly disguised distate that left a bitter taste on your mouth, ego and self-steem on the ground. Because the truth is, no matter how much you argued back, he always won. You had just found your voice, but all efforts to bring him down seemed powerless, and he had won every single battle: even if he didn't have the last word, just with a look, he made you feel small, stupid and meaningless.

Nope. Not going back.

"And you have a terrible way of coping" he's quick to counter back. "Listen, it's not so bad. You just have to do meaningless tasks and pretend to be interested. Simple, right? Look, those extra credits could be useful, you know? And you excelled the class, y/n. Easy!"

"You're making it sound trouble-free as if the man doesn't hate me"

"He's definitely forgotten about it!" he waves his hand, dissmisively. "Probably jokes about it, like us!"

"Mr. Pascal doesn't seem the type of guy to have humor"

"Humor me, then" Jin sighs. "Do this for me, yes? When have I ever failed you?"

You wish for some sense to get into his skull. Had he forgotten every single anecdote?

"Think of all those times where I've taken you home, carried you drunk. Or the sad heart breaks I've been through with you, remember? Brought you ice cream and watched your favorite movies. Or when I used to tutor you? Or-"

"Enough of your emotional manipulation, Mr. Kim" you shake your head, dissapointed, all to avoid the quiet rage to settle in. "I thought better of you"

"It's for a week. Days if this pills do a miracle" his big black eyes look at you, pleading.

"Jin, you're not being a very good friend"

"It's just this one favor" he sighs. "Look, I can't loose this thing, okay? I get the credits I need to finally leave this shithole. If I don't show up, they'll hand it to someone else. You may not believe it, but it's very demanded"

People making lines to be emotionally abused by your former IM professor? Sure thing!

"Can't you tell someone, though? I'm sure they'll understand and you can go back once this cold is gone"

"I already did so, and they told me to show up or quit, due to the wait list of people applying for the position" you roll your eyes at your university's antics and their bullshit policies. "I don't trust anyone else to not fuck it up, but you. You'll just have to tell him about this minor inconvenience, and Mr. Pascal will understand. You know, I'm kind of his favorite guy in there..."

Great, just what you needed.

"Sorry to break it to you, but as soon as I walk through that door, all that pretty boy privilege would be gone"

"Please, y/n. Please"

"You'll never ask me any other favor?"

"No" he looks rather desperate; it's funny. "Hell, you can use the lake cabin for your birthday bash if you-"

"Deal"

Were you that easy to buy, huh? What does that say about you? Fucking ass sell-out.

Okay, but a birthday party in that all glass modern cabin with a deck and a jacuzzi does sound tempting. Who could be blamed? Not you, who will have to face her biggest foe in exchange for one wild bash.

You take a deep breath, imagining the lake water splashing and champagne on the deck (ugh, Jin's parents had a waterbike too. They were loaded), before knocking on his office. The door flings open, almost hitting you in the face, and there he is: Mr. Pascal, with his brown hair with white on the sides, loose curl over his face. Your fingers definitely don't itch to touch it, of course.

He's sporting a grumpy look (when doesn't he?), his big hands (you had forgotten how big they were) holding a bunch of papers (great, work!).

"Goddamn it, Jin. I was about to call you for standing me up, you know I hate when people don't tell me-"

He stops on his tracks, and that all too familiar scowl deepens his face.

"You"

Seethed with such venom, it's quite scary. Your legs tremble, yet your pussy clenches.

"Yes, me" you can't help but let out a little laugh at his antics. What did Jin said about him not remembering you? Well, can't be blamed; you weren't easy to forget.

His jaw clenches while looking down at you, but this time, you don't dare to flinch.

"What are you doing here?"

"See, Jin is my friend-"

He interrupts you, body frame resting on the door with a relaxed posture, but his shoulder looks tense.

"Oh, I liked him. Liked, as in past tense" he emphasizes, like a child throwing a tantrum. "How can a kid like him be friends with you?"

"We're best friends, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, I'm here as a favor" you hand him Jin's written apology, that may have one or two sneezes over it. "He's sick, and I'll cover him for a week, just so he doesn't loose the position. Said you would understand"

"I do" he replies on an instant, "you I don't"

"I passed your subject. With honors, even after you made my life impossible" you reply. "I'm the best candidate, face it"

He's rendered speechless for a moment, before he bites back:

"What makes you think I won't do it again?"

Now it's you who doesn't know what to say. It's infuriating how he still keeps winning.

"That's right" a wicked smile adorns his face. "Stay and find out"

Boy, don't you love a challenge?

So you stayed, much to his surprise. The bastard probably thought you were still the same scaredy mouse from first year.

Oh, it was delicious the way his whole face fell at your entrance next morning, how he quickly replaced it and introduced you in a clipped tone.

"Where's Jin?" a girl sitting in the front row had asked, more students joining to ask for his absence. You wonder if your friend's popularity stems from his brain or looks.

"He's sick" you answered. "But don't worry, he'll be back soon"

"Thank God" Mr. Pascal voices out loud.

You shoot him a look. He wasn't joking about not making it easy, was he?

"Oh, I didn't take you as a man of faith, Mr. Pascal, but you're right. It's important to thank our Lord everyday. So, thank Him for this week where I get to offer my suffering. In reward" you turn to face him, all the class silent as they take in your weird exchange, the atmosphere tense, "I'll never see your face again"

This time, you weren't going down without a fight.

"We'll see about that"

There it was: the fire to your gasoline.

So you pushed back, and argued everytime you disagreed, things that weren't part of your work but you still did because well, if he was still hellbent on making you suffer, you weren't going to make it easy for him this time.

If students argued against him, you took their side; even if just one did, you had their back.

You finished grading, but when returning the papers, you'd let them fall with a heavy thud over his desk, not even daring to look back.

At the time he'd talk to you, you wouldn't answer, instead just doing so, but no words to be uttered his way, as if he wasn't worth the effort. Not even a clipped okay.

And you enjoyed this; savored how he'd take every one of your petty actions with his full chest, eyebrows furrowed and face red in anger, but never answering, just silent, like deep in thought, a cold and calculated look overtaking his brown eyes.

Then the veins on his neck would pop as the ones of his tight white-knuckled grip on his mug. He'd speak up, and his voice had your legs shaking for some friction, wet spots now more often on your lingerie.

That he didn't know.

All he did was you were now more than a pebble on his shoe: a huge fucking stone, going down the hill, ready to squash him.

But boy, didn't he love a challenge?

It's Friday, aka last day of Torture Week.

You drop the quizzes for next Monday on his desk with the same harsh movement you had done all week.

"And it's over" you announce, papers plopping next to him, who is writing something. Mr. Pascal's hand moves, his L much longer than it should be. He looks up at you, annoyed, but his eyes flash with a hint of amusement.

"I see you can talk"

"Well, you already know me, Mr. Pascal. So you should be aware of what I can do"

"Love if you'd enlighten me"

He leans back on his chair, arms resting behind his head. It's hard not to take a brief glance to the flexing muscles, or how he's rolled up his sleeves, arms bulking up with the action, the fabric tense. It's hot in here. Wait, or has it gotten hot? Your face feels red, and when he catches your lingering gaze, he smiles devilishly.

"Like what you see, Ms. Y/n?"

No. You refuse to let him win this again, so close to the end.

"The release from prison?" you regain your posture, "very much"

"You may be a loud-mouthed brat, always knowin' what to say. I'll give that to you" he props himself to the front, elbows now resting on the desk as his eyes scan yours with a shade of dark covering them. "But a good liar you ain't"

You try to remain still, face emotionless, but your professor is a man of experience; an expert on his field. He who investigates, who has majored to be able to notice every small detail that can contribute to a hypothesis, has now formulated his.

You want this as much as he wants to.

You, with your wobbly legs and nervous eyes, glancing up at him with a hungry gaze that matches his own, despite your angry posture and irritated tone. You, that picked up petty arguments just to rile him up, because you liked the command for power on his voice. You like this, didn't you? Feeling small and weak, fangs pointy, just barely gracing the skin; the edge what set your skin on fire.

He isn't one to hold grudges (he's just mean all the time), but Pedro is willing to show you he hasn't forgotten about the years, and he'll be more than willing to fuck that bitchy attitude out of you.

"Hello?" you snap your fingers in front of him, "are you there?"

He snaps back to reality, your face covering his vision. In his position, he gets rewarded with a delicious peak at your breasts and the nude lingerine hiding them. He can imagine the perked nipples and the rosy plush skin he'd love to trace his tongue with, because even when you speak in a harsh voice, your eyes speak another thing. Fuck, he thinks he can even smell your arousal.

"I was talking to you" you don't even give him room to reply; snotty ass. "Said I was already leaving"

He thinks of himself as merciful. So he stands up, your bodies barely brushing against each other for a second, before he's opening the door, towering over you. He's so close, you can see the grey hairs mixed with the brown ones on his beard and mustache. God, you can smell him: coffee, cigarrettes, sandalwood and leather.

"You're free, Ms. Y/n" he follows your line of joke from before. "Just, humor me with one last thing"

You glance over at the clock above his desk. It's barely noon.

"Yes?" as dry as possible.

"Why did you accept?"

It's a simple question, really, but it manages to catch you off guard.

His tone is so different, maybe that's why: it's low, impossibly low. For less attentive people, it could even pass as a growl. But you hear, the amusement and dare laced within the velvety tone.

"Because I'm a good friend" you manage to speak, his body caging your smaller frame against the door.

This is ridiculous. You can leave at any time. Hello? Have your legs not gotten the memo?

"I didn't think you were capable of good things"

You huff, annoyed. "Well, I passed your subject, didn't I?"

He clicks his tongue.

"Many before you, and more after you have. Doesn't make you special, y/n"

Your name alone leaves a savory and toxic sweetness on his tongue.

"But how many of those you remember?" Mr. Pascal shots up an eyebrow, confused. "Tell me, how many can you name? That's right. I changed your life, whether you like it or not"

He's quick to reply. "Bullshit"

"Bullshit" you mock his angry tone, "but you recognized me the moment you opened the door. It didn't even take you seconds, hell, you hadn't even fully seen me and you knew who I was. Doesn't take a great investigator to figure it out, does it? So I take you missed me"

He can't believe your fucking mouth.

But then Pedro's remembering the way his pants tightened when you started to stand up to him, getting even worse when he still managed to shut you up. Fuck, the way you had smirked when you approved his subject during your last project delivery. He let you, because well, you had earned it: for the way your image had been the perfect companion for his hand pistoning his cock will full force, thinking of that loud mouth of yours gagged with it. Or when you walked past him in the hallways, wrapped in your own little bubble, your carefree laugh erupting and bouncing off the walls, tickling every hair of his body.

Part of him had accepted Jin to be his TA if that meant having a piece of you, even if a small connection, to you. Did you think he wouldn't know? That he wouldn't see you walking by in those small skirts that rode over when you bent? He noticed you; after all, you were in the same place most of your day.

You had excelled his subject after all, hadn't you?

So of course you'd notice his stare lingering in your back like a hand over your ass. How his eyes would dart to the skirts you wore on purpose, attentive to the moment you'd drop a pen on accident and your panties would be on sight, a wet spot in the middle you hadn't even noticed that smelled. Fuck, and wasn't it sweet?

You really feel like you have won this, don't you?

"Miss you?" Pedro hisses the words out. "I didn't miss you. What I think is happenin', is that me missing you is what you want"

"And I think you're repeating the same words and fumbling thoughts because you're a big egocentric prideful asshole who can't admit he's got the hots for his younger student"

"God. Don't you have such a filthy mouth, baby?"

Before he can register and you've fully let the nickname sink, your hand slaps his face with a potent movement that reverberates across his office's walls.

"You're a fucking piece of work, Mr. Pascal" but instead of being offended (or you don't know, fight back?), he remains silent. "You dirty old spoiled prick. Think I would never fight you back? That you can get away with whatever this is?"

"Whatever this is?" he chuckles, a sound rumbling deep from his chest. "Well, pretty girl, ain't you started this?"

He looms over you, hot breath carressing your face softly.

"Me? Unbelievable" you scoff. "You're one to talk, humiliating a poor freshman"

"Poor? You were distracted, in my class! Did your parents never teach you manners?!" his words leave droplets of spit that land in your face. "I had to put your stupid ass in place; that'll teach you something"

"Like what?" you taunt, recklessly, chest up and down with uneven breaths.

"I see it didn't work" his body language does an immediate switch. You remember a predator ready to strike their prey. "Maybe I should've tried harder"

His eyes do a wild dance over your body as so do yours.

Lip. Eyes. Skin. Cleavage. His tight pants. Biceps. Legs. Hair.

Before you can register, he's got you pinned against his desk, door closed in a loud move. There's a click sound somewhere in between, but you're too busy feeling his big hands grabbing your face roughly, as if he wants to consume your skin and feel your very bones on his calloused tips.

His lips are impossibly wet and eager, hands needily gropping your body. He pushes all his weight over you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue now inside your mouth, making you falter.

You let out a breathy moan when your back hits the desk, the wood digging your skin, but he swallows it whole, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Mmph-"

"Mmph?" he mocks between kisses, not giving you the chance to take a breath, or maybe he was scared you would get the time to think and would push him away. "Just my mouth got you all worked up, baby? Can't even speak"

Your fingers run through his hair for support, curls between your fingers. They felt soft, like they were meant to be combed through over and over again. He dives his head in your neck, hot mouth wet with its trail of kisses, making you squirm.

"I see" his breath ghosts over your reddened skin, "you wanted this just as much, don't you? This boys aren't enough for you?"

Every hair on your body prickles, his mouth claiming every spot he could, bites and hickeys all over your skin. You whine, pouting your lips, missing his already.

"It's okay, baby" he laughs, "just gotta show them who's enough for you" he grunts, "a man"

Mr. Pascal takes off your shirt, well, basically rips the poor thing, his hands relieved to finally touch your breasts. He roughly grabs one of them, and you bite your lip so hard, you almost feel the bitter metallic taste in your mouth. He lowers himself, despite his aching joints, to play with your hardened nipples, lapping them with his warm tongue, sucking and swirling until they turn swollen.

Your hand finds its way to his formal pants, fingers gracing over the fabric, feeling his cock straining against it. Just like you imagined it: big, like his presence. If it could, your pussy would jump in excitement, realistically just throbbing and leaking.

You untie his belt and buttons so you can begin to rub over his boxers. You can feel him trying to meet your touches, grinding onto your palm. He groans, deeply, enjoying your hungry stare, steady beat, parted lips and wet cunt.

He bucks his hips against you, propping himself on the wall behind his desk, which had moved from its original position thanks to the mayhem.

"You clearly don't know what you got yourself into, baby. But don't worry, I ain't letting you go just yet"

He pulls the skirt up, revealing the damp panties and mess between your legs. He licks his lips before rough digits find your wet folds. His fingers carress your impossibly tight walls, coating them with your slick.

"So fucking tight" he groans against your collarbones, "thought of yourself as uptight but I can fucking smell you dripping, you dirty slut. Could tell you loved provoking me becayse that's the only way your snotty ass can get off"

"F-fuck you, Mr. Pascal" you manage to choke out.

"Where are your manners? After how I've rewarded your big mouth, you bitch" he takes off your panties with skilled practice, the piece falling to the floor with a weak sound. Your bare cunt makes you shiver. "You think you're smart, baby? You think you can play these games and face no consequences at all?" he tuts. "No, Ms. Y/n, you know I hate wastin' my time, so be a good girl and don't make this harder for you, get that?"

You whine at his words, but refuse to shut your mouth.

"Oh, I'm smart" you laugh, "smart enough to have you on your knees for me"

An ugly grin spreads across his features.

"I will never bend for a bratty pretentious slut like you" he grips your hair with force, leaving your neck exposed, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, stupid cock hungry whore. You wanted my attention? It's all yours"

Then, with a low, almost feral growl, he grabs your hips and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sweeps the papers and books onto the floor with a clatter, setting you down on the edge.

"You better behave, baby" Mr. Pascal bites your lower lip, "don't want people to know what we're doing in here, do you? Or would you want them to know just how much of a slut you are, spread on my desk as your cunt drips for me?"

He steps between your legs, pushing them further apart, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He leans in, his face inches from yours, voice low in a threatening rasp.

"I'll behave, I promise" mind in blank.

"No loud mouth bitchy stuck up attitude?"

