#Best luxury Oscar watches

[gmtindiasposts]

2024 Oscars Watches: Best Luxury Watches

Do you love watches and the Oscars? Check out GMT India's coverage of the best luxury watches at the event, including Ryan Gosling's impeccable and sophisticated TAG Heuer Carrera and Cillian Murphy's elegant and refined Omega De Ville. Explore the best luxury Oscar watches on the red carpet.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 2

Masterlist || AO3

Pairing: Millionaire Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.  Chapter Summary: Try as he might, Joel just can’t shake the memory of you. Try as you might, you can’t stop thinking of the woman tied to his desk. CW: The slow burn is burning. Mentions of death and underage drinking. Topless in public, this is a love story about BDSM after all. Reader does have some physical descriptions, so maybe more of an OFC, or just pretend you have pouty lips and a slightly upturned nose. Double POV (reader and Joel). AN: Thank you SO FUCKING MUCH for all the love on chapter one of this story. I literally cannot believe it surpasses 1000 notes in just a month, you're all insane and I love you. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Biiiig shout outs to the bb's who have been so supportive of me spiralling and panicking this last month over the next chapter. I'd be in a deep dark cave without you @mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @lotusbxtch @evolnoomym @joelmillerisapunk and @milla-frenchy . Thank you! I feel like I'm giving some sort of Oscars speech and if you're still reading this, you're the real MVP. XO Word Count: 8.5k

~ Joel - 27 Years Ago ~

Joel’s stands in the garage of someone he barely knows, surrounded by drunk and rowdy classmates from his high school. He’s a senior, graduating in just a few weeks and moments like this are one of the perks of being the star designated hitter and first baseman, everyone wants you at their party. Someone hands him a warm, flat beer that was pumped poorly from a keg as they pat his back roughly in congratulations. Joel’s not sure how a bunch of seventeen year olds managed to get a keg, most likely an older brother, but he drinks the shitty beer all the same. Speaking of brothers, he hasn’t seen Tommy in a while. He’s only fifteen and he promised their mom he’d keep an eye on him. The younger Miller shouldn’t be at a seniors party, but that's where those perks come in again, because if Joel was good, Tommy was better. In fact, he was so much better that he’s played up a whole age group his entire life, always right beside Joel. Tommy was the back catcher, and tonight he got the eleventh inning game winning out at home for them to win the state championship. 

He finds Tommy chatting with a group of girls, all of whom are incredibly beautiful. They’re going to be very disappointed when they find out how much younger he is than them. Joel smiles into his red solo cup as he takes a sip of stale beer. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his light blue wranglers and walks over to the wall of the garage. He leans back and crosses one cowboy booted foot over the other. The brim of his cowboy hat grazes the unpainted drywall behind him. Texas, and the country, in the late nineties was where everyone wanted to be, and Joel Miller could have been the poster boys for teenage country boys in 1997.

Brooks & Dunn plays on someone's CD player in the corner, laughter and people talking overlaps until it’s just noise to Joel. He stands back, watching his younger brother effortlessly charm the five pretty girls around him. All of them in tight blue jeans, lacy white tops, denim vests and cowboy boots. He grabs one by the hand and Joel overhears, “I’ll teach ya how to two step, shame to not know in a place like this.” Then the motherfucker winks at her like he’s some sort of cowboy Casanova. Joel lets out a silent laugh through his nose and sips the beer again shaking his head. 

Just as Tommy pulls the pretty little blonde over towards the unmarked and unofficial dance floor in the corner of the garage the song changes. Slow guitar, followed by the unmistakable twang of Tim Magraw’s voice. Joel didn’t know it then, but that song would change the course of his life and intertwine itself in the very fabric of his being.

‘Dancin’ in the dark, Middle of the night’

That’s when he sees her, tall and slender, deep olive toned skin and pale green eyes. Her dark curly hair cascades over one of her shoulders. She’s laughing with another classmate, and even though he can’t hear the sound of it over the noise of the party, he can tell it’s a light and melodic sound, and he wants to spend the rest of his life drawing that out of her. 

‘Takin’ your heart, An holdin’ it tight’

He puts his warm beer on the work bench beside him and takes off his black felt Stetson, placing it over his broad chest, hoping the comfort of his favourite hat would slow the rate at which his heart is beating. 

‘Emotional touch, Touchin’ my skin, And askin’ you to do, What you’ve been doin’ all over again’

She looks over at him, smiling shyly, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s walking over to her. His legs move on their own accord, knees shaking as he approaches the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

‘Oh, it’s a beautiful thing, Don’t think I can keep it all in, I just gotta let you know, What is that won’t let me go’

Everything in the room fades as she fully comes into view. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe the girl in front of him. She radiates a warmth that he’s only ever known his mother to radiate. It’s the first time he’s ever seen this girl, but she feels like home. This is it, that one thing that everyone says you’re supposed to feel. The thing his grandpa told him when he was younger, “Son, you’ll just know. It sounds ridiculous, but when I saw your grandma it was like a pull behind my belly button. I just knew, and I’ve known everyday since then.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Joel says, tipping his hat to her before placing it back on his head. 

She giggles, confirming his earlier thoughts. It really is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard. “Hi.”

He holds out a hand to her and she takes it, her skin is so warm and smooth. In that moment he knows that hers will be the last hand he ever holds. Fire flushes through his veins as he continues, “I’m Joel, what’s your name?”

“Oh, I know who you are Joel Miller,” she flirts, not letting go of his hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

“Tiffany,” he repeats, his voice going deeper as he says it. It’s egotistical but he loves the way girls shiver just a little when he lowers his register. “And how is it that you know who I am?”

She slides her hand from his and reaches up to grab his cowboy hat, plopping it onto her head. “Star first baseman and designated hitter, everyone knows Joel Miller. Look around, look at all these girls lookin’ at you, cowboy.”

For the first time in his life Joel finds himself blushing, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Tiffany. 

“I only see one girl.” She rolls her eyes and swats at his bicep at the cheesy line, but that was it for both of them. From that point they were inseparable. 

They both turned eighteen a few months later, and just ten months, and a thirty two hour labour after Tiff turned eighteen, a tiny little Sarah came into the world all pink and screaming. Joel hears that song again as he watches Tiffany hold that little bundle of blankets, ‘Better than I was, More than I am, And all of this happened, By taking your hand.’

They get married when Sarah is just a few months old. Both his beautiful curly haired girls in white dresses, Tiffany grabbing that same black Stetson off his head during their first dance. He holds them both, swaying from side to side, a hot tear rolling down his cheek at how goddamn happy he is. ‘And who I am now, Is who I wanted to be, And now that we’re together, I’m stronger than ever, I’m happy and free’.

Things for their little family of three are perfect. They buy the house with the white picket fence and the wrap around porch. Joel gets a job working construction and enjoys a nightcap with his beautiful young wife on their front porch every night. They make love often, slow and sweaty, Joel worshiping her soft copper toned skin inch by glorious inch. Tiffany wraps every minute of her day around Sarah and being a sweet, devoted housewife. Nothing seems to stand in their way. Until the diagnosis shortly before Sarah starts Kindergarten. 

Tiffany is too young, they’re all too young. This isn’t something that happens to people their age, they haven’t had enough time. Joel spends the next few months in a haze, it has to be a bad dream. The appointments, the treatments, the call to 911 when the illness starts to win. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. 

He holds Tiffany until the very end. Sponging a soft kiss to her forehead, whispering his goodbyes as they shut off the machines keeping her here. “You’ve been so strong, my love. You fought so hard. I know you’re scared to go, I’m scared too, but we’ll do it like we do everything else. Together. I’ll be ok, Sarah will be ok. Just rest now. I love you.” 

As she takes her last shaky and shallow breath, a sound will live with him until he takes a breath that matches hers, that song echoes through his hollow chest. ‘It’s your love, It does something to me, It sends a shock right through me, I can’t get enough’.

You - Present Day

You roll to a stop outside Mister Miller’s house for your second day of cleaning. As you look towards the impressive house your pussy flutters at the memories of yesterday - the almost pornographic noises that were made in that office, his soft and kind eyes as he apologized profusely in the kitchen. You were supposed to go to a study group last night, but instead you got lost in a rabbit hole of porn where women are tied up and fingered. You got yourself off four times thinking about a man you’re not even supposed to know, wishing it was his thick fingers hitting that spot inside of you that you can’t reach on your own. You felt guilty about it last night and now being back in his home you have that same sinking feeling again. 

Stupid. Sacrificing my future for a fantasy. Never again. 

You let yourself in the house and look at the list in your cleaning app. You pop in your AirPods and start listening to your favourite true crime podcast; thankful for the new episode, a gruesome distraction as you scrub baseboards and lightswitches. The episode ends and in an attempt to not let your mind wander to the gorgeous man that lives here, and the depraved new things you’ve discovered about yourself, you start an educational audiobook about civil rights law. You might want Joel Miller to strap you down and whisper filth in your ears, but you are a good person, and your aspiration in life is to help people who face discrimination on a daily basis. 

You breeze around his home, checking off each task and before you know it it’s almost one in the afternoon. You have almost your whole list complete, his soft sheets are in the dryer (and yes, you are incredibly proud of yourself for only putting the luxurious white fabric to your face twice on the way to the washer). You only have the patio furniture to spray down and the kitchen counters to wipe. That’s when your stomach growls, almost as if to remind you that it’s the perfect time to take a break while the dryer finishes. You haul all your stuff out to your car and lock up, sitting in your front seat as you take out your lunch container.

An engine revs in the distance and your heart skips in your chest. Before you even have time to wonder if it’s Joel’s car, one of the black garage doors slides open and Joel’s obsidian coloured Aston Martin rolls by you, stopping with precision on the shiny cement floor of the garage. You avert your eyes, focused on your container of chicken noodle soup. The left side of your face feels the warmth of his gaze fixed on you. Without looking over you can tell he is studying you and it takes everything you have to keep your eyes on your measly lunch. 

The afternoon sun is blocked as Joel raps his knuckles on your window. You glance over at him, looking up through your lashes. He’s looking at you intensely but you can’t quite place his expression. As always, his deep brown eyes are locked on yours, he could either be happy to see you or incredibly disappointed in you. But one thing is for sure, he’s calculating your every need with those warm and inviting eyes. He knocks again so you crank the handle to roll your window down a crack.

He raises one eyebrow at you, both hands rest on the roof of your SUV as he leans forward to speak to you through the small opening in the window. “Seriously?” His voice is laced with sarcasm. 

“What?” You say, “Can’t be too safe.”

He blinks at you before continuing, “What'd ya doin’ out here?”

You lift your tupperware container a little, willing the tingles between your thighs to stop, “Eating my lunch.”

He rolls his eyes, running his hand along his greying scruff. “You’re eatin’ lukewarm soup in your car in the middle of February.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, but his voice is warm and curious, and you start to realize that the look on his face isn’t happiness or disappointment, but concern. 

You nod, “Yes.” His eyes dance around your face and you swear your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Fluttering so fast that it’s traveling up your throat and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. 

“Get out of the car. Come warm that up and eat inside.” His voice is thick with concern, entire face soft as he looks at you. 

You swallow your heart back down to where it belongs, “I’m not allowed to do that, Mister Miller.”

His cheeks redden a little and some of the softness in him disappears, “Don’t call me that, it’s jus’ Joel to you.”

“I’m not even supposed to know your name, Mister Miller. I can’t call you by your first name.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and points a thick finger at you through your window, “Don’t. Either you call me Joel or nothin’ at all. Come inside,” he drops his pointer finger to the door handle. He pulls on it to find it locked. “Seriously?”

“I told you, I can’t be too safe!” You can help but think how cute he looks all flustered - shaking his head at you for being cautious in a neighborhood where you could probably scream your credit card number and no one would use it. If anything, the wealthy homeowners on this street might transfer you money when they see the state of your vehicle. 

“You’re eatin’ inside.” He says flatly. 

“I told you, I can’t. We aren’t allowed to do that. You’re a client, Mist - I mean. Sorry, I just can’t. We aren’t allowed.” You glance towards the clock on your dash. At this rate your break is going to be over before you finish eating. 

He jiggles the door handle again, as if he can convince the metal to bend and unlatch itself with just his sexiness alone. “You like rules, don’t ya?”

He’s got you there, you do enjoy following the rules. You nod and hum a noise in agreement. 

“Unlock the door, please,” his voice has changed, he’s being more commanding now. A deeper, huskier sound leaving his lips. The sound seems to latch onto something deep in your mind, strong fingers wrapping around the control center of your brain, guiding you to do his bidding. You blink the feeling away. 

“Mister-,” his eyes flash with darkness, “Sorry. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right to eat in your house, plus my break is almost over.”

Joel releases your door handle, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and lets out a breath, as he drops his hand back to the top of your vehicle an amused smirk flashes across his face. “Do you consider yourself to work in customer service?”

“Yes,” you say nervously.

“And isn’t the main rule of customer service that the customer is always right?” His lips form a tight line and a deep dimple carves into one of his tanned cheeks. Your brain flashes back to one of the videos you watched last night, a man sucking on a woman's nipples as he rubbed her clit, her arms and legs strapped to a padded table. He had a dimple, but he had nothing on Joel. 

“Yes,” you croak and then clear your throat gently, shifting in your seat at the fire building behind that bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

“Then unlock the door, darlin’ and eat inside.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning and walking towards the house. He stops on the front step, opening the large glass front door. You follow, flip flops slapping on the concrete, carrying your powdered chicken noodle soup and plastic spoon up towards his fancy home. When you reach the threshold, he holds out his large hand palm up and you place the old, stained tupperware with your half eaten soup into it. He looks down at it and then back at you, eyes trailing along your body and it feels like he’s running a torch over you. “Is this all you have to eat?”

You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

He cocks his head towards the kitchen and one pushed back curl that’s laced with a few greys falls into his eyes with the movement. In order to stop from pushing his loose curl back you squeeze your fists gently and head towards the stool you sat on yesterday. As your flip flop hits the tile you stop and look back towards your car nervously. “I, umm, I forgot my shoes.”

His large, warm palm comes to your lower back and he pushes you gently towards the kitchen. You sit as he transfers your soup into a matte black bowl and places it in the microwave. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a loaf of fresh bread, as you go to protest he flicks his eyes up to yours and something about the expression on his face tells you not to argue with him. He pops the two carefully cut pieces into the toaster. He breezes effortlessly around the kitchen for someone so broad and masculine. You didn’t realize someone making toast could be so sexy. The microwave beeps and he grabs a gold spoon from a drawer before wandering around the island, placing them both in front of you. His arm brushes yours as he pulls away and your heart flutters at his touch. He walks back around the kitchen island and grabs a glass. 

“Still or sparkling?” He says as if that’s just a normal question to ask when you get someone a glass of water. Just another thing that proves you don’t belong here. The toaster pops and you jump a little. He chuckles as he grabs the toast, slathering it with butter. “Still or sparkling, darlin’?” 

You breath hitches, he’s called you darlin’ twice now. Is that just that southern charm you hear about so often, or is it more? You shake the thought from your head, there’s no way someone like him is interested in someone like you. “Still is fine, you don’t have to trouble yourself.” 

You take a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before putting the spoon in your mouth. Joel is watching you in the same way he was yesterday. Assessing. Observing. Calculating. It feels like he’s looking into your very soul. He slides the plate of toast and then a glass of sparkling water over to you from across the island.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “You didn’t -”

He holds his hand up, stopping you in the same way he did yesterday. “I wanted to.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you have to look away as you take a bite of toast. He’s too handsome standing in the kitchen with the afternoon sun highlighting his features. He’s wearing a black dress shirt today, the top few buttons undone, accentuating the perfectly groomed salt and pepper hair on his chest. You swallow your bite of warm, salty, buttery toast, allowing your eyes to flutter closed at the delectable flavour, holding back a moan. 

Joel clears his throat and crosses his arms across his broad chest, “So how did ya get into cleanin’ houses?”

You look up at him through your lashes. Why is he being so nice to you and taking care of you? He apologized yesterday. And after you told him it was fine he left you a massive tip. He said he wants to do this, but why? He’s rich and handsome and you can probably safely assume that that icy blonde from yesterday was his girlfriend. Unless…could she possibly be a mistress? You decide that that must be it. She’s his mistress. He has a wife. He’s just like every other rich man, cheating on his beautiful and age appropriate wife with someone much much younger than him. He’s probably terrified that you might find out who his wife is and tell her. That tip was hush money.

“I’m saving money,” you say and then shake your head, willing the thoughts in your mind to calm down. “For law school.”

“That right?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you as you take another spoonful of soup.

“Yes, I want to be a lawyer. I graduated a semester early and needed some money before going back to university. Assuming I even get accepted. This job meant I could work part time so I could study to take the LSAT again and also make good money.” You take another bite of the toast, mainly to make yourself shut up. 

He watches you the entire time, nodding along, his eyes constantly assessing. “Take the LSAT again?” he asks.

“I passed it already and applied to schools but I haven’t heard back yet. Law school is pretty competitive, so I’m going to take it again and hopefully have a better mark for the next round of college applications.” You’re talking too much, you need to shut up and just eat, but Joel doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. No one has ever listened to you like that, not even your parents.