You free his cock, hands scouting his shaft, his base, and balls. You fondled them while his fingers lingered closer to your pussy.

"No"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked stupid and used for my pleasure? Well, get ready, because I'm not going to stop until I've had my fill of this sweet little cunt"

He savors at the sight of your glistening folds.

"Let me-"

He laughs, seeing how you desire to guide his cock towards your entrance.

"Eager, little one?" he teases.

"Yes" you whimper, "I need you so badly, papi"

Your plea mixed with Spanish sends him on edge. His eyes darken with a primal, almost feral hunger at your desperate plea.

His voice is strained, rough with barely restrained lust.

"Fuck, you needy little thing. You want to take my dick until this desk breaks?"

He rubs the swollen head of his dick against your dripping slit, coating it in your arousal. Then, with one powerful thrust, he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, hot cunt.

"So tight" he groans, starting to move and setting a brutal pace from the very beginning. The desk shakes and creaks beneath you with each forceful thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the empty office. He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He sets a relentless, punishing rhythm, determined to fuck you into oblivion.

It's a goddamn view in here: him above you, droplets of sweat falling to your face, pristine hair now disheveled.

At this point, you were clenching so hard it hurt, walls fluttering around his massive girth. But he's greedy, and he's pushing himself deeper and deeper.

"Runnin' your mouth but now all quiet as you take all of me, hungry greedy whore" he digs his fingers into your cheeks harshly, but you find pleasure in the sting the pain causes. "Bet this is all you been thinking since you started talking back, huh? Don't worry, daddy's got you"

Surprisingly, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a dominating kiss, tongue invading your mouth. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly, a silent reminder of who you belong to.

"God. You're wet everywhere, baby"

His sweaty chest presses itself onto your tits as he forced his cock deeper within you, the plaid shirt sticking with sweat to his ablazed body, temperature high.

"T-the desk" you protest numbly; mind-fucked.

And oh, boy, doesn't he enjoy this view? Your fluttering eyelids, hazy eyes and trembling body.

So he keeps fucking you: pounding into you, rolling his hips skillfully, taking up all the space within you.

"I don't give a damn fuck about the desk, Ms. Y/n. I'm gonna fuck that attitude of yours until all you know is my name" he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hands grip your hips with bruising force, pulling you harder against him with each violent thrust. "Gonna break the desk, hell, fuck you on the floor if necessary, but you ain't leaving this office until my cum drips from your legs and everyone knows your tight little cunt is mine"

The desk groans and wobbles beneath you, the legs scraping against the floor as Pedro fucks you with wild abandon. The sound of your moans and the crude, wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the room.

His pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust, the rough friction sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the desk.

He feels your walls starting to flutter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. Mr. Pascal leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Why don't you be a good girl and tell daddy how good he's making you feel? Show me and everyone else what a desperate little slut you are, waiting for me to fill you up nicely with my seed"

He makes out of you a loud mess, a series of sweet sounds falling from your lips. You clench and he twitches, his digits holding your waist, keeping you in place for him.

"Good girl" he praises, "now you're gonna take it all, milk me dry, you greedy cocksleeve"

His thrusts become erratic and sloppier. The older man can feel your walls starting to flutter around him, body tensing as your orgasm approaches. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Will you be a good girl?"

"Yes!" you cry out, "don't stop!"

You hated this humilliation, how easy it is for him to fuck you with his big cock. You fucking hated him. But didn't he make you feel so good.

"Then come on my cock, bitch"

You didn't think it was capable, no, but you did. A first, another first when it came to Mr. Pascal.

You squirt. You fucking squirted.

Pedro lets out a feral roar of triumph when your pussy spasms around his pistoning cock, your release gushing out and soaking his dick and the desk, papers and shit beneath you (no, not the quizzes! You had printed them this morning). He savors the way you throw your head back, eyes rolling until they turn white on your fucked-out face.

"Such a sweet cunt, baby" he praises. "Milk me dry, come on"

Your slick walls milking him dry pushes him over the edge, clenching around him, and he knew it was over. He snaps, arching his back as he roughly moans. With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls-deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come. Thick, scorching ropes of cum paint your insides, flooding your womb with his potent seed, still pushing the remnants inside when he grinds against you, his pelvis pressed tight to yours as he rides out the waves of his intense orgasm. His grip on your hips tightens, fingermarks surely to be left in the soft flesh as he holds you in place, ensuring you take every last drop of his release.

"That's it, pretty baby. Can't even speak, can you?" he captures your mouth in a deep, dominating kiss. Like he owns you. "As you can see, I'm a man of my word"

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and intense, filled with a primal, almost feral satisfaction.

It's humilliating, really, how your lips search for more. You need him, badly, despite how shit he treats you and how wrong all of this is. Is this a win or a loose?

"Good girl" he repeats, his sweaty forehead clashing against yours. The desk creaks yet again. You love when he praises you, and you whine on instintic, making him laugh. "Learned your place just yet? Listen carefully, Ms. Y/n: no matter what you do or say, I'll always win, get it? And you'll be nothing but a needy uptight slut who begs for my attention and cock"

He pulls out of you slowly, his softening dick slipping from your well-used hole with a gush of their combined releases. He tucks himself away, doing up his pants with quick, efficient movements. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, smearing a streak of his cum across it.

"Go on. Taste it, and tell me how it feels"

Your tongue does a lazy movement, making your lips moist thanks to the saliva and his cum, like a fucking gloss. You shouldn't enjoy this, really, but your body shivers when you feel the taste of him going down your throat as you swallow.

"Good" you manage to speak, salt on the tip of your tongue.

"Good" he repeats, voice low and menacing, "because we're just getting started"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas

[coolemmasulivan2]

Back to Us

Pairing: Ferran Torres x Reader

Summary: When your daughter gets sick, you and Ferran spend the night together for the first time in over a year, making your feelings resurface.

Word Count: 1822

Tú más que nadie sabe Como yo soy contigo No importa mi estilo de vida Tú me quieres así

The knock came just past 9 p.m. You didn't need to check, you already knew it was him.

Ferran stood on the doorstep in joggers and a hoodie, his shoulders slightly damp from the rain beginning to fall. His eyes flicked past you the moment the door opened, panic and exhaustion etched into every tense line of his face.

"How is she?" He asked, breathless. No hello, no hesitation.

"Still warm." You said softly, stepping aside. "She keeps asking for you."

He entered and you closed the door behind him. It was the first time he'd truly been inside your home—his home—for nearly a year.

"¿Dónde está?" (Where is she?)

"In her room."

He took a step toward the stairs but paused, finally looking at you. His voice dropped, almost inaudible. "Can I…?"

"Of course you can, Ferran." You said soflty.

He didn't wait and moved quickly upstairs. You walked toward the kitchen and began warming milk for your daughter. Your movements were slow, deliberate, giving them their father and daughter space.

It had been almost a year and a half since the separation. Ferran had pulled away. At first, you thought there was someone else, maybe he had fallen in love with someone esle. But he'd never been seen with another woman, before or even after.

Lucia had been too young to understand what was really happening. In her world, nothing had changed, just that she had two beds now, one at Mommy's and one at Daddy's.

You lingered in the hallway as Ferran was knelt beside your daughter's bed.

Lucia, only three and feverish, blinked up at him with a sleepy smile. "Daddy…"

"Estoy aquí, cariño." Ferran murmured, brushing a damp curl from her forehead. "Daddy's here." (I'm here, baby.)

Something inside you ached. This wasn't supposed to be difficult anymore. You'd said your goodbyes, divided your things, agreed on a schedule. But watching him be soft, watching him love their daughter so completely, it still cut straight through you.

You stepped into the pink and white room and Ferran stood when he heard you enter.

You sat gently on the edge of the bed. "Want your milk, sweetie?" Lucia nodded slowly. "Sit up. Carefully."

Ferran adjusted her pillow as she sat up. Lucia drank slowly, glancing between her parents.

When she finished, Ferran tucked her back in, kissing her forehead. You moved in sync. Meds. Water. Cartoons playing softly in the background. When you passed him a cool washcloth, your fingers brushed and neither of you pulled away.

ater, feeling her eyes heaby, Lucia murmured: "Can you both sleep with me tonight?" You and Ferran looked at each other.

Ferran gently ran his hand over her hair. "Creo que tu cama es demasiado pequeña para los tres, cariño." (I think your bed's too small for the three of us, cariño.)

"We can use Mommy's bed. It's big."

Ferran swallowed hard. The bed he once called home. The one you used to share. The one you still slept in every night.

"Okay!" You voice was quiet but certain. "We'll sleep in my bed."

Lucia stretched her arms and Ferran lifted her carefully. You both walked down the hall in silence and the ache in his chest deepened.

The room hadn't changed, it looked exactly like he remembered. The only thing missing was his chaos. The chaos you used to scold him about. Now, it was neat. Too neat.

You pulled down the covers and Ferran laid Lucia in the middle of the bed. You removed your shoes and crawled in on either side. Lucia instantly snuggled against Ferran, but reached to hold your hand.

Minutes passed in silence. Strange, but familiar.

"She still sleeps like you. Same position." He whispered.

You smiled faintly. "Still frowns like you when she dreams."

Ferran looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "I've missed this." He muttered.

You didn't respond. When he looked over, your eyes were already closed.

An hour passed. Ferran lay awake, eyes open in the dark, listening to Lucía’s breathing and the soft tap of rain against the windows.

He turned his head. You were there, inches away, sleeping beside your daughter. Your face soft in sleep.

This was everything.

Not the trophies. Not the travel. Not the adrenaline rush of scoring. This was the life he still wanted. This was the life he never stopped wanting.

And he'd left it behind.

His hand reached out on instinct, brushing a strand of hair gently from your forehead. His fingers lingered for a second longer than they should've. You didn't stir.

He missed your laugh. Your sharp looks when he got too cocky. Your sleepy voice in the mornings. The early morning kisses. The way you melted into his arms like you belonged there.

He whispered it before he could stop himself. "Te quiero." (I love you.)

Sunlight spilled through the curtains. You woke first, slowly, blinking into the light. You were warm. Too warm.

There was an arm around your waist. Ferran.

He was curled behind you, holding you the way he used to. Close and a strong grip. His breath brushed your shoulder, steady, slow.

But then you tensed. Lucia was gone.

Your eyes opened fully, but before you could sit up, a faint clatter came from downstairs. Ferran stirred behind you, groaning softly, before he froze, upon realising what he was doing.

You shut your eyes quickly, pretending to sleep.

Carefully, he lifted his arm from your waist. He shifted away slowly, trying not to wake you.

Another noise downstairs.

"Shit!" He muttered.

He stood up and a few seconds later, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone in bed.

He found Lucia in the kitchen, standing on a stool, trying to reach the butter.

"Lucia!" He rushed forward, scooping her up before she could fall.

She grinned, proud of herself, placing her arm around his neck. "I was making breakfast. I wanted to take it to bed."

His heart squeezed. "Why didn't you wake me or Mommy? Are you feeling well?"

She nodded, proud. "You were sleeping. And when I got off the bathroom, you were already hugging her." She said smiling.

Ferran's heart stalled. "I--I..."

"I liked seeing you hugging mommy. It looked like before." She added, swinging her feet. Ferran placed her down and she instantly ran toward the sofa, where she had her stuffed shark.

Ferran looked at the stairs, hitting his lip nervously, before sitting at the coffee table in front of her.

"Do you miss when we all lived together?" He asked the little girl.

She nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

"I thought you liked having two houses."

She shrugged. "It's okay. But I liked when you were here. Can't you come back?"

That was all he wanted. But he was the one that broke things off, he was the one that made the decision to leave. Because for him, that was the best.

His throat tightened. "I want to. More than anything." He looked down. "But I messed up."

"Don't you like Mommy?"

He brushed her hair back, voice low. "I do. So much."

She looked at him. "Then why did you leave her if you like her?"

His throat went dry. "Because I was working too much. I thought she deserved someone better. Someone who could be there every day."

"But you like her and she likes you!" Lucía grinned. "You need to tell her."

He looked down, his voice catching. "Maybe I do, maybe I do." He whispered.

The girl's attention quickly shifted to something behind him. He turned around and froze.

"Mommy!" She jumped out of the sofa and ran toward you, hugging your legs.

She heard everything, he thought to himself.

He had never given you a reason for the breakup, and now you had probably heard everything.

You looked at him with an unreadable expression and Ferran looked away.

You crouched to hug your daughter. "Feeling better, love?" Lucia nodded. "Go put cartoons on. Daddy and I will make breakfast." She ran back to the sofa and turned on the TV.

You walked into the kitchen and Ferran follow, heart in his throat.

Ferran swallowed. "You heard!" You nodded. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you." He said. "You were always so patient, and I was always… gone. Focused on the next game, the next match. And when I wasn't, I was exhausted. I didn't know how to be enough for you."

You looked at him for a long moment. "You were enough for me!" You said, voice shaking.

"Come on, Y/n!" He ran his hand through his head. "I was in a bad place and I thought I had to hold it all on my own." He admitted.

"And I could be there for you, but you didn't even give me the chance." You said. "You chose for both of us."

"I was scared." He looked down. "Scared I'd drag you down. That I'd disappoint you." Ferran's voice dropped. "I never stopped loving you."

A pause.

You looked at him, pain and softness mingling in your eyes. "Then prove it." You whispered. "Don't just say it. Fight for us this time."

He stepped forward, gently brushing you cheek with his knuckles. His voice was barely a whisper.

“Let me try again. Let me be here. For you. For her.”

You leaned into his touch, tears shining in your eyes. He leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, giving you the chance to pull away. You didn't.

Your eyes locked in and slowly he leaned down, meeting your lips. The kiss was hesitant at first, like you were touching something sacred that neither of you had allowed yourselves to feel in a long time. But then something broke open.

A year and a half of distance. Of missed chances, quiet heartbreaks, and lonely nights. Of loving each other in silence. All of it poured into that kiss.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer with a desperation that had been under your skin for far too long. He let out a shaky breath against your mouth, his other hand cradling the back of your neck like he was afraid of losing you.

He kissed you passionatly. Like he was trying to memorize you. Like he didn't deserve the feel of you but was desperate to earn it.

You gasped softly when he deepened the kiss, and it hit him how much he'd missed you. Not just your body, but your soul. Your stubbornness. Your softness. Your fire.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his. Eyes closed. BBreathing unsteady.

He didn't speak and neither did you.

You just stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, heartbeats syncing back into rhythm and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like something was breaking, but like something was beginning again.

[theonottsbxtch]

FIRST SIP | FC43

an: hello dear friends i am back! on my break i did some writing and im posting a few of them now, this story is short and based off a request, it is more friends that coupley but hey ho! hope you guys missed me fr

wc: 2.3k

THE GLITTERING LIGHTS of the awards ceremony sparkled like tiny constellations scattered across the ceiling, casting a soft glow on the crowd of motorsport elite. She adjusted her sleek black dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles as the chatter of voices buzzed around her. The air was thick with champagne, pride, and promises of the future—her future. Formula One.

Her heart still fluttered at the thought. Next season, she’d be trading her Formula Two championship-winning car for the dizzying heights of the world’s most iconic racing series. The title champion still felt surreal, even with the trophy gleaming beside her seat.

She reached for her clutch bag, which was precariously balanced on her lap, when her fingers snagged, and the small lipstick she’d stashed inside went tumbling to the floor.

“Damn it,” she muttered, dropping to her knees before catching herself. “Joder… maldita sea,” she corrected herself in a breath, practising the Spanish that had become her second language these past few months. Her soon-to-be teammate, a rookie sensation turned veteran heartthrob with a reputation for fiery radio calls, spoke English on his own terms, and she wasn’t going to be the rookie who relied on a translator.

She stretched forward, only for her hand to collide with someone else’s. Warm fingers curled around the lipstick, and she looked up to see a man straightening with it between his fingers.

“¿Esto es tuyo?” he asked, holding it out to her. The rich accent made her mind stumble for a second before she registered the words: Is this yours?

“Sí… gracias,” she replied, taking it carefully. But as she glanced up at him, the dim lighting made it hard to see his face.

The man didn’t leave, though. He stuffed his free hand into his pocket and continued in rapid Spanish, “Deberías tener más cuidado. Estas cosas ruedan lejos, y luego todos se están tropezando.”