“Next round?” He asks curiously. 

You feel your cheeks redden. You don’t want to admit to this obviously successful man in front of you that you probably won’t get accepted to any of the eight universities you applied to. “Yes. It’s competitive, and I probably won’t get in. So I’m preparing to be better the second time.”

“Where did you apply? If that’s not too forward of a question.”

“No, not too forward. Umm, a few places. Strength in numbers, I guess. Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Berkeley, Duke, University of Toronto, but I don’t think I’d survive a Canadian winter. I also applied at Notre Dame and University of Texas here in Austin.”

Joel laughs at you mentioning the Canadian winter and once you’re quiet, he looks down at his expensive dress shoes, “I, umm, I know some higher ups at UT Austin if you need me to put in a good word.”

You smile at him when he looks back up at you, “I don’t think that’s quite how it works, Joel. But thank you.”

The two of you are silent for a moment while you finish your first piece of toast. You glance up at him and he’s looking at you with that same hint of pride he had yesterday while you drank your water. He’s making you feel like eating toast is something to be proud of. You can’t explain it but his facial expression wraps around like a corset. Pulling its metaphoric laces and making you sit up taller, holding your head up higher. With just the shimmer in his deep brown eyes you feel like you could take on the world. You need to break the silence so you say, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning back to rest on the countertop behind him. His arms uncross, his strong hands wrapping around the countertop on each side of his body. 

“What do you do for a living? To have all this?” You gesture around the house as you sip your sparkling water.

“A few things. I used to own a construction company, sold it a few years ago to retire but I got bored pretty quickly. Now I own a few properties, I rent them out.” You nod as you listen to him, eating your lunch. One hand rubs at his patchy, salt and pepper beard nervously before saying, “I also own a club.”

You let out a little giggle into your water glass, immediately praying that he doesn’t think that was you being rude. Of all the professions that could have come out of his mouth, owning a nightclub was the last thing you expected. Joel smiles at the sweet melodic sound leaving your lips and relief washes over you. “Why’s that so funny?” His voice is light at his inquiry. 

“It’s not,” you say after swallowing your water. He furrows his brows at you. “You just - I mean, I guess I don’t know you, but don’t seem like the nightclub type.”

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But you’re also right that I am not a nightclub type,” he states. Something about the way he says it makes you sense that that’s as far as you’re going to get with it, but you also realize that the club is probably how this man meets young women to bring home.

You put your spoon down and place your hands in your lap. “Can I umm, ask you something else?”

“Of course,” he repeats. 

“What’s with that little dinosaur toy on your coffee maker?”

He smiles and reaches over to grab it, rubbing his thumb along the faded and scuffed brown paint of the little toy. He looks down at it and a hint of sadness seems to fill his coffee and amber eyes as he looks at you. “My daughter, she umm, she got it for me from the prize box in Kindergarten after her mom -” he stops mid sentence, sadness lining his features. Joel’s not married, you roll your eyes at yourself internally for thinking the worst of him. And truthfully, you of all people know he’s not married. You clean his house, you’ve been in his bedroom, and there are no women's clothes. You’ve also been in all the spare bedrooms and there’s no chance another person lives here with him. He continues, choosing his words almost carefully, “Well, just after she was gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mister,” his eyes flash onyx for just a second, he looks lethally sexy and you swallow your words before starting again. “I’m sorry, Joel.”

“It was a long time ago,” he says, placing the dinosaur back. He runs his fingers through his salt and pepper curls, letting out a little sigh. There’s a shift in him, like suddenly the world is heavier. He tries not to let it show, and maybe most people wouldn’t notice, but you see it. The slight fall in his face, a little slump in the shoulders, a breath held for just a second too long. He clears his throat gently and says, “I’ll be in my office. Eat your lunch for me, please.”

Joel

Joel closes the door of his office and rests his forehead against the smooth wooden surface. He can’t remember how much he spent on these doors when he built the house, but he would set any door that separated him from you on fire if he had to. 

Get it together, Joel.

He closes his eyes and only sees you. The way your glossy, pink lips formed a little O as you blew on your soup. The way the gold plated metal spoon slid softly along your tongue. His cock twitches in his pants and he feels the urge to throw all the spoons in his house away. 

Great, you’re jealous of a spoon. 

He shouldn’t be home. He signed a contract, and more importantly, you signed a contract. In order to protect him and you there is to be no contact between the cleaner and the client. That’s what you consented to when you took your job at Maid Discreetly, and now he’s caused you to break that contract not once, but twice. But he cannot seem to get you out of his mind, and as he sat in a meeting at his club he couldn’t focus. You were here, cleaning his home in that form fitting white polo shirt and those black pants that hugged at your hips in all the right places, and he just had to know if you were as beautiful as he remembered. Just a quick peek, he convinced himself as he made up some bullshit excuse to leave. 

When he saw you sitting in your rusty SUV you looked so innocent and pure, you were more than beautiful. The afternoon sun lighting up your high cheekbones and slender, slightly upturned nose, it gave you an almost angelic glow that temporarily took his breath away. If he had to describe you in two words he would say that you were simply ravishing. For the first time in almost thirty years he wished he still had the calming comfort of that black felt cowboy hat. But that soft Stetson went with her because she loved it so much. 

As he caught his breath and looked at you from his garage, he was overcome with an urge to bruise and corrupt you. He’s a bad man for the thoughts he's been having about you. He can’t help himself, but even in his most twisted of fantasies, he’d never do anything you didn’t want him to. But, fuck, he’s sure he could mold you into exactly what he wants in a submissive. 

Joel isn’t new to the world of kink; he’s had many subs, all of whom have referred to him as Mister Miller. However, his name has never sounded so fucking sweet as it did coming off your lips. Those two little words leaving your pouty, pink lips feel like that first sip of whiskey after a long day, and it might kill him if he doesn’t make you his. 

He sighs into the white wood of the door before standing and walking to sit behind his desk. He drops into the soft leather chair and lets his head fall back onto the headrest and closes his eyes. What is it about you? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? You’re way too young. Way too sweet. Way too…sinless. And even though he can’t explain it, and he knows you don’t know it, you’re way too “exactly-what-is-going-to-ruin-his-entire-life”. 

You’re not someone he can just play with. No, he’s good at reading people, and you’re the kind of person that deserves being invested into. You’re also not someone who is going to stick around. You have dreams and well laid out plans on how you’re going to achieve them. He can’t cage you in, he’ll have to let you spread your wings and fly no matter how much he sees himself as the man he used to be reflected back in your eyes.  

He opens his eyes and pictures you kneeling in the corner, perfectly manicured hands that he pays for you to have done weekly folded on your lap as he works. He imagines calling you over with a curl of his fingers, you crawling across the plush carpet and resting your head on his lap as he responds to emails, takes calls, or plans events. He could reach down and run his fingers through your soft, silky hair as you nuzzled deeper into his lap with your cheek. “My perfect, sweet girl,” he’d hum.  

His body falls forward, forehead hitting the sturdy wooden desk with a thump. Jesus Christ, Joel. 

It was one thing when he only found you beautiful - he could live with being attracted to you, he could find a way around it or stuff that attraction down, maybe he’d find a new sub to distract himself with. That would be easy for him, but then you had to open your mouth, you had to speak so passionately about your future. Why couldn’t you just be pretty like all the other women he plays with? You might be one of the most driven people he knows: the way you push yourself, already planning for the next “no”. And that kills him, ruins him really that you are programmed to think there will automatically be a “no” and that you’ll have to endure another round of LSAT’s and college applications. You’re smart, and he wants to kill whoever made you feel like you need to push yourself this hard. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket; annoyance courses through his body until he sees his brother's name across the pristine screen of his newest iPhone Max. 

“Ya?” He says harshly. 

“Everything ok with the alarm?” 

Joel’s mind goes blank, “What?” 

Tommy is silent for a second before he responds slowly, “The alarm? You left in the middle of a meeting because of an alarm.” 

Joel shakes his head. Right, the alarm. The bullshit excuse he made up so he could leave to see you. “Ya, right. Ya, it’s fine. Got it all, umm, all fixed up. Should be back soon.”

“You ok, brother?” Tommy asks suspiciously. “You seemed, I dunno, distracted today.” 

“I’m fine,” Joel snaps. 

“Alright. Well, come back soon, pretty big night here and we need ya.” 

Joel hangs up without saying goodbye. He’s the owner, he knows it’s a big night, but he’s sort of busy having an existential crisis over possibly being in love with his house cleaner. Whoa, in love? Pump the fucking brakes. Joel’s heart stops beating for a second at the thought of it. He can’t possibly be in love; he doesn’t fall in love. No, he decides, it’s just because she’s new, and exactly my type, and it’s been a long time since I found someone that’s my type.

Just as he stands from his desk, he hears the hose outside turn on. You must be at the pool furniture part of your list. He takes this moment to sneak out of his own house, because he’s a weak man when it comes to you, apparently. He slips into the Italian leather front seat and lets the new car smell waft over him; he loves the smells of a new sports car and has never owned one long enough for it to stop smelling that way. It’s a matter of status to him. He takes a good hard look at himself in the rear view mirror. That’s enough now. For both of your sakes. Leave her alone. 

You 

After spraying down the pool furniture you rush inside to warm up. Seriously, who needs their pool stuff cleaned in the fucking winter? As you jog up the stairs to grab Joel’s freshly laundered sheets, you blow into your cupped palms. The warmth spreads from your frozen fingertips to your palms. Joel’s office is empty; he must have left while you were outside. Your brain swirls with unanswered questions as you pull the fitted sheet back onto his king size bed. Why would he come home? First of all, he knows you’re here this time and second of all, he knows he’s not supposed to be here. So why? And then there’s his calculating stare, always watching and usually with a flash of pride in his features. Did he come back here just to talk to you? Maybe even to get to know you? 

It’s safe to say that you’re more confused than ever, and you make a mental schedule of studying and reading to keep you busy later tonight so you won’t spend hours trying to google him again.

It takes way too much effort, and a silent promise to yourself to get back to the gym, but you manage to wrestle the oversized duvet back into its cover just as three o’clock rolls around. You jog down the wide, open staircase and your phone bings in your back pocket. Jamie’s name is splayed across your cracked screen, the sunset from your last trip to California shining back at you. 

What are you doing tonight? Want to make a bunch of money serving drinks topless?

You laugh to yourself. Truthfully, nothing Jamie asks you seems to surprise you, and some sort of odd job where you’re topless or in a sexy outfit is practically a guarantee as a condition of your friendship. As you reach for the black envelope on the kitchen island you text back. 

What?

You barely have the thick parchment of the envelope open when she responds, like she already had the text locked and loaded and was just waiting for you to try to fight her on it.  

Remember Laren? My cousin? She has a topless catering company and needs help tonight. It’s at some exclusive VIP poker game downtown. 4 hours, $300 + tips.

You respond as a thousand dollars falls out of the tip envelope. 

I’m in.

Jamie picks you up a few hours later and parks her blacked out Range Rover in the alleyway behind a shiny black building in the heart of downtown. You’re once again surrounded by wealth and success thanks to Jamie. The dress code tonight is a black pencil skirt, black heels, your tits, and a bow tie that Laren will give you. Speaking of whom, Laren is holding open a staff door for you and Jamie with her hip, waving the two of you into the warmth of the building. She pulls you both into a big hug, “Thank fuck! You two saved my ass tonight. Gotta love having friends and family with great tits!”

“You’re so weird,” Jamie says, brushing past her and into the building. You follow her in before Laren ushers you towards a service elevator. 

“They’ve already started, you’re part of the second shift. I think the first set of girls made about four hundred each in tips, helps if you serve the guys that are winning though. The first round of games is almost over, winners move on soon.”

“How were their tits though? As great as ours?” You joke. Underneath the calm and collected mask you’re wearing you are definitely nervous. All these strange men are going to see you half naked, you know nothing about poker or serving drinks. Your two friends laugh as the elevator opens to a small changing room. Girls from the first shift are putting their tops back on, handing the bow ties back to Laren who gives them to you and Jamie. 

She cocks her head towards a swinging door, “Just through there when you’re done. Go to the bartender for a tray and table assignment. Two girls per table and only six seats so it should be pretty easy. Make sure you smile!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you and Jamie say teasingly as you strip off your tops and bras. She flips you the middle finger as she heads back out to the poker game to supervise. The cool air of the room stiffens your nipples, nerves fluttering behind your navel as you put the bow tie on.

You overhear the girls that are leaving talking about the men, “Did you see the one with the curly hair at the table by the bar?”, one says. 

The other responds, “He was so fucking hot. Total daddy, I think he owns this place.” 

A third pipes up with, “Fuck, I should have flirted more. I could use a sugar daddy.” 

As they walk towards the elevator the first girl says, “Did you know that this is a sex club? Too bad we can’t go explore the rest.” They giggle as they leave and you take a steadying breath. You’re going to be topless, in a sex club. 

“Ready?” Jamie asks, adjusting her bowtie around her slender neck. 

“Did you know this is a sex club?”

She laughs, “Ya, it’s like an exclusive kink club apparently. Laren said it’s owned by two brothers who are insanely hot. Maybe I should see if they need a maid.” She winks at you as you both walk towards the swinging door. 

You step into the dimly lit room and find the bar directly across from you. After rolling your shoulders back and down, you cross the dark hardwood floor to the bar. Everything in the room is black or deep forest green. Black paint covers the walls, your heels click against the sturdy black wooden floors, even the poker tables and chairs are black. A pop of deep green velvet only along the seats and table tops. It looks soft, like one of those fuzzy blankets you have on your couch and you fight the urge to run your hand across one of the empty tables as you pass. 

The bartender hands Jamie a tray first and then quietly tells her to go to the table in the far right corner. She sways her hips like the sultry goddess she is as she walks to the table. Relief floods through you when you notice that none of the men have raised their eyes, they’re focused intently on the card game. This isn’t some sleazy club like you initially thought when you heard ‘sex club’ leave the lips of the other servers. You relax a little at being able to just be yourself tonight, maybe a bit more naked than you’d usually be but yourself nonetheless. 

You take the black marble serving tray as the bartender points to the table closest to the bar. The curly hair man that the women were talking about in the change room faces away from you. Your heart leaps in your chest. Joel. As you approach the other server standing behind the table, he starts to turn his head. Time stops, your heart speeds up, and it starts to feel simultaneously too hot and too cold in the room all at the same time. It’s almost as if he’s turning his head in slow motion. As you catch his side profile he has the same hooked nose, in the dim light of the room you can’t see any greys along his temples and he doesn’t appear to have a beard. After what feels like an hour, his eyes finally meet yours and you let out a breath, although you aren’t sure if it’s disappointment or relief leaving your lungs. It’s not Joel Miller.

“Mind bringin’ me another Macallan neat, sweetheart?” His eyes stay locked on yours as he smiles at you sweetly. He holds the crystal glass out for you and you take it with a soft ‘yes, sir.’

Something about those eyes, and the way they flash darkly at being called sir, feels all too familiar. In the time it takes for you to take the six or seven steps to the bar you convince yourself that it’s just your brain seeing him everywhere. You tell yourself that when you bring this drink back he’ll look nothing like the man you caught knuckles deep in a woman as she cried out, nothing like the man who was so gentle and sweet, yet slightly bossy and commanding with you this afternoon. 

That’s definitely it, you say to yourself with finality. You’re just cock drunk over a cock you’ll never have. 

The bartender pops the whiskey open and the hair on the back of your neck stands up, you can feel someone looking at you. Almost feel their stare heating the right side of your body. It feels as if all of your exposed skin is being covered by the gaze of whomever is looking at you, shielding you protectively from the view of the other men. The bartender's eyes flick to the corner of the room and then back to you while he hands you the drink. The shift of his gaze confirms that you weren’t imagining it, there is someone looking at you. You place the whiskey on your tray and spin cautiously to the right, stopping dead in your tracks when you lock eyes with Joel Miller. He looks dangerous, sitting at a low table along the wall, his face just barely illuminated by a single candle on the dark wooden table top. His fingers are laced together, forearms of his black dress shirt resting on the knees of his black dress pants. His lips are pressed in a thin, disapproving line. 

He stalks over to you and you wish your tray was empty so you could shield your tits from him. The way he moves is almost menacing, like a jaguar stalking his prey, his eyes are almost black in the low light of the room. Your nipples stiffen under his intense gaze, your mouth fills with saliva and you gulp loudly. You stand frozen, the whiskey for that man you had convinced yourself isn’t related to Joel forgotten about on your tray. He plucks the drink off the marble slab, the glass looking like one of those disposable paper cups you have in your bathroom in his hand. He takes two long strides and drops the glass beside the man. 

“Thanks,” he starts to coo, a ten dollar bill clasped between two fingers. After realizing it’s not you, he adds a confused, “Brother?” 

He tries to pull the money back, but Joel is quicker. Snatching it from his brother's grasp and tucking it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. Joel turns back to you and steps in closely, your lower back hitting the cold marble bartop and you gasp, arching your back and naked breasts towards Joel. His jaw flexes as he fights to keep his eyes level with yours. 

“What are you doin’ here?” he says in a harsh whisper. 

“I’m working,” it comes out a lot more bratty and defiant than you intend it to. 