Her brain tripped over the words. Something about things rolling away? And people tripping? Her cheeks heated as she scrambled to reply. “Ah, sí, tienes razón. Um, gracias otra vez.”

“¿Estás bien? Pareces un poco nerviosa,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Are you okay? You seem a little nervous.

Her heart stuttered. Nerviosa? Nervous? No, no, not nervous. Not because he was tall and charmingly dishevelled in his tuxedo, or because his Spanish was making her carefully rehearsed phrases feel utterly useless.

“I’m fine,” she blurted, before realising it had slipped out in English. Heat rose to her face, and she quickly backtracked. “Estoy bien, quiero decir. Um…” She fumbled, searching for words. “No… nerviosa.”

The man laughed, low and warm. “¿Segura? Porque pareces que estás practicando un examen de español.” His teasing tone was unmistakable: Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re practising for a Spanish exam.

She swallowed, willing her racing brain to catch up. “No,” she managed, her lips twitching into a sheepish smile. “No examen… solo, um, aprendiendo.” Not an exam, just… learning.

“¿Aprendiendo?” His dark brows arched, intrigued. “¿Por qué?”

She hesitated. Did she admit why? Or keep it vague? Her pride wanted to play it cool, but her words were clumsy as they spilled out. “Para, um, la próxima temporada.” For, um, next season.

That made him pause, his head tilting slightly. “¿Eres piloto?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder as though expecting a team logo or badge to confirm it.

“Sí,” she said quickly, eager to hold onto the thread of the conversation. Then, her nerves pushed her to add, “Pero… F2.”

His eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah, campeona,” Ah, champion he said, grinning now. “Vi las noticias. Felicidades.” I saw the news, congratulations His Spanish slowed slightly, the warmth in his tone calming her as he added, “Subir a F1 es un gran paso. ¿En qué equipo vas a correr?” Moving up to F1 is a big step. What team are you going to race on?

Her chest tightened. Of course he’d ask that. She debated deflecting, but her pride wouldn’t let her. “Um… contigo.”

His brows furrowed, the grin flickering into confusion. “¿Conmigo?”

“Sí,” she murmured, suddenly very interested in the lipstick still in her hand. “Teammates.”

The realisation hit him, and in the shifting lights, she caught the flash of his expression: surprise, then delight. “¡Ah, en serio!” He ran a hand through his dark hair, laughing softly. “Bueno, entonces, tienes que practicar más. No puedes entender mis chistes si no hablas bien español.” Well, then, you have to practice more. You can’t understand my jokes if you don’t speak Spanish well.

She couldn’t help it—she laughed, the nerves ebbing just slightly. “Lo intentaré,” she promised, finally meeting his eyes with a shy smile. I’ll try.

“Bueno. Porque hago muchos chistes.” His grin was playful, his words laced with a teasing warmth. Good. Because I make a lot of jokes.

Her new apartment still smelled faintly of fresh paint and new furniture, the kind of sterile scent that made it obvious she’d only just moved in. Boxes were still scattered across the living room floor, some half-unpacked, others untouched, their labels scrawled with things like kitchen stuff and racing gear. She was making progress—slowly—but there was still so much to sort out.

At the moment, she was standing in the middle of the chaos, holding two framed photos and trying to decide which one deserved a place on the narrow entryway table. Her Formula 2 championship-winning moment? Or the first karting trophy she’d ever won?

She barely had time to decide before a sharp knock at the door interrupted her.

Frowning, she set the frames down and padded over, expecting maybe a team liaison or a delivery she’d forgotten about. But when she swung the door open, her breath hitched.

Franco stood on the other side, one hand braced against the doorframe, the other tucked into his hoodie pocket, his usual easy grin in place.

“Hola, vecina,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing. Hello, neighbour.

Her brain stalled. “Wait—what?”

His grin widened, and he jerked his chin towards the apartment next door. “You didn’t know?”

She shook her head, still caught between shock and amusement. “Not at all. No one mentioned I’d be living next to you.”

Franco laughed, crossing his arms. “I’ve always lived here. My teammates come and go, but I stay.”

She glanced past him at the door to his apartment, as if seeing it in a new light. “So all this time, I was moving in right next to you?”

“Seems that way.” He smirked, then leaned in slightly, voice dropping conspiratorially. “I hope you’re not too loud, rookie. I need my sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “I could say the same to you. Who knows what kind of noise you make?”

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. “I am an excellent neighbour.”

She let out a small laugh, the initial surprise settling into something easier, something natural. There was something oddly reassuring about knowing he was just next door.

Then Franco’s gaze flickered to the open boxes behind her. “Still unpacking?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s taking longer than I thought.”

He hummed, then, without warning, asked, “Do you drink mate?”

She blinked. “Mate?”

“The drink,” he clarified, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Not a… friend.”

She let out a short laugh. “I know what it is, but no—I’ve never tried it.”

Franco gasped again, this time genuinely horrified. “Never?”

“Never,” she repeated, biting back a smile at his dramatic reaction.

“No, no, this is unacceptable,” he said, shaking his head. “Forget coffee. You’re coming over, and we’re drinking mate.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Claro,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You have time, no?”

She hesitated, glancing back at the mess of boxes, the half-unpacked apartment. But, really, it wasn’t much of a choice at all. Franco was standing there, already expecting her to agree, already acting as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was. Maybe this was just how things were going to be—her new life, her new teammate, her new neighbour.

“Alright,” she said, grabbing her keys. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

Franco grinned, stepping back to let her out. “That’s more like it, rookie.”

Franco’s apartment was warm and lived-in, the kind of place that felt effortlessly comfortable. Unlike hers, which still smelled like fresh paint and cardboard, his had a distinct mix of coffee, something faintly citrusy, and a hint of leather—probably from the well-worn sofa in the living room. A few racing helmets were stacked on a shelf, along with books and framed photos, though nothing was arranged too neatly. It felt like a home, not just a temporary place to stay.

She took it all in as he motioned for her to sit on the couch. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, already heading towards the kitchen.

She did, tucking her legs up slightly as she looked around. “You’ve been here a while?”

“Since my first F1 contract,” Franco called over his shoulder. “They always offer a team apartment, and I never saw the point of moving. Too much effort.” He returned a moment later, carrying a wooden tray with a mate gourd, a thermos, and a small metal straw—the bombilla.

“Let me guess,” she teased, watching as he expertly poured hot water into the gourd. “You can’t live without mate?”

He smirked. “Obviously.” Handing her the gourd, he added, “It’s a tradition where I’m from. You share it. One person pours, and everyone drinks from the same cup.”

She looked down at the drink, slightly wary. “So, we’re… sharing?”

Franco nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “That’s how it works.”

She hesitated for only a second before bringing the gourd to her lips, taking a sip. The taste hit her instantly—earthy, slightly bitter, with a strange sort of warmth. It wasn’t bad, just… different.

“Well?” Franco asked, watching her reaction.

She lowered the gourd, lips pursing slightly. “It tastes like… grass.”

Franco burst out laughing. “You sound like every non-South American I’ve ever given mate to.”

She laughed too, handing the gourd back to him. “It’s not bad. Just… an acquired taste.”

“You’ll get used to it.” He took a sip himself, leaning back into the couch, looking completely at ease. “So, rookie, tell me something about you.”

She arched a brow. “You already know I’m your new teammate.”

“That doesn’t count,” he said, waving a hand. “I mean something real. Who are you when you’re not driving a car?”

She hesitated. It was an odd question—one she wasn’t sure she had an easy answer for. For so long, racing had been everything. But Franco was looking at her expectantly, so she thought for a moment before answering.

“I used to play piano when I was younger,” she admitted. “I stopped when racing got serious, but I still love music.”

Franco’s eyes lit up. “Piano? That’s cool. You should start again.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t even know if I remember how.”

“You don’t forget things like that,” he said, taking another sip of mate before passing it back to her. “It’s like driving.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Not everything is like driving, you know.”

“For us, it kind of is,” he pointed out, grinning. “Okay, my turn. Ask me something.”

She thought for a second, then smirked. “What’s the worst crash you’ve ever had?”

Franco groaned. “Really? That’s your question?”

“Come on, I’m curious,” she said, nudging him playfully.

He sighed dramatically but answered anyway. “F3. Macau. I ended up in the barriers, completely destroyed the car.” He shook his head. “The worst part? I wasn’t even leading. Just a stupid mistake.”

She winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “What about you?”

She exhaled through her nose. “F4. Spa. Hydroplaned and took three people out with me. Worst day of my life.”

Franco winced in sympathy. “Spa in the rain is brutal.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t awkward. It was easy, comfortable, like they’d known each other longer than just a few weeks.

She took another sip of mate, barely noticing how the taste wasn’t as strange anymore.

Franco stretched his arms behind his head, looking at her with an easy smile. “You know, I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

She met his gaze, feeling the same.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I think so too.”

She handed the mate gourd back to Franco, her fingers brushing against his for just a second longer than necessary. It was nothing—just a simple handoff—but she felt the warmth of his skin, the briefest pause before he finally took it from her.

Her heart stuttered slightly. It was stupid, really. She’d never been the type to get flustered over things like this. But something about the quiet, the closeness, the way he looked at her with that easy smile—it caught her off guard.

Franco took a sip, his lips pressing against the same spot she had just drunk from, and she swore she felt her face heat.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned back, exhaling contentedly, and then—just like that—slipped back into Spanish.

“Te acostumbrarás al mate, ya verás,” he murmured, tapping the gourd lightly with his fingers. You’ll get used to mate, you’ll see.

She let out a soft laugh, tucking her legs up underneath her. “Tal vez,” she said, the words slow, careful. Maybe.

His eyes flickered with something amused, something warm. “Eres mejor en español de lo que crees.” You’re better at Spanish than you think.

She scrunched her nose. “No lo sé.” I don’t know.

Franco smirked. “Lo sé yo.” I know.

There was a beat of silence—comfortable, easy.

She glanced down at the mate gourd in his hands, then back up at him. “I’m glad you’re my first Formula One teammate,” she admitted, voice softer now, more honest.

Franco tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words. Then he smiled—genuine, warm. “I’m glad too, rookie.”

And somehow, she knew he really meant it.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby@iamred-iamyellow @driverlando

[leclercsredhelmet]

New in the Paddock ✧ Franco Colapinto

A/N: Hello! Back with another blurb for you all, this time it’s Franco themed because I’m just so happy that one of my f2 faves is on the f1 grid! (I’m still so sad about Logan) anyways here’s New in the Paddock with a Hispanic reader! I hope you all enjoy reading this one <3 This was inspired by Enchanted by Taylor Swift!

“These are the words I held back as I was leaving too soon, I was enchanted to meet you”

Being back in Italy has you buzzing with happiness, it’s been quite a few years since you’ve been back in the country. Yesterday you’d spent the day sightseeing and doing light shopping in Milan. This is your first big job opportunity fresh out of university and you’re extremely excited for what lies ahead. Once your alarm rang you leapt out of bed and opened the curtains. Music plays from the phone that sits atop the dresser, as you pass by the window you smile at the crowd of Tifosi chanting and you notice Charles signing their things. Smiling, you walk towards your suitcase and take out the outfit you had laid out last night.

Heading to the bathroom you change into a pair of jeans, a white tee, and a white and blue embroidered vest paired with your usual gold jewelry and white sneakers. Applying the last touch-ups to your makeup you grab your brown Longchamp bag and check that all the contents are there before grabbing your passes and the room key from the dresser. Locking the door you head towards the elevator. Looking around the hotel lobby you notice the flurry of staff getting ready to head out. You spot some drivers heading out and want to ask for pictures but you’re nervous and want to remain professional.

Briefly, you catch a glance of Franco Colapinto as he passes by in front of you and he offers a small smile once you lock eyes. Shyly you smile and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Noticing your phone is starting to ring, you pick it up. Your mother’s face greets you on the other line with a proud smile. Smiling you lift the phone to an appropriate angle so she can see your face.

“Hola mi amor, ¿qué tal te va el primer día de trabajo?” she asks and you smile.

(Hi my love, how is your first day of work going?) “Hola ma, muy bien hasta ahora, estoy esperando a mis compañeros para tomar la guagua al circuito” you reply.

(Hi mom, very good so far, I’m waiting for my coworkers to take the car to the circuit)

“Bueno espero que todo te vaya muy bien y voy a estar al pendiente de las redes a ver si te veo entrevistando a alguien!” she beams and you giggle.

(I hope it goes very well and I’ll be tuning into social media to see if you interview someone!)

“Oye y no has visto al chico de Argentina que sustituye a Sargeant? (Oh, have you seen the young man from Argentina that’s substituting Sargeant?)

“Acabo de ver a Franco hace algunos segundos, no hablamos pero me sonrió ,” you reply. (I just saw Franco a few seconds ago, we didn’t talk but he smiled at me)

“Esperemos que te toque entrevistar a Franco, se ve como un chico adorable y se que es de tus favoritos,” she says. (Let’s hope that you get to interview him, he seems like a charming young man and I know he’s one of your favorites)

Smiling you reply, “Eso espero mamá bueno te voy a dejar porque ya vienen los compañeros de trabajo, hablamos luego. Te amo!” you say. (I hope so, mom. I’ll have to leave you because my coworkers are arriving, we’ll talk later. I love you!) “Yo tambien amor, exito hoy!” (I love you too, good luck today!)

Putting your phone away you stand up and introduce yourself to the rest of the crew that hasn’t met you yet. Smiling, they start chatting with you as you walk towards the van that’s already waiting for everyone. Climbing in you take a seat by the window and adjust the passes around your neck, you run your thumb over the black and purple media pass supplied by Formula One and look at your picture and credentials before smiling. “The first day on the job is a little overwhelming but you’ll be fine,” one of your coworkers says. You smile, “Yeah it’s starting to feel like it,” you say with a little chuckle. Everyone smiles, “Lucky for you, we’re not leaving you to your own devices on the first day so the nerves will ease,” someone else reassures.

“It’s more like anxiety but thank you. I just want to be great at the job and have fun. It’s a little hard to believe this is happening and it’s not a dream,” you add with a little chuckle. “It’s pretty surreal but you’re going to enjoy it,” the woman says. “I’m Christine by the way,” she says, outstretching her hand for you to shake. Smiling, you shake it, “Y/N it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve seen you race in Dakar,” you reply. Quickly you fall into conversation with everyone and get to know them. Fans line the sides with merch and excitedly wave to every car that passes, there’s a lot of Tifosi and you smile.

“Are you hoping to meet any specific driver?” Roldán asks you. “Honestly mostly everyone but especially Charles, Lewis, and Franco,” you answer. “You should ask them for a signature or picture once you can, they’ll be happy to do it,” he says and you smile. Once the car parks you gather your things and leave the car. Adjusting your passes you walk with them and greet the workers in Italian.

Deciding to film such an important moment for you, you put an Airpod on and open Tiktok. Filming your feet heading towards the paddock, you pan up, show the entrance, and film the moment you scan your pass and walk in before capturing your reaction. Quickly you save the video and press play on one of your playlists. There’s press so of course some pictures of you are taken and you smile at the cameras. The nerves have eased significantly and now you’re just happy to be here. Picking up your pace you join Christine and Melissa and resume the previous conversation.

The paddock is quite busy but it’s all team staff, drivers, media, and other personnel. Given the news that broke earlier this week about Franco replacing Logan in Williams, everyone wants a shot at interviewing the young driver from Argentina. Making it into the media room you sit next to your coworkers and immediately begin to work. Sipping some water from your bottle you review your notes and wait for the assignments to be handed out. “And this next one is for Y/N, you have Franco in the media pen,” Melissa says. Feeling your cheeks flush, you smile and nod, “My very first interview with and it’s with one of my favorites this is crazy,” you comment and everyone chuckles.

Quickly you start to prepare by jotting down a few questions and getting into the work mode headspace. When it’s time to start heading to the paddock everyone filters out towards the media pen. At the media pen, you get settled with the in-ear monitors and microphone. Christine decides to film the moment which makes you chuckle and wave at the camera. “You got this, you look great” she encourages and you thank her. The drivers start to come out and you ask questions to a few such as Max Verstappen, Alex Albon, and George Russell. You spot Franco approaching you and you discreetly adjust your shirt.