“Not here you ain’t.”

You take a small step forward, your hard nipples lightly grazing the soft fabric of his black dress shirt. “I’m not leaving.” 

His hand circles your bicep and you twist out of his grasp. “You’re makin’ a scene, darlin’.” 

“You are, Joel. I’m just trying to make money.” He grabs you more firmly this time, not tight enough to hurt you but enough for you to know he means business. 

What’s his problem anyway? He doesn’t own you. What you do outside his home is none of his business. He can boss you around via an app every other week, but that’s it. That’s where it ends. You glance desperately over at Jamie to find her back to you as she speaks softly with a man who’s waiting for the next round of poker. Her hand grazes his bicep flirtatiously, she makes it look too easy to get what she wants from men. Joel guides you towards the staff changing room, keeping your body in the dark edges of the room. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, like an angry dragon and you’re honestly surprised smoke isn’t billowing out of his nostrils. 

In the bright lights of the changing room you feel more exposed than ever. You want to lift your tray, but in order to prove to him that you don’t care what he or anyone thinks you don’t. In fact, you stand up taller, holding your head high and pushing your chest out. It’s infinitesimal but he looks down just for a nano second. You smirk when his eyes come back to you. 

“Put a shirt on.” 

“If none of the other girls have to put a shirt on then neither do I.” You pop your hip out and pull your arm free from his large calloused hand and rest it on your hip. 

“Don’t fight me on this.” 

“I’m not fighting. You are. So all those other girls are fine, but I’m not? Why? My tits aren’t big enough for you?” 

“That’s not,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath with his eyes closed. When he reopens them his eyes land softly on yours. “I just need you not to be here. Please.” 

Bright red anger sparks along the sides of your eyes. Seriously, who does he think he is? “You aren’t the boss here, Mister Miller.” 

“Do NOT call me that.” His neck flushes the same colour as your vision. You stand your ground, eyes narrowing into glaring slits. What is his aversion to being called Mister Miller, and why does it turn you on a little bit to rile him up when you use it?

“You aren’t my boss or my dad, Joel. You can’t make me leave or tell me what jobs I can or can’t take.” You’ve figuratively dug your heels in, you aren’t leaving. He can’t make you. Only Laren or whoever owns this sex club can ask that of you. “You can’t kick me out like you own the place.” 

“Actually,” he says darkly, “I can.” 

“What?” You say through a nervous breath, eyes widening. 

“I own the place. So I can kick you out, and I am kicking you out. Get your shirt.” 

Your shoulders fall slightly. You feel about two feet tall with the realization that he doesn’t want you here. This afternoon you thought that maybe he cared, he seemed like he cared, and now you’re half naked and he wants you to leave. He watches as you unclasp your bow tie and slide on your bra and shirt. 

You look over at Jamie’s clothes and it dawns on you that you didn’t drive here. Your face falls as you blink around the room and then towards Joel. 

“What’s wrong?” he says through thick concern.

“Nothing. I just…” 

He steps towards you, he’s so broad, his presence so large that you start to feel almost claustrophobic when he’s this close, but you never want him to step away. You’d happily let him smother you with his innate Joel-ness. “You just what?”

“I didn’t drive here,” you say quietly, looking down at your hands. Your left thumb nail immediately finds purchase along the cuticle of your right thumb. 

His strong palm cups your chin, lifting until he’s looking at you again. You’re becoming more and more used to the amount of eye contact Joel seems to make. He seems constantly dialed in on you when you’re in the same room.

Yes, I would be very happy to let him smother me. 

The harsh lines of his face soften, “I can get you a car. They’ll meet you at the staff door.” 

You nod into his hand and find it exceedingly hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you that way. He drops your chin and turns his large, broad body back towards the swinging door. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” His voice is soft and sad, almost as if he’s full of remorse and just hoping you won’t hate him before heading back into the poker game. Any bit of anger is flushed from your system, replaced with the disappointment of having to leave wherever Joel is.  

You drag your feet to the elevator and then towards the staff exit. You let the heavy door close behind you with a loud bang as a blacked out SUV pulls up. The driver says your first and last name as he opens the back door for you. You look towards the black building one last time. 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me.” 

JMKink is written in shiny metallic black on the door and all the information of the evening hits you at once. JMK. Joel Miller Kink. Joel Miller, insanely handsome millionaire, owns a sex club.

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[f1byjessie]

HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81. [REWRITE]

he may not be a london boy, but you love him all the same, and you’re about to learn the hard way that loving someone can be a wild ride.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part one.

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yourusername me and london boy have made so many memories here together and i’ll cherish them forever ❤️. i love this sport and i love the people i've met in this sport. i'll always love it and them, but sometimes you have to take a step back and set your sights on new horizons. that said, neither of us will be competing in any events this year— endurance or otherwise. london boy will stay in richmond and continue to receive the best care possible from people who have grown to love him as much as i do, and in the meantime, i'll start looking to those other horizons.

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user wishing you the best of luck!! we’ll miss seeing you and london boy, but we know this decision wasn’t made lightly and we hope whatever you do will make you just as happy as riding does!!

user london boy lives a more luxurious life than i could ever hope 

↳ user real like why am i jealous of a horse 😭😭

↳ user knowing how well these horses are treated? we should all be jealous

↳ user some of these horses have rain coats that cost more than my entire wardrobe combined… the day i learned that was not a fun day… 😔

user honestly only ever tuned in to watch you both

user the events won’t be the same without you!!!

user I’LL MISS YOU LONDON BOY

user take all the time you need to explore other options! you can love something and still get burnt out on it. sometimes taking that step away can be the decision that allows us to continue loving something instead of growing resentful towards it. do what you need to do to be happy! 🫶

↳ user this is such a good way to put it!!

↳ user THIS. i did competitive jumping for ten years and towards the end of that time i started seeing it more as a chore than the sport i used to be so passionate about. you absolutely CAN love something and still get burnt out on it. taking breaks is so important.

user i’m sure london boy will miss you but you do you girliepop! take a trip or go on an adventure!

user oh to be a girl riding her horse across the beach at sunrise 🥲

↳ user IKR?!? talk about dream life, she’s literally living out scenes that i’ve only ever seen in movies

↳ user it’s london boy’s world and we’re all just living in it

user wait does this mean no more horse content???

↳ user i mean she’s not getting rid of her horse or even outright retiring, she just won’t be riding competitively for 2023

user is she leaving the uk or smth?? bc she said other ppl will be looking after london boy?? i know nothing about horses guys i’m sorry

↳ user london boy will be staying at the stables as per her caption! he will be looked after by many trained professionals who will ensure he is properly fed, watered, exercised, and groomed each day! it’s actually very common for people to board their horses at a stable since horses often need large fields to graze and exercise in, and not a lot of people have big enough backyards or own property to be able to provide that themselves. whether she’s leaving the uk or not, we don’t know, but it definitely sounds like her training with london boy will be put on hold for the time being!

user miss girl we’ll always remember you and london boy as the greatest duo in endurance racing history

↳ user REAL REAL REAL

user does this have to do with her falling off a few months back??

↳ user it could, she did mention the encounter leaving her pretty shaken

↳ user yeah but the possibility of something like this happening is so high that a lot of riders have accepted it as an inevitable occurrence in their career

↳ user even still, that doesn’t change the fact that she could very well be traumatized or experiencing lingering side effects

↳ user guys!! speculation will do us no good!! if she wants to tell us, she will!!

user YOU KNOW I LOVE A LONDON BOY 🗣🗣🗣

logansargeant wanna trade one paddock for another?

There’s a sort of terrifying uncertainty that comes with breaking a long-standing routine.

It’s like a fucked-up sort of package deal— you stop following the methodized schedule you’ve meticulously upheld for years, and in exchange, you receive more time than you know what to do with and an overwhelming responsibility to fill it.

The only question is: with what?

The muscle memory lingers, and you suspect that it’ll take some time for your body to un-familiarize itself with a sleep schedule that you’ve religiously held on to for years, but there’s no demands to maintain any of it and that makes any sort of attempt at continuing to run through the motions feel entirely obsolete. You may instinctively wake up at the ass crack of dawn, but without the necessity of a horse relying on your punctuality to get him fed, watered, and turned out to the paddock, there’s nothing you can do beyond filling the morning with something until your internal clock catches the memo and decides to let you sleep in for once.

“You know, when I invited you to tag along with me,” Logan begins in lieu of a greeting when he opens the front door and sees you standing on the stoep of his apartment, clad in athletic wear and a pair of well-worn running shoes, “I was under the impression that we both understood that to mean the traveling to races part and not necessarily the pre-season training.”

“‘My dearest sister,’” you sarcastically quip back in a mockingly deep voice, feigning heartfelt sincerity and pressing your hand melodramatically to your chest. “‘How good it is to see you after so long! I would be absolutely delighted if you joined me on my morning run today.’”

Your twin brother shakes his head in exasperation, but through the facade of annoyance, you can recognize the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Honestly, Logie,” You pretend to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye and add in a sniffle for extra flair, “you're too sweet. What would I ever do without you?”

“We saw each other a week ago at brunch,” he grumbles, reluctantly taking a step back from the door and allowing you to pass over the threshold into the warmth of the apartment and out of the winter’s frigid morning air.

“When?”

“Last Wednesday—”

“—did I ask? Oh! Boom! Gotcha!” You whoop out an exclamation of victory as you continue down the hall. “Gosh, I am four for four now. You gotta step up your game, Logie-bear, or this is gonna end in a miserable shut out for you.”

He heaves out a heavy sigh that carries with it twenty-two years of suppressed brotherly rage and the exhaustion that can only come from being reminded at every chance that he is, and always will be, a minute younger than you. “You're the bane of my existence, and I do sincerely hope you know this.”

“Aw, I love you too!”

You step into the small kitchen at the end of the hall. With the exception of a little potted cactus sitting on the windowsill— a housewarming gift from you— it looks nearly identical to how it was the last time you visited.

A month ago.

When he moved in.

There's a woven mat on the floor in front of the sink, an ashy green that contrasts nicely with the off-white cream color of the cabinets and laminate countertops. You can't really tell if Logan actually bought the mat, or if it came with the place, but it's cute nonetheless and serves as one of the few pops of color in the otherwise monochromatically beige apartment.

“I see that my cactus continues to reign supreme as the only individuality in this place,” you comment, glancing over your shoulder in time to see him appear in the doorway.

He shrugs at your words. “Yeah, well, you'd be surprised how busy you can get when you're preparing for everything you've ever dreamed about. No biggie.”

“Logan,” you turn to face him, “you'll do great. There are two other rookies on the grid—”

“And I'll be in the worst car out of all of them.”

“You don't know that,” you chide gently.

This side of Logan isn't unfamiliar to you— the anxiety and fear of failure. It's always existed, and you've known about it since the morning of his first kart race when he confided in you that he was so nervous he felt like he was going to be sick.

The insecurities surrounding his own skills have persisted and thrived with every new track, every new team, and every new series, and as you've grown alongside him you've found ways to challenge his self-doubt, but you've also learned to accept that there's only so much you alone can do.

You can debate it and challenge the self-deprecating thoughts all you want, but the voice in his head will always be there, no matter how quiet it occasionally becomes.

So you choose to drop the topic for now.

It's too early in the morning for an impromptu therapy session anyway.

You turn back around and scan the countertops until your eyes latch onto the container of pre-workout tucked away in the corner, nearly hidden amidst the mountain of vitamin and nutrient supplements.

“I thought it was part of Benny’s job to make sure you didn't have to use all this shit,” you comment, picking through the jars and eyeing them each with unapologetic distaste.

Logan reaches over your shoulder and plucks a packet of vitamin C tablets from your hand, “Sometimes these just work better.”

“Yeah, maybe if you don’t have a nutritionist being paid to quite literally curate a diet specifically to ensure that you don’t need to use these,” you gesture widely to the assembled mass of supplements. “But, last I checked, dear brother of mine, you do have a nutritionist— and a very good one at that— who would be horrified to learn you’re substituting real fruit for…” you squint down at the nutritional label of another one of the jars, but there’s very little that you recognize amidst the scientific jargon and long, five-syllable words, “little gummies that taste like fruit.”

He huffs, “Get your pre-workout or I'm leaving without you.”

“You wouldn't dare leave without me,” you grumble.

“I've done it before and I'll do it again,” he snipes, giving a brief yank on your ponytail and cackling when you swat behind yourself in futility.

There’s more he isn’t saying— there always is, nowadays— but you recognize the deflection for what it is. You want to claw him apart with questions and demand answers that bare every inch of his soul so you understand what he isn’t telling you and why he feels the need to keep it locked away even from you, but you know better than to keep pushing at something Logan clearly doesn’t want to talk about.

It makes you nostalgic for a time in your life when he’d sneak down from the top of the bunk bed after your parents had tucked you away for the night and slip under the covers with you, a well-loved stuffed bear hugged to his chest. He’d curl up beside you and you’d pull the blankets up to your chin and watch him with big, curious eyes until he’d whisper out into the darkness of your shared bedroom what he was worrying about.

More often than not it was a byproduct of a hyperactive imagination still plagued by the fears of childhood. Something about the space beneath your bed and— “What if there’s something down there? And the only way you can see it is by its glowing eyes? But what if it knows when someone is gonna look under the bed, so it closes its eyes so you can’t see the glow?” Or the curtains and— “You have to make sure they cover the whole window because what if you don’t and then something looks inside and it knows I’m not asleep and then it comes inside? I always hold really still and pretend to be asleep even when I’m not if the curtains aren’t closed.”

But sometimes it was about anything and everything else like the fox sitting in the bushes by the bus stop on the way home from school and whether or not it had water to keep it cool in the Florida heat, or the purple glitter pen Mrs. Moore used to grade his spelling test and how the girl sitting next to him had gotten her test graded with the green glitter pen, or— “I forgot my coat in Mr. Garrison’s class yesterday, and you went and got it for me and brought it to the car with you, and I didn’t say thank you, but I always feel bad when I leave my coat behind because what if it has feelings and felt really bad because it thought I was abandoning it, so thank you for getting my coat so it didn’t feel abandoned.”

But that was then and this is now.

You’re both adults, and you live in different apartments on different ends of the city, and you work different jobs that separate you by half the globe at times. There’s no more talk of foxes by bus stops or glitter pens, and certainly no more sentient coats with fears of abandonment.

When you look at Logan now, he isn’t wasting away, and really you owe it to him after you announced out of the blue a week ago that you weren’t just taking a break from competitive riding, but rather taking a break from riding as a whole. He didn’t press you on it then— still hasn’t pressed you on it despite having every right to do so. The least you can do now in return is respect the boundary he’s trying to set.

You mutter a few curses beneath your breath— words your mother would throw a fit over if she could hear you— and feign a scowl, but some of the tension in Logan’s shoulders has released and that's all you can ask for.

“If you leave me behind, I’ll leak a picture of your pathetic kitchen to the tabloids and let everyone tear apart your design choices,” you threaten, digging your knuckles into the tender spot of his arm where bicep meets shoulder and taking pride when he squirms away and beyond reach.

He flips you off. “You’re just jealous I have a cool cactus and you don’t.”

“Hey!” You give a lazy kick in his direction, but he sidesteps it easily with a laugh. “I gave you that cactus!”

“Tomato, tom-ah-to.” He flippantly waves his hand in your direction, laughing again at the indignant squawk you make. “Just hurry up and make your damn drink.”

As he makes his way out of the kitchen, presumably to grab his shoes, you unscrew the lid from the container and reach for the scoop.

Only to find it entirely empty.

“You asshole! There's nothing in here!”

Logan’s cackle echoes from another room.

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yourusername day 14 without london boy and i have officially succumbed to the boredom and willingly subjected myself to the presence of my arch nemesis (love you logie 🫶)

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logansargeant in my defense, you just showed up

user you could not PAY me to go out in this weather

user as a florida girlie myself, this is my nightmare

↳ user REAL

↳ user genuinely seeing this makes me so glad i live in a place where there’s no snow cuz yea, the view is pretty and all, but not even a gorgeous sunrise would make up for me freezing my ass off and having to wear seven layers just to keep the feeling in my fingers and toes

user i wish the most stressful part of my day was going for a morning run 😔

user calling logan her nemesis is so real i just know that man is a menace

↳ user the f2 clips of him and liam are proof enough

↳ user logan sargeant was a menace back in f3 💀 have you SEEN the prema videos with oscar and fred? bro is diabolical when he wants to be

↳ user i'm so excited for the chaos he'll bring to the grid this year

user the snow man is so cute!!

user “14 days without london boy” OH I AM ILL 😭😭😭

user ok but that view is gorgeousness

↳ user ikr?! winter sunrises are genuinely so pretty

user i’m still so confused as to why she isn’t riding anymore?? can someone pls explain

↳ user to be entirely honest, i’m not sure really what there is to explain. first and foremost, we aren’t owed any sort of explanation as to why she’s decided to take a step back from riding. it could be a personal decision, a career decision, or something else, but whatever it is we aren’t automatically entitled to it just because y/n has previously been very open and vocal about her and london boy’s training. second, she never actually said that she isn’t riding anymore. she said she’s taking a step back from competitive riding to focus on other things, and the “without london boy” part of her caption implies that she hasn’t seen him, but she could just be taking a prolonged break, or she could be focusing on something else that has prevented her from going to see him. but again, none of it is our business and she doesn’t owe us any further explanation to what she meant.