“¡Hola, ¿qué tal Franco?” ”Soy Y/N y estoy con DAZN!” you say in your native language and he smiles. (Hi Franco, how are you? I’m Y/N and I'm with DAZN) “Hola, muy bien ¿y vos?” he replies smiling. (Hi, I’m very good and you?) You smile back, “Todo bien,” you reply. “Es un gusto conocerte, tenés un acento bonito, ¿de donde sos?” he asks. (It’s a pleasure to meet you, you have a pretty accent, where are you from?)

The question makes you blush a little and you chuckle, Franco smiles. “¡Puerto Rico!” you reply. “Ah! Muero por visitar, es un país muy bonito,” he replies. (I'm dying to visit, its' a pretty country)

“Lo es, bueno primero que nada ¿cómo te sientes al debutar en la fórmula uno?” you ask. (It is, first of all, how do you feel about your formula one debut?) “Gracias por la pregunta, estoy en una nube todavía, es una gran oportunidad y estoy muy feliz y emocionado” you smile at him and continue to ask questions. (Thank you for the question, I’m still on a cloud, it’s a great opportunity and I’m very happy and excited)

He’s been a little flirty but you chalk it up to be the Argentinian charm and once the interview ends you thank him again and he chats with you off-camera before going off. Being busy with work makes the day roll by and when it’s time to get some lunch you decide to go off on your own and join everyone else later. Heading out of the media room you walk around and pass the Ferrari motorhome, smiling you decide to take a picture of it and marvel at how amazing and fulfilling it feels to finally see all your hard work pay off.

The years away from home, while you studied to chase your dream, are finally paying off. It happens to be your lucky day because you spot Charles and Lewis walking. Politely you go over to them and ask for pictures and signatures, “You must be new, I haven’t seen you before,” Lewis comments. Smiling you nod, “Actually, I’m fresh out of university!” You beam and they smile kindly. “In that case welcome to the paddock Y/N,” Charles says. “Hopefully we see more of you in the media pen,” Lewis adds and you smile and nod. “Thank you both for the pictures, I can’t wait to see you both in red next year,” you say. Grinning, they bid goodbye to you and you head in search of food.

Spotting a stand making pasta you stand in line and once it’s your turn you order and pay. With your food in one hand and phone in the other you reply to some messages from friends. As you reply to the messages you lose sense of direction and collide against someone’s chest. Your phone, bag, and sadly your food all fall to the ground, and embarrassment floods over you since a few passersby witness the incident.

“Disculpame, no me di cuenta,” a familiar voice says. (Sorry, I wasn't aware) You lock eyes with Franco, “No, discúlpame tú, fue culpa mía. Estaba en el celular y no estaba al pendiente” you apologetically say. (No, I’m sorry, it was my fault. I was using my cellphone and wasn’t aware)

The young driver chuckles and bends down to help you pick up your things. His fingers brush yours as he hands you back your phone, “Escuchás a Taylor Swift?” he asks. (Do you listen to Taylor Swift?)

Smiling you nod, “Si, soy swiftie,” you say. (Yes, I’m a swiftie!)“¡Yo también! ¿Pudiste ir a algún recital?” he asks you. (Me too! Did you manage to go to a concert?)

“¡Si, fui a la última noche de Londres!” you reply. (Yes, I went to the last London show!) ¿Cómo te sentiste sin tener el anuncio de Reputation?” he asks with a laugh. (How did you feel about not getting the Reputation announcement?) Giggling, you adjust your bag, “Me sentí como toda una payasa,” you reply and he laughs. (I felt like a total clown)

Fran walks with you to a nearby bin and you toss the pasta and napkins. “Me siento re mal que perdiste toda tu comida por mi culpa, dejame comprarte otra,” he offers. (I feel so bad that you lost all your food because of me. Let me buy you another one.) “No, está bien no te preocupes,” you reply. (No it’s fine don’t worry)

“Por favor déjame hacerlo, me siento mal que ya en mi primer día acá accidentalmente le he tirado la comida a alguien al suelo,” he says. (Please let me do it, I feel bad that on my first day, I already dropped someone’s food by accident) You giggle, “Ay no te sientas mal, son los nervios del primer día,” you say. (Oh no, don’t feel bad, it’s the first-day jitters)

Franco chuckles in agreement, “Es tu primer día también?” he asks. (Is it your first day too?)“Ajá, me gradué hace unos meses,” you reply. (Mhm, I graduated a few months ago) “Felicitaciones, con más razón tengo que pagarte la comida,” he says and you laugh. (Congratulations, with all the more reason I should pay for your food)

Franco looks over at you and smiles, you smile back and tuck a rogue curl behind your ear. As you stand in line you chat and your stomach flutters every time you catch him looking at you. Both of you order food and he pays for your meals, walking back you’re careful to not drop it or bump into each other again. “Gracias por la comida pero probablemente debo ir a sala de medios,” you say as you start to walk away. (Thanks for the food, but I should probably head towards the media room)

Franco reaches for your hand and stops you, “Quizás esto es muy atrevido pero podés conmigo acá en el motorhome de Williams,” he pauses and looks at you. (Maybe this is a little too bold but you can eat with me at the Williams motorhome)

“Solo si quieres, si no pues esta bien,” he quickly adds. (But only if you want to) You smile at his sweet demeanor and he nods, “Okay, acepto la invitacion Colapinto,” you say and he laughs. (Okay, I accept the invitation Colapinto) “Franco por favor,” he sweetly says. (Franco, please) “Acepto la invitación, Franco,” you add and he laughs. (I accept the invitation, Franco)

Franco leads the way and you go up to the floor in the motorhome reserved for the staff and into his driver's room. “Bueno, almuerzo de primerizos entonces,” he says and you laugh. (Well then this is the lunch of first-timers) “Primerizos que se tropezaron en el paddock,” you joke and he laughs. (First-timers that stumbled upon each other in the paddock) You eat in comfortable silence and after you finish you talk and joke around. He’s made you laugh so much you started to cry and your stomach hurts.

“Me di cuenta de que tenés buen italiano, ¿viviste en Italia?” he asks. (I noticed that you have great Italian, did you live in Italy?) “Solo unos meses, hice un internado en Italia y regresé a España,” you say. (Just for a few months, I did an internship in Italy and returned to Spain) “También lo estudié un poco en secundaria y seguí practicando por mi propia cuenta,” you answer. (I also studied it in high school and kept practicing it)

“¿Cómo es que ambos somos tan parecidos ya?” he comments and you nod in agreement. (How is it that we already have so many similarities?) “Lastima que España es tan grande, si te hubiera conociera antes, habríamos salido o algo,” he adds and you blush. (It’s a shame that it’s so big, if we had met before we would’ve gone out or something) “Quizás hubiese sido una probabilidad,” you say with a little laugh. (Perhaps it could’ve been a probability)

You continue talking and decide to exchange numbers, Franco insists on walking you to the media room. Once you reach it he stops and turns to you, “Fue un placer Y/N, espero no volver a tirarte la comida,” he comments and you laugh. (It was a pleasure Y/N, I hope to not be the cause of you losing your food again)

“Bueno, pero si no pasaba entonces no hubiésemos tenido el almuerzo de primerizos juntos,” you reply attempting your best to flirt back. (But if it hadn’t happened we wouldn’t have eaten lunch together) He smiles, “Tenés razón, esperemos que no sea la última,” he says. (You’re right, let’s hope that it’s not our last time) “Hagamos algo, yo pago el almuerzo en la próxima semana de carrera,” you propose while stretching out your hand. (Let’s do something, I’ll pay for our lunch on the next race week)

Franco shakes it and little jolts run up your body, “Trato hecho, nos vemos pronto Y/N” he says. (It’s a deal, we’ll see each other soon Y/N) Hearing him say your name delicately makes you smile and blush, “Buena suerte mañana, se que vas a demostrar lo bueno que eres en pista,” you say. Franco blushes and gives you a friendly wink and hug before walking away. (Good luck tomorrow, I know you’re gonna prove just how good you are on track)

Blushing, you head inside and greet your coworkers, they notice your blush but don’t ask anything until Melissa points it out. You tell them a little about the encounter and continue to work until it’s time to go.

Once in the hotel room, you call your mom to debrief before showering and after you come out you find a text from Franco and decide to reply. This leads to you two talking for a few hours until you have to call it a night and get some much-needed rest for the hectic weekend that awaits you both.

You were absolutely enchanted to have met him after a slight mishap but it proved to be quite a turnaround.

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)

[sh4nksslvt]

Hello, hello, how are you? Can I please ask you for a story? Marco from the Shirohige Pirates finds out by chance that he's going to be a father. 🤣

T/n is Ace's sister, a Marine, and a vice admiral. And Marco's partner, although they see each other occasionally. Marco found out. She had been acting strange the last time they saw each other.

Aunque se ofreció a examinarla, ella se negó porque, según ella, no sería objetivo con su diagnóstico. Días después, T/n se embarcaría en una nueva misión: escoltar a nobles mundiales.

T/n was leaning on her desk, feeling a little dizzy. It's lucky her assistant gives all the orders to the others while she's feeling ill. Not even her haki has been working well these past few weeks. Hello...

T/n dio un salto y casi tiró un vaso de jarabe para el mareo que le había traído el médico del barco. T/n retiró el vaso discretamente, pero Marco lo notó. Siempre estaba tan claro, pero yo no lo había notado.

Y/n, "Hey, what's going on here? I think our next appointment is in two weeks, don't you darling?" Trying to sound normal. Covering herself with her coat. A few folders were falling.

T/n tenía que proteger su secreto. Seguramente, si él lo descubría, la arrastraría. No peor. Probablemente se enojaría con ella por no haberle dicho nada.

Vice Admiral, we're ready. The doctor asks if she's feeling better yet. Seeing the pirate in front of her, Wait, Marco, don't do it. But Marco was faster. The man was already unconscious on the floor. Y/N got up worriedly to check on her subordinate, but Maco grabbed her wrist. She was even thinner than the last time he saw her.

sounds cool tried my best >< tis not much but hope u like it, i apologize in advance if its not that accurate lolol

Blue Flames and Baby Rumors

When you starts showing unusual symptoms, Marco begins connecting the dots—and ends up with the surprise of his life.

Marco the phoenix x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, secret relationship, light drama a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The ship rocked gently under the pull of the current, but your head swam like you were being thrashed in a whirlpool. Vice Admiral or not, no amount of rank could prepare you for the unpredictable wrath of morning sickness.

Leaning on your desk, you pressed two fingers to your temple, squinting at a report you weren’t processing. Your assistant was already barking orders outside your office door—thank the heavens. You hadn't given a single command since sunrise.

Then, like a damn ghost in broad daylight—

"Hello."

You jumped, nearly upending a glass of syrup meant to settle your stomach. It sloshed dangerously before you caught it, hurriedly sliding it behind a folder.

And there he stood. Marco the Phoenix.

Golden hair, calm ocean-blue eyes, and a presence that had always made your heart ache in the worst and best ways. Your partner, occasional lover, and the last person you wanted to see right now.

"...Hey," you started, voice too casual. “What’s going on here? I think our next appointment is in two weeks, don’t you, darling?” You tugged your coat tighter over your chest as a few folders slipped off your desk.

Marco didn’t smile. His gaze flicked toward the now half-hidden glass. “Motion sickness?” he asked, and his tone was far too neutral.

“Long voyage,” you replied quickly. “The escort mission has been dragging through choppy waters.”

The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t buying that.

You forced a light laugh, walking around the desk to pick up the fallen papers. “I’m not made of sea-stone. Even Vice Admirals get woozy sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t even let me examine you last time-yoi” he said, stepping closer. “You said I wasn’t objective.”

“I stand by that.”

He tilted his head. “You didn’t even let me try.”

You swallowed. No way in hell were you going to talk about this. You were already gambling every inch of this mission by just standing here, trying to keep a secret from the one man who literally healed people for a living.

"Vice Admiral!" your assistant called from outside. "The nobles are waiting. The doctor asks if you're feeling better yet."

You could see the moment the dots fully connected in Marco's sharp gaze.

"Wait—Marco, don't—"

Too late. In one swift movement, Marco disappeared in a flash of blue and reappeared outside. You dashed after him just in time to see your medic crumple to the ground with a startled grunt.

"Marco!"

You dropped to check your subordinate’s pulse—he was unconscious, not harmed seriously—but Marco’s hand clamped gently but firmly around your wrist.

“You’re thinner than before-yoi” he muttered. “You’ve been exhausted. Your Haki’s off. And now motion sickness?”

You stared at him. “Marco, I swear, if you say it—”

“You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like cannon smoke.

You looked away, breath caught in your throat. “It’s none of your—”

His grip tightened slightly, only to loosen as you flinched.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” he said. “But you are, aren’t you-yoi?”

Silence.

Finally, you exhaled. “...Yes.”

He stepped back. “Is it mine?”

Your head snapped toward him. “What? Of course it’s yours! You—! We—! I haven’t been with anyone else, you idiot!”

Marco blinked. “I just—sorry. I wasn’t accusing. Just… processing.”

He ran a hand through his blond hair, the tension in his usually relaxed frame tangible now.

You crossed your arms, trying to look like the proud Vice Admiral you were instead of the world’s most irresponsible soon-to-be parent. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d drag me back to the Grand Line and throw me in a nest of phoenix feathers.”

“You were going to hide my kid from me-yoi?”

“I was going to figure things out myself first,” you said, quieter now. “I didn’t want you to worry. We barely see each other as it is.”

“Because we’re on opposite sides of the damn sea.”

“Exactly.”

A long pause. You shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the familiar twist of nausea.

“I get it,” Marco finally said. “But you should’ve told me-yoi”

You frowned, defensive. “You think I don’t know that? It’s not like I’m thrilled about this, Marco. I’m a Vice Admiral. You’re a pirate. Ace—Ace would’ve flipped if he knew.”

Marco smiled faintly. “Ace would’ve been smug as hell. He always said we’d end up together.”

That made your eyes sting, unexpectedly. “...Don’t do that. Don’t talk about him like he’s still here.”

Marco stepped closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this-yoi.”

“You’re not exactly on call, either.”

“Then I’ll make myself available.”

Your brows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “You’re having my kid. I might be a pirate, but I’m not irresponsible. I’ll be there.”

You stared at him, seeing not just the Phoenix, the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates—but Marco. The man who always showed up exactly when you needed him, even if you didn’t say it aloud.

He took your hand and pressed it to his chest. “You don’t have to hide anymore-yoi”

You let out a long sigh, finally allowing yourself to lean into his warmth. “I still have to finish this mission.”

He groaned. “Of course you do.”

You smirked. “I am a Vice Admiral.”

“You’re a pregnant Vice Admiral.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Later that night, you found yourself leaning against the rail of the ship, the cool breeze easing your nausea better than the syrup. Marco leaned beside you, arms crossed, watching the sea.

“So… how far along?” he asked.

“Almost two months.”

“...Was that before or after I gave you that weird seaweed stew in Alabasta?”

You snorted. “Definitely after.”

He grimaced. “I hope the baby doesn’t remember that-yoi”

You laughed, and for the first time in weeks, it felt real. “Thanks for coming, Marco.”

He turned his head slightly. “I’ll be back before the baby’s born. Promise.”

“You better be,” you replied. “Or I’m naming it Garp.”

Marco's face turned pale. “You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He stared, then smirked. “...Fine. But I’m putting ‘Phoenix’ on the birth certificate.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

[arabella-syntax]

Something, Something

Pairing; Aggie Beever- Jones x Jana Fernandez

Summary: It’s the summer of 2025, and Switzerland is hot. Emotionally, at least.

Word Count: > 9k

A/N: Based on this request from Anon. Hope I’ve got the brief right. Anyways, try to enjoy this real-people fanfic, with a lot of mutual pining, and unserious long-distance Gen Z chaos.

————————————————————————

[Jana]

The bus ride from Zürich airport to the training base was mostly uneventful — except for Vicky López trying to show Alexia her TikTok drafts like they were legal evidence and not sparkle-filled, zoom-cut edits to a song by Rosalia.

“No entiendo nada,” Alexia said, squinting at the screen. “¿Por qué hay un sticker de una cabra?”

(I don’t get it. Why is there a goat sticker?)

“Because she’s the GOAT,” Vicky deadpanned. “Literalmente. Hello.”

Alexia sighed. “Estoy muy vieja para esto.”

(I’m too old for this.)

From behind, Ona poked her head over Jana’s seat. “Don’t check your phone, eh. Twitter está on fire.”

Jana raised an eyebrow. “¿Otra vez?”