↳ user THIS THIS THIS!! as sad as i am to not have london boy on my feed, y/n is a grown adult with her own private life and we have to respect her decisions!! if or when she chooses to come forward about the specifics of her future plans and goals, then that’s great and i’ll continue to support her endeavors, but for the time being we all just have to be patient

user the selfie logan posted with you on his story was so cute!! 🥰

user she’s a runner she’s a track star

user i’ve missed the twin content!

↳ user me too!! i really hope that her taking a break from competitions (as much as i love london boy) will mean we get to see her actually going to more of logan’s races, especially now that he’ll be in formula 1!!

oscarpiastri if the rumours are to be believed, i look forward to getting to catch up at the races this year

━━ tags: @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @awritingtree @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries @spacegirlstuff @myxticmoon @landosgirlxoxo @k-pevensie28 @moonypixel @lewisvinga @81vas @maih23 @thatoneembarrasingmoment @elz-xo @the-navistar-carol

━━ a/n: surprise! i've been working on this for a little while now (i got my wisdom teeth removed yesterday, so the time i've spent recovering has been spent polishing up the last few details for this first part) but here she is! as promised, the newly rewritten and revamped 'he likes my american smile'! i feel like i always say it, but the original genuinely holds such a special place in my heart because it was the first work i ever posted here on tumblr, so i'm really happy to take all that i've learned since then and apply it where i can in this new version. i really hope the changes and development is as loved by you all as it is by me, and that you all enjoy!

[charlie-lec-stories]

McLaren Detectives Department // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: One day Max is totally furious with Y/N and Charles' relationship and the next he's completely fine with it, Lando is not buying it.

Warnings: Suggestive talk, Lando and Oscar rambling on conspiracy theories, Oscar being the annoying little brother, Lando being unable to mind his own business.

Author’s Note: This one is quite funny, I hope you guys like it as much as I do. Rate: +16

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Lando Norris was a simple man, he grew up with the commodities and luxuries of an upper class boy and had never in his life took a bus, but you could take away all of his privilege and he could manage to survive. He could adapt, change his ways, work his way back to the top of the chain again, whatever it took. As long as he could interact with other people on a daily basis he didn't care what happened in his life, because he was fueled by one thing and one thing only: Gossip. Nothing in this life moved Lando more than gossip, he was a sucker for it and when he was paired with Oscar Piastri in McLaren, he found someone as unable to mind his own business as himself. They could spend hours just gossiping, about their friends, other drivers, celebrities, their families, whoever lived on Earth, they always had something to chat about. And their favourite part was drama. They loved it when some scandalous situation reached their ears and they'd spend the rest of the week talking about it and trying to keep up with the updates. The rest of the people who worked with them knew they were like that and more than once they would fake drama just to watch them ramble to each other about it for days. Their capability to gossip was the main entertainment of the garage.

Of course, when Y/N, Max Verstappen's best friend, and Charles Leclerc, Max's rival, started dating, it was the biggest drama the paddock had seen in years. Max and Charles going at each other's throats every weekend was like "Keeping up with the Kardashians" for Lando and Oscar. They would try to use any chance they got to listen to the arguments and comebacks the Ferrari and Red Bull drivers would throw at the other. Lando was close with Max, while Oscar was close with Charles and Y/N, which also meant that they would usually get more information from them, making their gossip sessions even more interesting. Lando loved to hear Max complain over and over again about Charles, telling him how much of a prick the monegasque was and constantly wondering what Y/N ever saw in him. Oscar and Y/N loved ice-cream, and they would go out for it pretty often, there, she sometimes talked about how worried she was about Max and Charles fighting all the time and Oscar did what he could to help her out. On the other hand, when Oscar and Charles went to play pool on Mondays, the Australian gladly listened to his friend complain about Max and his possessiveness over his girlfriend, getting a little possessive himself. All of this made Lando and Oscar fans number one of the Max-Y/N-Charles drama developing in the paddock.

The whole season, they watched the progress of motorsports' favourite couple. From Charles flirting with Y/N at the Mercedes garage, to the last race where Y/N hugged and comforted a defeated Charles who had just lost the championship. The McLaren boys witnessed the couple's hard launch on Instagram during summer break, with a scandalous picture of them kissing on Charles' yacht, Y/N sitting on his lap and Charles shamelessly grabbing at her ass. They had a feast with the fans' reaction to the picture and they had even more fun watching Max's live, while the three of them were together grabbing a beer. The dutchman's ears going red and his eyes hyper-focused on the screen of his phone, so angry that Lando was sure some smoke could go out of his head. They also had the pleasure to watch Max call Charles "stupid" on open TV, with millions watching, followed by the FIA's response to that and Max's public, and notoriously forced, apology. They were both aware that Y/N and Charles' relationship was the thing that Max despised the most on this world. He could spend weeks rambling about why the two should break up and how terrible of a combination they were.

It was suspicious, to say the least, when the first race of the next season, Max entered the paddock along with the couple, chatting amicably and even laughing a bit. Lando and Oscar stared at the sight of the three drivers skeptically, how come they were all friends now? What crucial episode of the telenovela did they miss? Something was off. They watched as Y/N and Charles walked holding hands towards the Mercedes garage, Max chatting excitedly with his best friend not even caring about her relationship anymore. At the entrance of the german team, Charles kissed his girlfriend goodbye and Max gave her a friendly peck on the cheek, then the girl went into the garage and the two guys walked to their own garages, talking lively just the two of them all the way. The whole day, the tree of them crossed paths and exchanged some words with big grins and happy auras, all of the previous tension completely dissipated.

"I don't get it, mate. They hated each other three months ago!". Lando said to Oscar while they were chatting in Oscar's driver's room. "I just can't get it".

"Maybe they talked?". Oscar suggested.

"Nah". Lando dismissed his idea with a flip of his hand. Oscar threw a little papaya ball at him, Lando caught it and threw it back. "I met with Max plenty of times during the off season, he would had told me".

"True". The other agreed and passed the ball again. "I also met with Y/N and Charles, went to their house for dinner a lot at the beginning of the year. They would've said something".

"Maybe it's a PR thing". Lando wondered as he played with the ball before passing it back. "Like, maybe they were scolded so bad for their behavior that now they have to act like they like each other to clean up their public images".

"That actually makes sense, I mean, Max did call Charles stupid on TV". Oscar chuckled and threw the ball back at Lando. "Amazing, mate. Sometimes, you do speak some sense".

"You're so funny". Lando threw the ball harder at Oscar, hitting him on the chest as a response to the other's teasing. Oscar let a huff out at the impact and then laughed a bit, satisfied with the annoyed reaction he got from Lando.

With the resolve to find out what made the other three change their act so drastically, Lando and Oscar started trying to gather some information. They spoke with other drivers, people from Mercedes, Ferrari and Red Bull, friends they all had in common, even Charles' brothers and Y/N mentor, Lewis Hamilton. Little by little, they both discovered that no one knew anything about Charles and Max putting their differences aside and were as shocked as them to see them hanging out in the paddock. Lewis asked Y/N about it and she told him that nothing happened and that everything was like always, which was obviously a lie, but he didn't want to pressure her on the matter. Lando and Oscar spent four race weekends melting their brains trying to work out what happened. Lando had enough. Everything was the same? He wasn't buying that. He walked to Max and asked directly. The dutchman was as direct with his answer: "I still want to jump his throat. I'm just being civil about it".

"Is that what he said?". Oscar asked and Lando just nodded his head while he bit his apple.

"He said that and then walked away. He didn't even give me time to ask more". Oscar played with the papaya ball, that seemed to be his new favourite toy.

"That's weird".

"I agree, if there's something Max isn't, is civil". Lando added with his mouth full. They were frustrated, they had even more questions than before.

Over time, Lando kept trying to extract more information from Max, but all he got were answers like "I have a lot of self control, that's all", "Just trying hard to do the right thing", "I'm trying to make him trust me a little more", "Just want to be close to Y/N again", and things like that. But there was a conversation that put Oscar and Lando on edge. They were discussing the Qualifying session, one where Max got pole and was closely followed by Y/N, Lando on third place. Y/N was explaining that she didn't like the circuit, she felt like every lap she was learning new information and she just could never feel like she was familiar with it. That led to talking about perceptions and how other things like lights and unnecessary noises could divert your attention from what's right in front of you. "Sometimes you need someone to remove everything you don't need so you can finally see clearly". Max said and he placed his hand on her hip, squeezing it lightly. Lando noticed the motion instantly. Max's eyes went from Y/N to behind her and the brit followed his gaze, landing on Charles, who was talking with George Russell and Alex Albon. The comment, the possessive squeeze, the way he so intensely looked at Y/N and then Charles, Lando felt a chill down his spine. Not a good one.