“Hashtag Jaggie, trending. Te lo juro.”

(#Jaggie is trending again. I swear.)

Jana sighed, opened Twitter anyway, and immediately regretted her life choices.

There it was — a side-by-side of her IG story (croissants and iced matcha) and Aggie’s story from an hour later (same matcha, suspiciously identical croissant, but allegedly “different vibe”).

Caption:

“Jana and Aggie doing soft-launch long distance is the kind of relationship I want for myself tbh.”

She muttered, “Mátame ya.”

(Just kill me now.)

Ona cackled. “Tú te lo buscaste, eh.”

(You brought this on yourself.)

“You reposted that story!” Patri added from two rows up, turning around. “And you liked the edit of her scoring last week.”

“It was a good goal,” Jana muttered. “I’m allowed to appreciate football.”

Alexia twisted in her seat. “Y también su cara, ¿no?”

(And her face too, right?)

“¡Vale!” Jana hissed. “Can everyone shut up?”

“Too late,” Vicky said, flashing her phone. “Tumblr’s already built an entire love story around you and a vending machine.”

—————

[Aggie]

The England team group chat was unhinged. Niamh’s sent a collage of all the photos tagged under “Jaggie” with a very unhelpful caption:

“UR FAMOUS. Also I want royalties.”

Khiara added:

“Do you think Spain’s gonna try to break your ankles or just your heart?”

Aggie stared at her phone, sighs, and dropped it face-down on her hotel bed.

Grace walked in then, holding a hotel robe and a pair of slippers like she’s auditioning for Love Island: Midfielder Edition.

“I bring peace,” she declared. “And terry cloth.”

Aggie rolled over. “Do you ever feel like you’re in a situationship with someone who lives in another country, is criminally attractive, and whose national team might emotionally destroy you on live TV?”

Grace dropped the robe on her head.

“You’re either the problem or the main character, babes,” she said. “No in-between.”

Aggie sat up, hair sticking out like chaos incarnate. “It was supposed to be chill.”

“It’s never chill when it starts with a Spotify playlist and escalates into matching socks and inside jokes about vending machines.”

Aggie’s face flushed.

That was true. It had started on DM — Jana had responded to an Instagram post where Aggie did a magazine spread. (“You look peng. Did I used that correctly?,” she’d said. Aggie nearly passed out.)

From there, it became voice notes. Spotify links. A Google Doc named “Bread Club Logistics”, which technically started as a joke but now houses notes about what cities they might meet in post-season. (London, Barcelona, Zurich. If fate allows.)

Aggie flopped backward. “I think I might like her.”

Grace raised an eyebrow. “Think?”

“Okay. I know. I like her.”

She paused. “And she likes me, right?”

Grace nodded. “Yeah. But you’re both stubborn and allergic to labels.”

Aggie closed her eyes. “God, we’re so Gen Z.”

————

[Jana]

Training with the Spanish squad had always been intense, but Euros camp was its own beast. Everyone was sharp. Focused. Tactical. But also, Spanish — which meant gossip travelled faster than high-press passes.

At lunch, Patri nudged her tray into Jana’s.

“¿Entonces, qué sois?” she asked with a smirk.

(So, what are you two?)

“People,” Jana deadpanned. “Who speak. Occasionally.”

Alexia leaned over from the other side. “¿People who speak con besos, o solo con memes?”

(With kisses or just with memes?)

Jana shoved a grape in her mouth. “Memes. Definitely memes.”

Leila cut in. “She said ‘good night’ in a voice note. That’s intimate. Es más íntimo que besar, I swear.”

(It’s more intimate than kissing.)

“Bro,” Ona said, scrolling through Instagram. “This fan account just spotted Aggie’s Spotify playlist titled “campeona del pan”. That’s literally you.”

“Cállate.”

(Shut up.)

“No, really. Look.” She flipped the phone toward Jana.

The tracklist included:

“Telepatía”

“Two of Us on the Run”

“So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings”

Patri leaned in. “Pff, you’re so cooked.”

————

[Aggie]

England’s first game was a blur. Aggie scored. She did not do the vending machine celebration, but she did glance at the camera.

The vending machine incident was an accident. Kind of.

They were in London, both there for media day obligations — separate sponsors, overlapping schedules. One rogue photo caught them walking back into the building from the vending machines outside. Aggie had her sunglasses pushed up in that too-cool-for-life way. Jana was laughing at something that wasn’t even funny. Their hands were touching. Barely. But touching.

Someone posted it on Tumblr and added the caption, “Spotted! Aggie and Jana - and vending machine.”

And now, well. TikTok theories. Instagram reels. One chaotic Twitter thread claiming that Aggie’s tattoo placement correlates with Jana’s birth chart.

“Was that for her?” Niamh asked post-match.

Aggie played innocent. “Was what?”

Khiara snorted. “Babe, you made direct eye contact with the broadcast feed. That’s basically sending a telegram.”

Back at the hotel, she finally had time to reply.

Aggie 🐝:

thinking abt ur grape-eating rage. was it seedless?

also: good luck. see u in the final? 👀

Jana 🍞:

i’ll see u in the tunnel. and i’ll tackle u. lovingly.

———

[Jana]

Spain beat Portugal.

She didn’t score. But she played well. She could feel it. Could feel herself wanting to play well — to stay sharp, to stay in it.

Later that night, she was lying on her bed when her phone lights up, she thinks it might be Aggie.

It usually is.

Aggie 🐝:

random thought. we have a shared google drive folder. we’re basically married.

Jana 🍞:

i’m not legally prepared for this level of commitment.

The group knows.

At dinner, Vicky gave her a look that says, so, when’s the girlfriend visiting?

Alexia gave her a look that says, do you want me to beat her up if she hurts you?

Ona gave her a look that says, I know everything, and I’m bored, so give me drama.

Leila and Patri just patted her head. With affection, Leila said, “You’re glowing.”

Later that night, she was lying on her bed, scrolling through her Explore page, when a fan edit shows up: Jana and Aggie, slow motion, to a Lana Del Rey track.

Caption:

“she wears blue, he’s in the red // no one talks but everything’s said”

Jana added it to her favourites.

———

[Aggie]

Quarter-finals.

They make it through. England vs. Netherlands. A messy, chaotic 3–2 win.

Grace Clinton called it “football carnage, but with lashes.”

Aggie called it “barely surviving.”

But all she really remembered was checking her phone in the locker room and seeing:

Jana 🍞:

if you make the final… we’re seeing each other, yeah?

She stares at the screen, heart in her throat.

Aggie 🐝:

yeah. promise.

———

[Jana]

Spain defeated Sweden in the semis.

And then, it’s official.

The final: Spain vs. England.

Alexia looked at her across the hotel breakfast buffet. “So. Your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Your girl.”

Jana exhaled. “She’s… something.”

Alexia smirked. “Something, something?”

Jana throws a grape at her.

———-

[Aggie]

The tunnel before the final is quiet.

The teams are lined up. National anthems playing. Sweat. Nerves. Stolen glances.

Aggie looked across.

Jana stood there.

Spain in red. England in white.

The world was watching. But for half a second, it’s just them.

Jana mouthed something.

Aggie narrows her eyes, trying to read her lips.

———

[Post-Final]

Spain won 1–0.

The locker room was chaos. Champagne. Glitter. Flags. Patri and Alexia dancing like they were back in Ibiza. Vicky recording everything. Leila is seen screaming in Vicky’s video:

“¡ESTOY LLORANDO, TÍAS!”

(I’M CRYING, GIRLS!)

And Jana?

Jana stepped away. Sat quietly. Checked her phone.

A message.

Aggie 🐝:

u looked good today. like annoyingly good.

i hate losing.

but not if it’s to you.

btw, what did you mouthed to me???

Jana typed. Then paused.

Then typed again.

something something…

i think i’m falling for you

The reply came a minute later.

something something

same x

———-

[Aggie]

The off-season was chaotic.

Chelsea emailed her twice a day. Her physio wanted to schedule recovery. Her agent asked about boots for a potential Nike collab. And her mum has texted, “When are you home and also do you eat olives now?”

But none of it matters.

Because Aggie was standing at Terminal 5, in a hoodie that said “Property of No One” and socks with tiny baguettes on them, waiting for a flight to Barcelona.

Her carry-on bag has two things:

- Her boots (just in case);

- A small packet of British biscuits Jana insists taste like cardboard, but secretly finishes every time.

Her phone buzzed.

Jana 🍞:

bring the shortbread or i’m locking you out xx

Aggie rolls her eyes and types:

i’m flying across europe for you

and you’re threatening me over biscuits??

Jana 🍞:

it’s not a threat it’s a boundary. x

Aggie boarded the flight smiling like an idiot.

———-

[Jana]

The Airbnb is in Gràcia. It’s not huge, but it’s got a rooftop and a tiny hammock Jana regretted testing during a windstorm.

Aggie arrived an hour late, hair messy from the plane and jumper falling off one shoulder like she’s in a coming-of-age movie.

They hugged in the hallway like it’s been years.

They fall asleep that night on the couch, half a movie in, legs tangled. Aggie’s Spotify is playing softly in the background — a playlist called “something, something” of course.

Jana stirred at 3am. Finds her face pressed against Aggie’s shoulder.

Aggie whispered, not quite asleep. “Do you think this counts as a hard launch?”

Jana laughed. “This? Nah. This is still soft. Maybe medium. We have not even kissed yet.”

“Medium launch,” Aggie repeated. “Sounds like a coffee order.” Then she leaned down, and muttered, “We need to rectify this then…with what you say — besos?”

A grin tugged on the corner of Jana’s lips. “Hmm, that’s right.”

Their lips met. It was soft. It was promising.

Aggie grinned in the dark. “Something, something exclusive?”

Jana kissed her shoulder.

“Something like that.”

————

[Later — Instagram]

@janafernandez3 posted to story:

📸 blurry photo of two iced coffees and two phones, one with a cracked screen

Caption:

bread club reunion ☕🥖🇬🇧🇪🇸

@aggiebjones posted to story:

📸 the back of Jana’s head, hair in a braid, rooftop view of Barcelona

Caption:

something, something 💌

———-

[Tumblr, hours later]

Anonymous:

GUYS JAGGIE ARE TOGETHER. HARD LAUNCH IMMINENT.

breadclubfan98:

We’re living in the golden era of real-life fanfic and no one can convince me otherwise.

————

A/N: Feedback always welcomed!

[writingdevil]

Oh lord you're activating my STP hyperfix again oughhh how dare you,,,

I come to you, you blacksmith of words, and offer you Stubborn and Paranoid,,, and then I scuttle away :3€

(A BLACKSMITH OF WORDS?? THAT'S SO NICE AND SUCH A COOL THING TO BE CALLED!! CAN I USE THAT??/j. I'm glad that I can infect other people with my hyperfixation, so that we can all be in these woods together. I wasn't sure whether you wanted this to be a ship or not so I left it up to interpretation. Anyway, enjoy!)

"Hello?"

Go away.

"Is anyone out here?"

Please leave. Please leave.

"Para? Are you here?"

They were following him. They were hurting him.

"Para?"

They were getting closer and closer and closer-

"Oi! There you are!"

Paranoid let a frightened yell out, scrambling out of the bush that he had been hiding behind.

The world spun, a dark and imposing blur in front of him, and Paranoid knew they were here to kill him, that's why they had been following him all day.

"Paranoid! It's me, Stubborn!"

Paranoid choked on a gasp, pressing himself against a tree as he struggled to control his fear and anxiety, having to blink many times before his vision focused again.

His eyes and throat stung, but he managed to focus enough on the voice before him to realise that yes, it was Stubborn in front of him. But that didn't make him feel better one bit.

"Para? What's going on?" Stubborn asked, annoyance on his face and in his voice. "You just freaked out and ran out into the woods. What's wrong?"

"Go- away," Paranoid gritted out, but Stubborn just crossed his arms and said, "Can't do that, especially when you've got everyone else worried about you."

A pang of guilt did come through Paranoid in that moment, before it was immediately overtaken by his fear.

What else was he supposed to do? Let those eyes follow him and lead him to danger? No. No, no, no, no- he was not going to die this way, not after everything he's been through.

Stubborn tried beckoning him forward. "Look, let's just go back inside where you can't hurt yourself even more."

Paranoid shook his head, curling up into a ball. "No. I can't."

Stubborn sighed in exasperation. "Why not?"

"Because they're in the house!"

Stubborn gave him a look that made a spark of fury ignite within him, looking at him as if Paranoid was the problem.

"There is nothing in the house-"

"Yes there is!" Paranoid exclaimed in protest, wrapping his arms around himself. "The eyes keep staring at me in there! I can't go back! I can't take them watching me!"

He needed a moment to try and get his breathing under control, all the while Stubborn was just standing there, giving him a frustrated and conflicted look.

Eventually, when Paranoid was sure that he could talk again, he lowered his gaze to look at his trembling hands, to try and ignore Stubborn's judgemental glare.

The silence would've been comforting, would've helped Paranoid clear his head, but with Stubborn here, that couldn't happen.

Stubborn let a heavy sigh out. "Look, I'm not leaving without you, so you need to listen to me. There are no fucking eyes in the house."

Paranoid whimpered, and he almost missed the wince that Stubborn made at that sound. Paranoid was on the verge of tears at this point. He hated this. He hated his feelings. He hated his mind.

He especially hated the way Stubborn was staring at him-with nothing but pity.

Stubborn continued, his gravelly voice as soft as he could make it, "You're just seeing things-"

But that broke the moment immediately.

"I am not seeing things!" he screamed in Stubborn's face, claws digging into his skin so hard that they were probably cutting him, but he didn't care. "I am not crazy! No matter how much you think I am!"

Stubborn genuinely looked taken aback at his outburst, face frozen in shock, but all Paranoid could focus on was trying not to cry in this moment, mumbling, "I'm not crazy," over and over again to himself.

That went on for so long that Paranoid was starting to believe that he had made Stubborn up as well, until he heard him sigh.

"...Sorry," Stubborn muttered, crouching down in front of Paranoid, and if Paranoid wasn't in the middle of a breakdown, he would've commented on the rare look of guilt on Stubborn's face.

"I'm still not planning on ditching you here. I still need to bring you home."

Paranoid whimpered,squeezing his eyes shut in the hopes of blocking out all the horror that constantly surrounds him. "But the eyes are in there."

"Then I'll protect you."

Paranoid froze, then opened his eyes.

Stubborn was holding his arms out to him, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "I'll make sure that nothing comes near you or hurts you. Everyone will be there to protect you as well in the house."

"Are you sure?" Paranoid asked, his body already leaning forward towards Stubborn's warm and inviting arms.

"Yeah," Stubborn assured with a nod of his head. "What? You think people like Hero and Hunted are gonna let anything bad happen to you?"

That was true. Despite the fear still consuming Paranoid's mind, he knew that that was real. His flock's love was real.

He cautiously looked into Stubborn's eyes- warm, and solid, a determined glint in them that slowly pierced through the fear within him, letting him know for a single moment-Stubborn was safe.

Paranoid took a deep breath, and then reached out towards Stubborn. Stubborn allowed Paranoid to move closer to him, right up until Paranoid's fingers grazed his wrist, and suddenly he let a shuddering gasp out and desperately crawled into Stubborn's arms, who had no problem with immediately scooping Paranoid up, holding him close to his chest.

"I've got you, I'm here," Stubborn whispered, hugging Paranoid protectively, putting a hand over the back of his head, and Paranoid shoved his face into Stubborn's chest, breathing in his comforting scent, feeling his trembling already lessen.

Stubborn stood there for a few minutes, just shushing and rocking Paranoid back and forth, until Paranoid felt all the tension leave his body, safe in Stubborn's arms.

"That's it, you're safe with me," Stubborn whispered, and then began the walk back home, and Paranoid sighed in relief, not feeling any eyes on him at all in that moment, not with Stubborn there to protect him.

[wisteriaiswriting]

Failing To Fluster Their S/O

Words: 592

Request: Hi! can you do omen, chamber, cypher, reyna in a situation where they were trying to be flirty and fluster their SO but get flustered instead? Requested by: @socks-drawer

“Sage, can you pass me the ribbon?” She pointed at the different colours until she found the one you wanted, handing over the spool. Luckily you had just finished your craft, a bouquet of flowers. And just at that time the door slid open, turning around to see it was Omen.

“Omen!” Only when he was standing right infront of you did you notice what he was carrying, a small bonsai tree. He silently handed it over, his hands brushing over your own as you took it. “Thank you! Wait–”

Gently placing it down on the table to grab your bouquet, “I made these for you.” Holding it out for him, only for him to just look at it. Fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab it but didn’t, you know him though.

His eyes brightened and widened just before taking it from you, a quiet “Thank you…” as he turned and left. Unaware of the care he uses for the fake flowers.

“Oh, hello there Mon cher!” Turning in his chair to face the door, watching you enter the room. Standing from his desk to pull you into a hug, “Are you here to see me or my newest project?” “I would say both.”

“Of course.” He picked up the gun, handing it over to you. “I just need to add the final touches, but it should be finished by today.” Watching you flip it over and get a closer look, eventually holding it up as if to shoot.

“Zis one is a little different, let me help you dear.” Standing right behind you, his hands covering your own. “Just like zat, perfect.” Feeling his warmth seep into you as he moves just a bit closer, pressing himself against you.

“Now’s not the time to talk about yourself.” “You know what I meant love~” His head leaned over your shoulder, “I don’t think I do, want to show me?” “Of course.”

Oh how he looked watching you flush and look away in a panic whenever he caught you staring. No matter how long you two have been together, some things never change. (Apparently that was a lie.)

This time was during a small meeting, you two seated next to each other. Out of the corner of his mask he could see you staring at him, eyes full of admiration and love just for him. Making sure Brimstone and the others were distracted, or rather actually focusing before making his move.

Leaning in a little closer towards you, “Focus, my star.” “Oh I’m focusing alright~” “Really, and what would that be?” Throughout the conversation he was slowly leaning closer, that was until his name was called. “Cypher,” The masked man shooting back up, now noticing the many pairs of eyes on him, “What was I just saying?” “Uh, it was…” Seeing your smug grin, you brat.

Even as Raze and Phoenix were chatting, pretty loudly, you could hear the familiar sound of heels hitting the floor. When the person came into view the others quietened down, “Mi amor,”

Making her way over to you, showing off a clear limp, now leaning over the couch while placing a hand on your shoulder. “Look what you did to me, I couldn’t work at my best today~ ” Slowly tilting your head towards her.

“Don’t complain now, you definitely weren’t last night.” “Oh Estimado, ¿preparado para más?” “Reyna!” Seeing Gekko turn away while shielding his eyes, “Get a room you two!” Your only response was to laugh, giving him some relief by leaving the room.

[justageekk]

IN WHERE : your best friend confesses his feelings to you on his birthday

THIS ONE SHOT IS : fem!reader x marc bernal

INSPIRED BY : USHUBABY, BENY JR ❝ Y to' el mundo ya sabe que por el Jeycob tú te mueres ❞

note: i don't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BERNIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!

w: none!

request open!

Anuel's music was blasting at full volume, shaking the walls of the venue Bernat had managed to get for his best friend Marc’s party. Colorful lights, a table full of snacks and drinks, and a cake with a big 18 in the center. But Marc only cared about one thing: that you were there.

"¡Felicidades, tonto!", you said, hugging him from behind just as he was finishing a photo with some friends. ("Happy birthday, dummy!")

Marc turned, his smile widening when he saw you. It wasn’t unusual for his face to light up with you around.

"Ya soy mayor de edad, cuidado", he joked, raising an eyebrow. ("I'm an adult now, watch out.")

" A lo mejor me pongo serio y formal." ("Maybe I'll get serious and formal.")

"Serio, si", you laughed, giving him a little push. "Ni aunque lo intentes." ("Serious, yeah. Not even if you try.")

At that moment, Bernat appeared with his plastic cup and a smile.

"¿Ya le diste su regalo, eh?", he asked, looking from you to Marc. ("Did you already give him his gift, huh?")

"Si, lo deje en la mesa de regalo", you said innocently, and Bernat let out a laugh. ("Yes, I left it on the gift table.")

"Ah, claro…", he murmured laughing, then brought two fingers to his lips, blew a kiss towards you, and pointed at Marc. ("Oh, yeah...)

Marc looked at him sideways.

"Cállate, tío, anda", he said, squinting his eyes embarrassed. ("Shut up, dude, come on.")

Bernat shrugged but his smile only grew.

"Yo no dije nada, eh", he replied, slowly moving away from both of you. ("I didn't say anything, eh.")

You laughed, a bit nervous. Marc looked at you and shook his head, but a smile appeared on his lips.

"Es un tonto", Marc said. ("He’s an idiot.")

You nodded while covering your smile with your hand.

"Ven. Quiero que saludes a alguien antes de que se me olvide", he said, gently touching your arm. ("Come. I want you to greet someone before I forget.")

"¿A quién?", you asked as you walked through the crowd. ("Who?")

"A mi madre. Me preguntó si ibas a venir. La tienes medio encariñada, no sé si te has dado cuenta", he smiled. ("My mom. She asked if you were going to come. She’s kind of fond of you, I don’t know if you noticed.")

"Oh, no sabía… ¿está aquí?" ("Oh, I didn’t know… is she here?")

"Sí, claro. Ella no se pierde una excusa para traer su tarta de tres leches. Ven, le va a alegrar verte." ("Yes, of course. She never misses an excuse to bring her tres leches cake. Come, she’ll be happy to see you.")

And there you went, holding his hand, crossing the party. Marc walked with you through the crowd until he took you to a quiet corner where his mother was chatting animatedly with a couple of relatives. Upon seeing you, her face lit up immediately.

"¡Mira quién llegó!", Marc said, gently touching her shoulder. ("Look who’s here!")

She turned around right away.

"¡Ay, mi niña!", she exclaimed, hugging you as if she hadn’t seen you in years. "¡Qué guapa estás hoy! Siempre tan bonita tú." ("Oh, my girl! You look so pretty today! Always so beautiful.")

"Hola, señora. Feliz cumpleaños atrasado por haber criado a este cabezón", you said jokingly, kissing her cheek. ("Hello, ma'am. Happy belated birthday for raising this stubborn one.")

"Gracias, gracias, alguien que reconoce el esfuerzo", she replied laughing as she glanced at Marc. ("Thank you, thank you, someone who recognizes the effort.")

She looked you up and down with a soft smile, then at him.

"Se ven tan lindos juntos, los dos", she said, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. ("You two look so cute together.")

Marc smiled, clearly uncomfortable, and you just smiled looking down.

"Má…", he said, shaking his head but unable to avoid the embarrassed smile. ("Mom…")

"¿Qué? Si es verdad", she replied shrugging, then looked at you affectionately. "Me alegra tanto que hayas venido. Eres parte de esta familia, ya lo sabes, ¿no?" ("What? It’s true. I’m so glad you came. You’re part of this family, you know that, right?")

Your eyes softened. It was impossible not to feel loved when she spoke like that.

"Gracias, de verdad. Me alegra estar aquí hoy." ("Thank you, really. I’m glad to be here today.")

"Bueno, los dejo que sigan celebrando. Pero no se escapen sin probar mi tarta, ¿eh?", she said, winking at you before going back to her friends. ("Well, I’ll let you continue celebrating. But don’t leave without trying my cake, okay?")

Marc let out a quiet laugh and ran his hand through his hair.

"Siempre hace eso." ("She always does that.")

"Es adorable", you said. "Se nota que te quiere mucho." ("She’s adorable. You can tell she loves you a lot.")

"Y a ti también. Eso no se finge." ("And you too. That can’t be faked.")

You looked down a bit, smiling, and at that moment he took your hand.

"Ven conmigo", he said softly. ("Come with me.")

You went out together through the back door to the small garden that faced the street. The music sounded distant, muffled by the walls. Everything was calm.

Marc stopped and turned to you.

"Está guay aquí." ("It’s cool here.")

"Sí, bro", you replied with a crooked smile, giving him a gentle push on the shoulder. ("Yeah, bro.")

Marc let out a low laugh.

"¿En serio vas a seguir con lo de 'bro', justo hoy?" ("Are you seriously still going with the 'bro' thing, today of all days?")

"¿Y qué quieres que diga?", you joked. ("And what do you want me to say?")

He looked at you with that half smile that always slipped when he tried to be serious.

"Podrías empezar por dejar de hacer como que no te das cuenta", he started. "Quiero decir. Hoy ya no me apetece seguir callándomelo." ("You could start by stopping pretending you don’t notice. I mean, today I don’t feel like keeping it to myself anymore.")

"¿Qué?", you asked, pretending to be clueless. ("What?")

You had known for years that Marc liked you. Bernat told you when you were 15, but you decided to ignore it.

Marc stepped closer. He didn’t touch you, but he was close. Close enough that his intention was clear.

"Que me gustas. Mucho. Que hace tiempo que dejaste de ser solo mi mejor amiga." ("That I like you. A lot. That you stopped being just my best friend a long time ago.")

"Marc…", you began to say, but he shook his head with a slight smile.

"No hace falta que digas nada ahora. Solo… quería que lo supieras. Hoy. Porque si no lo decía, me iba a arrepentir." ("You don’t have to say anything now. I just… wanted you to know. Today. Because if I didn’t say it, I would regret it.")

There was an awkward silence. Then he added:

"Y no, tranquila, no te voy a besar. Todavía no. Pero quiero hacerlo. Cuando tú quieras también." ("And no, don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you. Not yet. But I want to. When you want to, too.")

"Tú me gustas desde que te conocí, Marc." ("I’ve liked you since I met you, Marc.")

For a moment, he seemed unsure if you were serious or if his mind was playing tricks.

"¿Cómo dices?", he asked nervously, with a small smile. ("What did you say?")

"Lo que has oído." You shrugged slightly, as if it was nothing, although your heart was pounding. "Me gustas desde que te conocí. Solo que… era más fácil hacerme la tonta. Fingir que no pasaba nada. Que no sentía nada." ("What you heard. I’ve liked you since I met you. It was just easier to play dumb. Pretend nothing was happening. That I felt nothing.")

"Pero si Bernat me dijo cuando tenías quince que tú…" ("But Bernat told me when you were fifteen that you...")

"Lo sé", you interrupted. "Él me lo dijo: 'Marc está pilladísimo por ti, tía. No sé cómo no te das cuenta.' Yo me reí. Le dije que se callara. Pero sí me di cuenta. Solo que me daba miedo cagarla contigo." ("I know. He told me: 'Marc is totally into you, girl. I don’t know how you don’t notice.' I laughed. I told him to shut up. But I did notice. I was just afraid to mess things up with you.")

"¿Y ahora?" ("And now?")

"Ahora me da más miedo quedarme sin saber qué pasaría si no lo intentamos." ("Now I’m more afraid of not knowing what would happen if we don’t try.")

He took another step closer. This time he did touch you: one of his hands went to your cheek, soft and warm. He didn’t do anything else. He just held your gaze, as if waiting for one last sign.

And there, you took the step he didn’t dare to take.

You leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. You stumbled a bit, you laughed against his mouth, and he let out a sigh that seemed years in the making.

"¿Quién te enseñó a besar?", he asked, pulling away from you and giving you a little soft slap on the cheek, just like he used to do when you said something silly. It didn’t hurt, but the intention was felt. ("Who taught you to kiss?")

You pulled back a bit, putting on a mock offended expression.

"¡Eh, que no fue tan mal!", you protested, though a smile escaped you. ("Hey, it wasn’t that bad!")

He frowned, amused, and just as you were about to reply, you gave him a second slap, this time stronger, right on the cheek.

Marc was surprised, blinked, then rubbed the spot where you’d hit him, a mix of pain and fun.

"¡Joder, vaya que sabes defenderte!", he said, still smiling. ("Damn, you really know how to defend yourself!")

Without wasting time, he grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you close, and effortlessly lifted you in his arms.

"Vale, vale," he murmured as he brushed his lips against yours, "esta vez te voy a enseñar yo." ("Okay, okay, this time I’m going to teach you.")

And then he kissed you again.

❝ justageekk, 2025 ❞

[pixiecaps]

(Context: Foolish was playing Deadlock with Ellum and Cellbit and got called by BBH from Twitchcon.)

BBH: Do you want to talk to, uh, I got a fan say that they’re your number one fan. Do you want to talk to them?

Foolish: Yeah no, I would love to talk to my number one fan.

BBH: Alright, I’m going to hand it over, okay?

Foolish: Okay.

Roier: A ver hijo de tu puta.

(Foolish laughs.)

Foolish: Hola!!

Roier: Qué pasó cabrón? Qué andas haciendo, eh?

Foolish: Hola, hola pendejo!

Roier: Qué pasó pendejo-

Foolish: (Speaking over each other) Mi numero, mi numero uno-

Roier: Por qué no- Por qué no viniste a San Diego Twitchcon, eh? Por qué? Por qué?

Foolish: Ohh. Lo siento.

Roier: Por qué pendejo, por qué pendejo?

Foolish: Uhh yo necesito- (Roier keeps talking over him)

Roier: Por qué? Responde. Responde hijo de tu puta madre.

Foolish: Yo necesito- Puta madre? Chinga tu madre, chinga tu madre!

(Roier laughs.)

Roier: Aye, Foolish.

Foolish: Hello.

Roier: Pendejo, pendejo, pendejo, pendejo.

Foolish: Listen I-

BBH: Oh! It’s me again. Sorry.

Foolish: Oh damn.

-

(Foolish then talks to Tina over the phone and it gets handed back to Roier.)

Foolish: That’s a fun meetup going on there.

Tina: Anyways here’s your bestie!

Foolish: Wait, which one’s my bestie?

Roier: (Gets handed phone) Hello?

Foolish: Ah, fuck. Hello.

Roier: Hello, pendejo. Hey, come right now. Come right now, come right now.

Foolish: Right now? You want me to come?

Roier: I’m going to wait you here- What? Cum?

Foolish: That’s- I just said the same thing you said.

Roier: No, no, come here. Come here.

Foolish: Yeah! Exactly. Uh, ahora.

Roier: Ahora, ahora. Right now.

Foolish: Uhh.. espera. Espera para mi.

Roier: Okay, sí, sí, sí. Aqui te espero.

Foolish: Un momento, un momento. Uh. Uhh.

Roier: Sí?

Foolish: Busco, uhh, busco una- un aeropuerta. (Correcting himself) Aeropuerto.

Roier: Un aeropuerto, aeropuerto?

Foolish: Sí, sí, sí.

Roier: O voy a tu casa.

Foolish: Ahh- voy? Oh! Mi casa?

Roier: Sí, tu casa.

Foolish: Ooh. Sí, sí.

Roier: Y te mato, y te mato.

Foolish: Sí- “Mato”?

Roier: Te voy a matar.

Foolish: “Matar”? To kill me?!

Roier: Te voy a matar, te voy a matar. Sí.

Foolish: What? QUÉ?! POR QUÉ?

Roier: Porque- Porque no viniste.

Foolish: (Trying to understand) “No me viste”? Cause I didn’t visit you?

Roier: (Repeating) No viniste. No viniste.

Foolish: No me viste?

Roier: Viniste!

Foolish: No entiendo.

Roier: Okay, fuck you Foolish. Fuck you. Fuck you Foolish!

Foolish: Woah, woah! You can’t just give up! (Laughs)

BBH: (Gets the phone back.) So you had fun talking to your number one fan?

Foolish: Uh, yeah. He was a little aggressive but.

BBH: No, no, he loves you.

-

(Missa gets the phone next.)

Missa: Hey Foolish!

Foolish: Hello? Hello! Missa!!!

Missa: How’s it going?

Foolish: Oh my goodness.

Missa: I just want to tell you that I miss you and love you. And I-

Foolish: I love you too.

Missa: I just bought something because I thought it was going to- I was going to look at you in the eyes today but I didn’t so.

Foolish: Oh. Oh. Uhh.

Missa: But it’s alright. I just want to tell you that I love you and that’s it.

Foolish: Oh. (Laughs) Okay, listen. Maybe tomorrow.

Missa: Really??

Foolish: No. (Laughs)

Missa: Is that- Is that a promise?

Foolish: Uhhh, yes. Yes. A Christmas promise.

Missa: (Excited) I can’t- OoOohh. Okay. Okay. Thank you so much. Thank you so much.

Foolish: Yes, yes no problem. No problem.

Missa: I’ll see you tomorrow.

Foolish: Yeah, see you tomorrow man. See you tomorrow.

Missa: Yeah! See you tomorrow! See ya!

Roier: (Imitating Missa) Foolish, Foolish, Foolish. Fuck you Foolish.

Foolish: Woah?! Woah!

Roier: Fuck you Foolish.

Foolish: Woah!

Roier: Fuck you Foolish.

Foolish: That’s crazy!

Missa: IT’S NOT ME! THAT’S NOT ME!

Foolish: Oh, that was someone else?

Roier: (Still imitating) That’s me, Missa. That’s me, that’s me, Missa.

Foolish: Wait, Missa? Missa, what in the world.

Roier: Missa, yes. This is me, Missa. Fuck you.

Foolish: How could you say that? How could you say that, Missa? You just said you love me.

Roier: (??) and you smell like shit. You smell like shit now. I changed my opinion. I changed my opinion on you.

Foolish: Okay, you’re a bad guy. You’re a bad guy.

Roier: No, you’re a bad guy. You didn’t come to see me.

(Foolish laughs.)

Roier: To see MissaSinfonia.

Foolish: I had no clue you were gonna be there.. Missa!

Roier: No, I’m not going to be here anymore. Goodbye.

Foolish: Okay, goodbye.

(Audio cuts a bunch.)

Missa: (Imitating) Hey, I’m Roier right now. On the phone.

Foolish: Oh! Hello, Roier.

Missa: So, that’s my voice, yeah. I’m from Mexico. I eat tacos and stuff.

(Foolish laughs.)

Missa: I am Roier. I don’t have- I don’t have (Laughs) A piece of my intestine- I don’t even know what is the problem with Roier but yeah I’m Roier.

Foolish: Yeah, his stomach. His stomach is always, you know, always pooping. Always pooping.

Missa: It is, right? I’m so weird, I’m Roier. Yeah.

Foolish: (Laughs) Dude, that’s crazy.

Missa: Or as I say all the time, pendejo!

Foolish: Oh my goodness, Roier! It is you!

Missa: That’s me! That’s me as you can tell.

Foolish: Pendejo, pendejo.

Missa: See you! See you, Foolish.

Foolish: Oh, goodbye Roier!

Missa: I miss you!

Foolish: I miss you too man.

Missa: Have a good oneee!

Foolish: (Laughs) Thank you. Thank you have a good night.

Missa: Bye bye!!!

Foolish: Goodbye, Roier!

(The call ends.)

[kaitoshimizu]

Hello everyone!! I hope you're all doing well!

For the past few days, I've had an idea for a new drawing of Mychael to post here, but I haven’t been able to even sketch it out yet due to a lack of free time, haha. So, to share a bit more of my art with you, today I’ll be posting 3 drawings of Mychael with three different and amazing people!

The first drawing was a birthday gift for @hojalattta .

I actually remember sketching it inside the car that day because we were traveling pretty far away for vacation, haha. I think it was around 11 or 12 at night when I managed to finish and send the drawing just in time! From the reaction I got through chat, I think she really loved it! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ 🩵

Date: January 29th

The second drawing was for an art trade with the incredible and super friendly artist, @carlnotfound !

Oh my gosh, I was so nervous and embarrassed to ask them, haha, but it was totally worth it!

They asked for a drawing of themselves and Mychael sitting together in front of a fireplace, with their head resting on Mychael’s shoulder, wrapped together in a blanket—and I accepted the challenge!

After about three days, I finished the piece!

They absolutely loved it, and honestly, it made me so happy that such an amazing artist I admire so much enjoyed something I created. ( ´；ω；` )

(Just a little note: I’m still very insecure about coloring, so I might end up posting more black-and-white sketches until I gain more confidence!)

Date: April 6th

And the third drawing is dedicated to @yamimushroom !!

Someone who’s without a doubt one of the kindest people I’ve met.

One day, while we were talking, she mentioned she had an OC—and since I absolutely love giving gifts, I immediately said, “...Could you send me your OC? I'd love to draw them for you!” And so she did!

I got straight to work on the sketch and the next day, I finished it and gave it to her with so much excitement and hope that she’d like it—and she did!! She truly cherishes it with all her heart (╥﹏╥)♡ ❤️‍🩹

Date: April 18th

Wow... it’s amazing to see how much my style has changed over just a few months! Haha.

I really hope to keep improving my art little by little—and who knows, maybe I’ll go even further than I imagine!

As a little extra, I just want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for the incredible support you gave my very first post (the birthday drawing for Cheea).

It’s honestly overwhelming how much love it received in such a short time.

I appreciate you all so, so much. (T﹏T) ♡

As soon as I have more time, I’ll definitely upload that new Mychael drawing I mentioned earlier!

As I always say, it might not be the best thing you’ll ever see, but I hope it can still bring a little bit of joy, haha.

Thank you so much for reading, take care, and I hope you have a wonderful day, evening, and/or night!! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ ✨♡

Hola a todooos!! Espero se encuentren bien! Desde hace unos días he tenido en mente un dibujo de Mychael para subir aquí pero por falta de tiempo libre no he podido ni hacer el boceto jejeje, así que para que conozcan un poco más de mi arte, aquí dejaré 3 dibujos de Mychael con 3 diferentes e increíbles personitas!

El primer dibujo fue un regalo de cumpleaños para @hojalattta , me acuerdo que incluso llegué a dibujar en el auto al justamente ese día tener que viajar desde uff, lejos! Eran vacaciones jsjsjs, recuerdo que eran aprox las 11-12 de la noche y le envié justo a tiempo su regalo que por su reacción por chat, creo que le agradó muchísimo! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ 🩵

29 de Enero

El segundo dibujo lo hice para un Art trade con el increíble y muy amigable artista, @carlnotfound !! Dios, me dió tanto nervios y vergüenza pedirselo jsjsjs, pero sin dudas valió totalmente la pena hacerlo! El me había pedido un dibujo de él y Mychael sentados frente a una chimenea estando él con la cabeza inclinada hacia el hombro a Mychael envueltos ambos en una manta y yo acepté el reto! A lo cual en unos...3 días logré terminar el dibujo! Le encantó sin duda y me siento feliz de que un artista tan increíble que admiro tanto le haya gustado algo mío *Sniff Sniff* ( ´；ω；` )

(Quiero aclarar que para colorear he sido un asco, así que quizás suba más dibujos sin color por efectivamente sentirme insegura al pintar!)

6 de Abril

Y como tercer dibujo es en honor para @yamimushroom !! Personita que sin duda es una de las mejores que he conocido. Un día estábamos ella y yo hablando con calma y me menciono que tenía un oc, a lo cual yo, amante de dar regalos a los demás, decidí decirle: "...me podrías pasar tu oc? Te dibujare!" Y eso hizo, a lo cual inmediatamente me puse manos a la obra con él boceto para al día siguiente continuar sin duda para que al terminar, le entregué el dibujo con muchísima emoción y esperanza de que sea de su agrado y sin duda lo fué, lo aprecia con todo su corazón (╥﹏╥)♡

18 de abril

Wow...es Increíble lo mucho que ha cambiado mi estilo con el tiempo, y eso que tan solo fueron meses! Jajaja, espero poder seguir mejorando en el tema del dibujo y quien sabe, llegué a más de lo que me imagino

Como extra me gustaría agradecer de todo corazón al apoyo que le han dado a mi primer post con el dibujo de Cheea, es impactante el inmenso apoyo que le han dado en tan poco tiempo, waaa, los aprecio muchísimooo (T﹏T) ♡ ❤️‍🩹

Apenas pueda y tenga tiempo, subiré ese dibujo de Mychael que les menciono! Cómo siempre digo, no será lo mejor del mundo que podrían ver, pero supongo que algo es algo jejeje

Muchísimas gracias por leer, cuídate y espero tengas un excelente día, tarde y/o noche!! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ ✨♡

[simscici]

When she got there, everything was already closed, and she had no choice but to head back home.

There, she had an unexpected visitor.

Rosalie: Spruce!

Spruce Almighty: Hello! How’s your... investigation going?

Rosalie: Terribly! I went looking for this so-called fairy dust and it just showed up out of nowhere... Like?? Are fairies not only mysterious, but also super generous? I don’t know about that...

Spruce Almighty: They really are hard to understand, but you get used to it.

Rosalie: To get used to them, I’d have to believe in them first... Anyway, what are you doing here? Wanna come in? I’m about to make dinner.

Previous / Next Beginning (Enchanted by Nature)

Transcript (PT):

Chegando lá, já estava tudo fechado e ela não tinha outra alternativa, senão voltar para casa.

Lá, ela teve uma visita inesperada.

Rosalie: Pinha!

Pinha Pinheiro: Olá! Como anda sua... investigação?

Rosalie: Muito mal! Eu fui atrás de um tal pó de fada e simplesmente ele apareceu pra mim do nada... Tipo?? As fadas além de misteriosas, são super bondosas? Sei não hein...

Pinha Pinheiro: Elas são mesmo complicadas de entender, mas você se acostuma.

Rosalie: Pra me acostumar, eu preciso acreditar primeiro.. Enfim, tá fazendo o quê aqui? Quer entrar? Vou fazer meu jantar agora.

[wormphan]

WHAT'S GOING ON IN SPAIN AND HOW YOU CAN HELP!

On the 29th of october Valencia (in the south-east of Spain) suffered the worst flooding disaster in recent history.

The damage is unimaginable, many people have lost everything and the death toll is high and expected to rise.

A group of Spanish phannies set up a gofundme for donations. We set up various incentives for people to donate (fanart, edits, fanfic, etc).

All the money will go to the spanish red cross! You can check this twitter thread for more info.

Donating or sharing will be of huge help for the people directly affected:

You can dm me for more info! Thank you so, so much 🖤

For more information and other gfm campaigns you can check the following:

News sources in english:

[fairlyang]

Appreciate 🕷️

caught masturbating while babysitting

w/c: 5.1K

pairing: dilfneighbor!miguel x latinababysitter!reader

tags: 18+ smut. slow burn oops, age gap (not specified but reader is early 20's, mig early 30's, dirty thoughts ensue, caught masturbating, he helps you out, fingering, staying quiet

notes: the getting caught fucking KILLED me rn while editing I cannot😭

Miguel O'Hara was one of your neighbors and your parents quickly got a liking to the single father across the street. He was very laidback and kind, accommodating with all the neighbors for literally anything.

So considering that when Miguel would say he never had time for himself due to always taking care of his daughter, Gabriella, your dad told him you'd be happy to babysit for him while he took him out to get a couple drinks with a few of the other dads in the neighborhood.

But of course you had no fucking clue this conversation was even had until the day your dad promised him some drinks.

"Oye mija le prometí a Miguel que ibas a quedar a su hija para sacarlo a tomarnos unos tragos." He tells you standing by your doorway while you sat on your bed and then just walks away. (Hey honey I promised Miguel that you were going to take care of his daughter so we could take him out to have a couple drinks)

"Porque hiciste eso?!!?!" You yelled and quickly hopped out of bed and ran after him beyond pissed. (Why did you do that?!!?!)

"Si apenas me estaba alistando para salir con mis amigas no chingues!!!!" You screamed following down the stairs in your heels that clicked on every step. (I was just getting ready to go hang out with my friends. it's a phrase that can be used for shock or when shit goes wrong)

"Pues dile a Miguel que se canceló el plan entonces." He says so confident you wouldn't do it until you walk past him and heading straight to the front door. (Then go tell Miguel that the plans are canceled)

"AY OKAY! Que quieres?" He says and rolls his eyes as you turn around to face him. (What do you want?)

"Me debes un enorme favor. Lo que sea cuando te lo pida." You say and point a finger at him, just to show you really mean it. (You owe me enormous favor. Whatever it is, whenever I ask you of it)

"Ya que-" (ugh whatever- or like 'since I have no other choice')

"Tu mismo te hiciste esto." You quickly cut him off and he only groans. (You only did this to yourself)

"Pues deja me pongo cómoda. Ya que no tengo otra opción." You say and glare at him to which he only gives you a goofy smile. (Let me get comfortable. Now that I don't have another option)

You reluctantly went upstairs, annoyed that this was how your Friday night was gonna go over going clubbing with your friends.

But shit happens, what can you really do?

You go back to your room and take off your perfectly chosen red mini dress and put the sweats you were wearing earlier back on. You then grab a tee shirt that had hello kitty on it with some sunglasses, hoping to get some brownie points by the little girl at least.

You then slip on a pair of purple crocs and you're done. Until you realized you had already put your makeup on so now you have to take it off.

What a waste.

You grab a makeup wipe that you had on your desk and wipe off your eye makeup, then everything else only leaving your lips alone.

Then grabbing your phone off your bed, sending a quick text to your friends that you can't make it and you head back downstairs. "Vámonos." Your dad says and snaps his finger as if he has any room to complain. (Let's go.)

He opened the front door and you walked out right behind him as you mumble how annoying he was to which he told you to just calm down and it wouldn't be that bad.

You walked across the street and stepped up to his front door, your dad ringing the doorbell to which you then hear loud footsteps coming from inside.

Then the door opens by none other than the very energetic 8 year old. This was going to be a long night...

You smile down at her and give her a wave which she returns and gives you a toothy grin of her own. "Gabi donde está tu papá?" You asked and she just pointed up. (where's your dad?)

"Se está poniendo sus tenis! Dijo voy a jugar con alguien nueva." She says and goes back inside letting out giggles as she walks to the living room. (He's putting on his shoes! He said I get to play with someone new)

You follow her in and see coloring books, crayons, colored pencils and markers all over the coffee table in front of the tv. "Te gusta colorear?" She asked as she takes a seat behind the table as you make your way around the couch to sit on the floor with her. (Do you like to color?)

"Si me encanta!" You say and her eyes lit up. (Yes I love it!)

Suddenly you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and straighten up as Miguel comes down giving you a bright smile.

And lord did he clean up nice.

He was wearing a black button up with some jeans and black boots, and his hair slicked back. You gave him a smile as he walked over to you and Gabi, who was also shining her big smile. "Papi también le gusta colorear!!" She says jumping up onto the couch and grinning ear to ear. (she also likes to color!!)

He gasps and tickles her sides making her erupt into fits of giggles, "de verdad?" He says and turns to you, to which you give a small shrug and just smile. (really?)

He stops tickling her and she hops off the couch just to sit back down on the floor. You turn to him and he walks around the couch leaning down, and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek to which you return at the same time.

"Thank you so much for this, I really appreciate it." He says and you pull back, waving him off before he continues, "Gabi's on a little sugar rush right now but she'll be calm within the next hour and will want to go to bed right after. She's a very deep sleeper so feel free to use the tv and help yourself to any of the food."

You nod and watch as he bends over and whispers something to her ear to which Gabi nods and gives him a thumbs up. He gets up and mouthed another thank you then walks out the front door.

Maybe this won't be too bad.

And it wasn't.

You ended up coloring two pages of a finding nemo coloring book while she was coloring on a spongebob coloring book. And surprisingly stayed in the lines.

After that she wanted you to play with her dolls to which you felt happy to, it was like reliving your childhood and she was such a sweet kid.

You noticed it was 8pm and helped Gabi put away all her coloring things and let her lead you to her bedroom.

She runs in as you carry her art supplies and she points to a desk for you to leave them on.

You walk over to her dresser where Miguel left a pair of pjs for her to put on and help her take off shoes as well as her glittery shirt and pants.

She then puts on her pjs and goes off to brush her teeth all by herself. Made your job even easier.

She runs back in after a few minutes and plops down onto her bed, "can you tuck me in? Porfis?" She asks and give little puppy dog eyes. (Please)

"Of course." You nod and walk over to her princess bed.

"Como un burrito!" She giggles making you laugh. (Like a burrito!)

So you pull her blanket over her body and let her lift her arms before tucking her in tightly which just made the little girl giggle. You go down and tuck her nicely tight before coming up and passing her the stuffed animal she was reaching for.

A spider.

Weird option but it had cute eyes.

"Goodnight Gabi, sueña de cosas bonitas." You whisper and smile at her as she gives you one back. (dream of pretty things)

You turn off her lamp from her bedside table, then walk towards her door, turning the light switch off before finally closing the door.

You head downstairs, turning off all the lights, and plop down on one of the couches in the living room. You scroll on your phone but then quickly grow bored so you reach over the coffee table and grab the remote control.

You turn the tv on and go through the apps they had and decide to watch 'A Nightmare on Elm Street'. You kick your crocs off then make yourself comfortable before turning to watch the tv.

You got to watch the first scene before your eyes started fluttering and you pass out.

You don't wake up until you hear the jingle of the door and you jump up, wiping your eyes and sitting up to watch Miguel come through the door, surprisingly not shit faced.

You stood up and greeted him with a hug, then a kiss on the cheek as he gives you one back. "Como les fue?" You ask and he shrugs. (How'd it go?)

You then pull away and take quick notice of the lipstick stains along his neck. You look back up at him and he smiles, "estuvo bien." (It was good)

Sure looks like it.

You shrug and smile, "que bien! If you need me to babysit just let my parents know and hopefully I'll be available." You offer and he sighs. (That's good!)

"I really appreciate it," he starts and takes his wallet out which you look at with a confused look, "me vale que era un favor, no me siento bien en no pagarte un poco." (I don't care that it was a favor, I feel bad in not paying you a little bit)

"Y más porque tu papá me dijo que tu ya tenías planes y ni sabías de esto." He says with a sympathetic smile while handing you a $50 bill. (And more because your dad told me that you had plans and didn't even know about this)

You widen your eyes and shake your head, "no te preocupes! Está bien y Gabi se porto bien! No me tienes que pagar Miguel." You say and wave him off. (Don't worry about it! It's okay and Gabi behaved well! You don't have to pay me.)

"Por favor tómalo, me siento mal. Agarra el dinero para que tomes con tus amigas, yo picho." He says, letting out a chuckle at the last two words and you sigh. (Please take it, I feel bad. Grab the money so you can drink with your friends, I'll pay."

His eyes were pleading and it looked like he felt bad but it wasn't even his fault. If anything your dad should be the one paying.

"Si no para la próxima le digo a Gabi que lo esconda en tu ropa." He threatens making you burst out laughing. (If not for the next time I'll tell Gabi to hide it in your clothes)

"Creo que quiero ver eso..." you joke and he laughs. (I think I wanna see that)

"Mis papas me matarán si lo tomo Miguel. De verdad estás bien!" You reassure him and he sighs. (My parents will kill me if I take it Miguel. Seriously you're fine!)

"Eres bien terca." He mutters and you scoff. (You're very stubborn)

A smirk tugs on his lips and you had to fight the thoughts entering your mind. Sure he was fine as hell, you already knew that but you shouldn't be thinking this mid conversation.

"Maybe next time I'll accept it!" You say and shrug as he slides the bill back in his wallet.

"Fine." He sighs in defeat and tilts his head to the side, "but I'll still make Gabi hide it in your clothes just for good measure." He jokes making you smile.

"Yeah yeah." You wave him off and walk past him to the front door.

"Thank you again, I appreciate it." He says turning to face you and opens the door for you.

"Course! Anytime, and now I'll actually know about it." You joke making him roll his eyes.

"Tu papá es algo más." He says and you nod. (Your dad is something else)

"Lo se." You mutter and finally walk out before you waste anymore of his time. (I know)

"Cuidate!" He shouts as you walk out of his porch and onto the sidewalk. (Stay safe!)

You turn back to him and wave before turning back and crossing the street back to your house. You open the door assuming your dad didn't lock it and sure enough it was open.

As you stepped in and closed the door you noticed Miguel was still outside his door, making sure you did stay safe.

So sweet.

You give him one last wave before closing the door and immediately head to your room.

You open the door and quickly close it before taking off your crocs once again and plopping down onto your bed.

And now finally your thoughts could roam free.

His hair was slicked back before he left the house, right now that shit was all over the place.

And the lipstick stains on his neck??

He definitely got his own fun tonight but you couldn't help but feel so jealous.

It's not your fault if you occasionally had a wandering eye whenever Miguel was around.

Or peeking out through your bedroom window to watch him when he mowed the lawn. Shirtless.

Or stare at him longer than you should at random carne asadas the neighbors would host.

It was natural for a young woman to feel attraction towards an older man like him.

Especially with daddy issues but that's besides the point-

He stood out from the other dads in the neighborhood, he was younger. Respectful, kind, helpful.

Everything a woman could ever ask for.

So you couldn't help but instantly felt a twinge of jealousy when you saw the lipstick stains on his neck.

Why couldn't that be you that left them?

At least now you know he looked really good in red..

But at what cost? Feeling your entire being now getting taken over by jealousy of a man you have no right to and probably stand no chance in ever having?

Or touching...

And there came the horny thoughts that always seemed to appear in the back of your mind. He always just did something to you. Your body couldn't help but want him, crave him, his touch.

So you repeated the endless cycle of anytime you see him just having to masturbate. It was becoming a bad habit, but not hurting anyone.

——————

Alas you had to use your own fingers to make you cum and not Miguel's. Again.

But you moved on and let the next day pass. Nothing eventful happened, and there were no Miguel sightings to be found.

That was until you got a text from an unknown number and low and behold it was the man you were daydreaming about all day.

Unknown number

Hey it's Miguel! I asked your dad for your number, hope that's fine but was wondering if you could babysit for me tmrw?

Got scheduled for a late shift at the lab and don't want Gabi home alone🥲

It was embarrassing how quickly you started typing your response but how could you say no?

You're good!! And I'd love to! What time?

No way he could sense your desperation to see him again through text. Right?

You added him to your contacts before he finally texts back.

Miguel💞

Around 6, getting out at midnight so please let me pay you this time

You sigh and quickly type back.

Alrightttt

And sounds good I'll be seeing you guys tmrw:)

And with that no more messages from him came in but he left a like to your second message.

And the rest of your night was uneventful besides the occasional wet dream filling your mind and distracting you.

——————

It was the next day and you were practically counting down the hours until you had to go babysit.

Given you wouldn't even see Miguel for too long before or after but still. You'd have to make do with the amount of time you will see him.

But because you knew you'd just be playing or coloring with Gabi again, you decided to just dress comfortably over trying to impress Miguel for less than five minutes.

So sweats and a tee shirt again but no bra because who the fuck wants to willingly wear a bra for six hours?

Yeah right.

Now all dressed you grabbed your airpods and phone, slipped your crocs on and went downstairs. Saying a quick goodbye to your parents before exiting your house and trying not to skip on over to Miguel's house.

It was 5:45 but you figured you'd get there early just cause, definitely not to possibly spend a little more time with him.

Definitely not.

You walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. Instantly the door flew open and Gabi opened the door wide so you could come in.

You ruffle her hair as she grins up at you, "cómo estás Gabi?" (How are you?)

"Bien! Apenas comí pozole!" She says as you walk in and she happily closes the door behind you. (Good! I just ate pozole!)

You gasp and were about to respond when Miguel came down. "The pot is still warm si te quieres servir un plato." He says giving you a quick hug and kiss on your cheek. (if you want a plate)

"Might just have to." You reply giving him a smile once he pulled away.

He was wearing a white lab coat, maybe a white button up and you didn't want to look down to see the rest.

His hair was slicked back again but the best part was that he was wearing thick black glasses. It made him look 100x more attractive but you remained calm.

No way to act like a barbarian right now.

Maybe later.

"Okay have her in bed by seven because she's got school tomorrow and no sweets besides pan dulce with a glass of milk." He says and you chuckle as Gabi storms up to him with a pout on her face.

But he didn't budge.

"Tv and fridge are all yours. Make yourself at home and I'll be back by midnight." He tells you then looks down at Gabi.

"Pórtate bien." He says, leaning down and giving her a kiss on her forehead and a hug. (Behave)

"Ya se papi, ya se." She says and playfully rolls her eyes. (I know dad, I know)

He gives her a warning look before blowing her a kiss as he walks to the front door. He gives her one last look and she just waves him goodbye. He chuckles and opens the door then shuts it behind him.

"Can we watch Bluey?" She looks up at you with pleading little eyes and you nod as she sprints to the living room without another word.

So you end up watching Bluey with Gabi for a good nine episodes before you were slowly losing yourself into this little kids show. The little accents and cute storylines just got to your heartstrings.

And with fifteen minutes left to spare, you wait until the episode Gabi was watching was over before hitting the back button leading you back to the disney+ home screen.

Gabi whined and you shook your head, "no more, you've gotta get ready for bed!"

She groans but nonetheless heads upstairs with you trailing behind her. She gets dressed into her pjs then heads straight to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

She's literally an angel.

No way Miguel would have a hard time finding a sitter for her. She's every babysitter's dream. Besides the occasional sarcasm she got from her dad.

But nonetheless still an angel.

Finally she's in bed and you're tucking her in, once again passing her the stuffed spider, who you learned she named Gabri, after her favorite uncle.

You then shut off the lights and walk out of her room, closing the door gently.

You walk back downstairs turning off the lights before heading to the living room. You plop down on the couch and get comfortable, this time putting on a blanket that was on the armrest because it was getting cold.

You play a random movie, snuggling the blanket to your face to warm yourself up when you realize it smells like Miguel.

Maybe he was sitting there earlier?

You breathed in and breathed out, feeling so relaxed. Your eyes start fluttering and it's the second time you pass out at Miguel's place. 

You get woken up by screams coming from the tv, probably wasn't the best to play a scary movie but oh well.

You stretched and let out a yawn before switching positions and laying down so your legs were stretched out over the whole couch. You laid your head on the arm rest and wiped your eyes before taking your phone and airpods from your pocket.

You put them both in your ears before just scrolling through your phone. You move the blanket so it was mostly by your chest and stomach, exposing your legs because you weren't cold but still wanted it on you.

Just then you inhale his scent again and he must've been wearing something expensive because it smelled so good.

You then got the absolute best idea imaginable. And with Miguel being away for another two hours along with Gabi sleeping and probably snoring heavily in her room, you would be good.

So you put some music on, a mix of The Weeknd and Lana Del Rey to get you in the perfect mood. But as you closed your eyes your imagination immediately ran wild and there was no stopping you.

You spread your legs and slowly ran a hand over your body, playing with your tits then softly pinching your hardened nipples. Then trailing it up and down your stomach before it lands on the waistband of your sweats.

You slipped your hand in and began by just tracing along your inner thigh, then went deeper. You led two fingers down to rub your clit, only a couple circles before going down and rubbing your slit over your panties.

Your arousal was already building up, and this blanket was helping a ton. You just imagined Miguel on top of you, not caring if he crushed you, just craving him above you. The way he'd be looking down at your eyes while he toyed with you. Had his way with you.

You needed him so desperately, his touch, his mouth, his fingers. Absolutely everything and anything he'd give you.

Your fingers made their way back up to your clit and you started rubbing faster circles against it while bucking your hips up, imagining it's Miguel's fingers.

A moan slipped past your lips and you tried your best to keep quiet as your fingers worked fairly against your bundle of nerves.

"Miguel-" you whispered before letting out a shaky breath as you held onto the blanket tightly with your left arm.

Just the thought of this big, smoking hot dilf climbing on top of you was almost enough to make you explode.

Fortunately your thoughts went broader than that.

Not only is he tall, and big but his cock would most definitely be the best thing you'd ever lay your eyes on. He'd be really thick and you'd probably struggle keeping him inside you.

He'd stretch you out to absolute perfection and you'd tighten around him so good he's be moaning out your name from how good your pussy feels.

You felt your slick seep through your panties and it only made you more relentless. You slipped your hand under your panties, and brought your two fingers to tease your hole.

You'd need the practice.

You dipped your fingers into your folds, just letting your fingers get soaked before finally slipping them both in making you whine.

You bite your lip to shut yourself up before slipping them in harshly, imagine that's how Miguel would fuck you. You feel yourself clench against your fingers as you start to fuck yourself immediately fast, needing him so fucking badly.

His cock would fill you up so good and you wouldn't mind if he came inside. You wouldn't want him to waste any of it.

You cover your mouth with the blanket let yourself moan into it, as you breathe him in with every inhale. You let out mumbled moans of just his name, as you start to fuck yourself harder, your immersion working better than ever tonight.

And it might've manifested into itself when you felt a gently tap on your shoulder which made you open your eyes, and freeze in fear.

It was Miguel.

"W-w-what are you d-doing back so e-early?!?" You ask as you felt your heartbeat increase rapidly.

But you couldn't seem to slip your fingers out. Unable to move and staring blankly ahead and not to your right as Miguel's body loomed over you.

"Finished what we needed to do faster than expected." He says and you could feel his gaze on you. It was hard to miss.

And you were growing more and more nervous by the second. "And this is what you're doing huh?" He whispers and it doesn't help your nerves at all but does make you clench against your fingers.

"I-I- I'm sorry-" you apologize feeling your body flush with embarrassment but get interrupted.

"A good hour before I was meant to come home too. Que pensaste?" He snarls and you hold your breath. (what were you thinking?)

Shit.

"Aww and gripping this poor blanket for dear life." He says in that teasing tone but you don't have it in you to look at him.

"No me lo esperaba de ti." He whispers and you take a deep breath. (I wasn't expecting this from you)

"P-perdón-" (S-sorry)

"Shh stay quiet..." he whispers and see him going down to his knees out of your peripheral.

"Let me appreciate you in some other way for what you've done for me tonight." He murmurs softly in your ear.

He then brings a hand down between your legs, before placing his hand on top of yours, fingers still buried inside you. Your lip was quivering and you couldn't believe this was happening.

And you're not dreaming.

He then pulls it away only to slip it under your sweats then panties before sliding his fingers between your folds. You whimpered and bucked your hips up, always a needy mess.

"What did I stay? Stay quiet." He coos in your ear, bringing his other hand up to your throat, lightly squeezing.

You finally turn your head to look at him only to smile at him before he leans in to kiss you. You kissed back immediately and he lets go of your throat and instead cups your jaw as you moan into his mouth. He pulls away making you pout, "No hagas que me repita nena." He whispers and you nod. (Don't make me repeat myself baby girl)

"Take your fingers out for me." He whispers and you nod, immediately listening.

You slip your fingers out and take them out between your legs. "Good girl." He murmurs and move his fingers down, teasing your hole with the tip of his finger.

"Miguel- fuck-" you moan then cover your mouth with the blanket again.

"Need more?" He coos and you whimper, nodding.

"Tell me." He whispers and you move your hand away.

"Please- I need you so fucking badly- por favor, te necesito- mmm te necesito tanto Miguel." You plead and he slides his fingers inside you. (Please I need you, I need you so much)

"Feel good huh baby?" He asks and you nod, unable to speak as his fingers start pumping into you fast.

You clamp a hand over your already covered mouth and try your hardest to keep quiet but his fingers filled you up. Two fingers, were able to feel fulfilling inside you.

"Estas tan hermosa mami." He whispers in your ear and you let out a muffled whimper, your walls clenching against his fingers. (You're so beautiful)

He left gentle kisses along your jaw, and neck while pumping his fingers faster and harder. You rolled your eyes back as you kept quiet, or tried to.

You bucked your hips up and tilted your head to the side as Miguel began sucking on your skin, leaving marks then kissing them after. Your walls clenched against your fingers and you could feel that familiarity in your lower abdomen.

"Te vas a quedar bien calladita para mi verdad?" He whispers making you gasp and nod. (You're gonna stay real quiet for me right?)

He starts fucking into you harder and curls his fingers up, hitting that sweet spot of yours with every thrust as you feel your legs begin to shake. Your eyes began to flutter and you tried to keep your eyes open, you wanted to how he'd react to you cumming.

You then feel his thumb rubbing fast circles against your clit which only makes it harder for you to stay quiet. You bit your lips and held all your moans in as your climax hit and your entire body starts to shake. You covered your mouth and breathed heavily as he fucked you slower, moving his thumb away.

You close your eyes and let out heavy pants as he stops and lets his fingers stay inside. "You did so good baby... how's that instead of money?" He whispered and you just gave him a drunken smile unable to have any thoughts.

"Still gonna leave you with both." He coos and kisses your cheek softly.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, then slips them out your juices dripping down and definitely staining your poor panties even more.

He slips his fingers out of your panties and sweats and then brings them up to your mouth which you instantly put into your mouth. You tasted yourself as your eyes fluttered and your breathing finally had calmed down.

You then let go of his fingers with a plop and he leans in, kissing you again but passionately. Tongue in your mouth, also wanting to have a taste of you. After a solid fifteen seconds he pulls away and murmurs, "Thank you for babysitting again. If you want you can stay the night, te ves muy cansada... pobrecita." (you look so tired, poor girl)