"You're crazy, mate. You finally lost it". Oscar said as he shook his head, shutting down the possibility right there and then.

"Think about it!". Lando paced back and forth on the little room, running his fingers through his hair. "He wants to get close to her again? Someone has to remove the things she doesn't need so she can see clearly? He believes that he's doing good at self control?". Oscar replayed the phrases inside his head. They did look suspicious.

"He still wants to jump Charles' throat...". Lando stopped on his tracks at Oscar's addition.

"We need to do something". There was this weight on their shoulders now that they finally understood Max's intentions. "Max is a great lad, we can't let him turn into a...". Lando struggled with the word, so he whispered it. "A killer".

They both agreed on that, they couldn't let Max go on with his plan of eliminating Charles. They liked them both, they weren't losing their friends just because they couldn't see eye to eye about their relationship with Y/N. They took turns to follow Max around, the only free time being when they had to focus on their jobs. They knew that Max wasn't killing Charles in the paddock, with so many possible witnesses. Every night, they both followed Max to his room and stayed there, hiding in a corner of the hotel hallway for an hour, making sure he wasn't coming out. Oscar even went to the extent of suggesting Charles getting bodyguards, when the other asked why, Oscar just ran away, leaving Charles extremely confused. Every chance they got, they did what they could to keep Max away from Charles, which was kind of hard since the dutchman was constantly following the couple around and trying to chat with them. Lando ended up running out of excuses to pull Max away and they understood that they had to do something about the situation.

One particular night, they followed Max to his room as always, but after 45 minutes, they saw him go out again. He wasn't wearing his usual Red Bull attire, instead, he wore black clothes, sunglasses and a cap, the hood of the hoodie covering his head. If they didn't know better, they would have never guessed it was Max. He went straight to the stairs and they followed him quietly, already suspecting where he was going. Oscar stopped to grab two brooms from a service room and Lando frowned at him. "We may need weapons", was what the Aussie said and Lando took one while scoffing. They hid at the stairs, watching Max stop on front of Charles' room. For insurance matters, Y/N stayed at another hotel, with the Mercedes crew, so Charles was most surely alone in the room, it was the perfect opportunity to kill him. First time in the season Red Bull and Ferrari stayed at the same hotel. Max looked around and opened the door as quietly as possible, walking in and shutting the door behind him.

"We need to go in, now!". Oscar said and tried to run off to the door, Lando grabbed him and pulled him back behind him.

"We need a plan. Let me think". Was he actually ready to stop his friend from killing another of his friends? He had never physically fought anyone, could he really stop a murder?

"Fuck a plan, we have to save Charles!". Oscar ran again and this time Lando followed him. They stopped at the door. There was music playing inside and they could faintly hear Charles' voice.

"No, Max, wait. Wait!". That was it, they were barging in.

"No, Max! DON'T DO IT, DON'T KILL HIM". Oscar screamed as they ran into the room with their brooms up, ready to attack. What they didn't expect was finding Max on his knees, in front of Charles, trying to undo the button of his jeans. "Oh... OOOH!".

"Putain de merde!". (Holy shit!). Charles cursed as he pushed Max's hands away from his body and backed away. Max fell backwards. Lando covered Oscar's eyes, they dropped the brooms. For a second, the room fell silent.

"Kill him?". Max asked, confused.

"I think we misread the situation...". Lando added, then, he thought about Y/N. "I can't believe you could do something like this to Y/N". He sneered.

"Are they decent?". Oscar asked, his eyes still covered. Lando removed his hand.

"It's not what you think-". Max started, but Lando cut him off.

"Oh, sure, you were just checking if the zipper of his jeans worked fine, weren't ya?". Oscar shook his head slowly, backing Lando up on his disappointment.

"Don't give me that look, you two barged in with brooms asking me not to kill Charles". Max said. "Sucking him off is way better than killing him". Lando saw Oscar make a face, like he was actually considering Max's point, he elbowed the younger driver and made him go back to his disappointed posture.

"We promise, it's not what you think". As Charles was saying that, the bathroom door opened, Y/N walking out with a blue and red lingerie set. She opened her eyes wide when she spotted to kids that weren't supposed to be there. Lando covered Oscar's eyes, again.

"Okay, I'll give it to you. It definitely wasn't what we thought". Y/N was still there, shocked. "Please, get dressed, there's a baby in the room".

"It's me, I'm the baby". Oscar added, his hands coming up over Lando's to make sure he didn't see anything. Charles ran to Y/N and covered her with his Ferrari hoodie that was close to the bathroom. Lando lowered his hand and Oscar opened on of his eyes to peek if it was safe, he then opened the other one.

"We fixed our problem". Max explained.

"We can see that". The brit stressed.

"We're uhm... all together?". Lando and Oscar looked at Charles when he added his comment. "We've been... you know".

"Fucking?".

"Among other things". Y/N corrected Lando. The two McLaren boys just nodded, synchronized. "We're happy like this, all together. We'd appreciate it a lot if you could keep the secret for us". Lando and Oscar smiled and nodded again.

"Of course, we will". They grabbed their brooms and got ready to leave. "We'll leave you to it".

"Thanks". Max said, the two were going out when he called them again. "And guys...". They turned around to look at him. "Don't play detective again. Do us a favor and buy yourselves a board game".

"Copy that". Oscar gave them a military salute and Lando just smiled. Outside, they both ran back down the stairs as fast as they could, giggling like teenagers. On the street, they kept laughing uncontrollably, walking back the three blocks to their own hotel.

"Mate, we're not gossiping anymore". Lando said, knowing pretty well that they will keep doing it.

"Deal". The rest of the way they just kept laughing and then, at the hotel, they went to their respective rooms, calling it a night. While lying in bed, Lando just couldn't sleep, repeating the night in his mind and giggling, there were a lot of sexual jokes and remarks he needed to let out. He went to grab his phone to text Oscar, ready to gossip again, when it vibrated on his hand. Lando laughed out laud at the message:

Oscar: "Can you top when there are two other people?".

Lando: "Dunno mate, but's gonna be a hell of a challenge to guess the bottom".

Oscar: "Challenge accepted".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Well this one is a lot of fun! I thought Lando and Oscar were perfect for this one. Thank you for reading!

[coff33andb00ks]

Burning - LN

Hopeless, Part 4

{1 - Hopeless} {2 - Luxury} {3 - Poison} {4 - Burning} {Epilogue}

Lando Norris x fem!reader summary: my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder, all my riches for her smiles, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter songs: lover, you should have come over by jeff buckley word count: 5872 warnings: angst, smut <mdni> a.n.: the finale <3

The overlook is quite lovely. Prettier than the photos he'd seen. The sea air is crisp, filling his lungs as he stares at a young family strolling along the beach. Pushing his hands into his pockets he watches them, homesick for something he's never had as the toddler picks up something to show their parents. A wholesome, beautiful moment, unmarred, and he swallows the lump in his throat as it occurs to him that he'll never experience it himself.

Turning his back to the sea, he breathes deep, eyes slowly scanning the area. Trying to match it to the description he'd been given. Gaze landing on the weathered bench he finds he's already walking towards it, one hand slipping from his pocket and reaching to trail along the arm, feeling the wood that's been carved with words and initials. And there, just as he'd been told, the two letters he would know anywhere.

Yours.

He drops onto the bench, leaning forward and trying to keep his breathing normal. It's the closest he's been to you in about a year – one year, two months, one week, five days, thirteen hours.

No, there was that day over winter break. When, melancholy and yearning, he'd spent more than he should have to fly out the week before Christmas, ignoring Oscar's suggestions that he stay away. He'd rented a car, following the roads you'd told him about to the seaside town that you'd described in such detail he could have drawn a map before seeing it. He'd driven the streets, stopped a few houses down from your parents' home. Had sat, watching the house, then cursed himself a million times over for being a fool and driven off.

Oscar hadn't said told you so. He'd merely sighed and nodded, listened to his sad story again.

You'd be so happy that Oscar's become his best mate. He wants to tell you, because he knows that only you would understand why it was such a big deal.

"Mate?"

He looks up, sighing at the sight of Oscar. "Nice, yeah?"

Oscar sighs sadly, sitting next to him on the bench. "You're torturing yourself."

"You said I could have one day," Lando reminds him.

"She's not gonna show up here on a Thursday morning," Oscar says after a moment.

"I know." It would be too movielike if you did. And the only genre of movies that reflects his life is tragedy. Standing, he walks over to stare at the beach again. The family has gone, their footprints already erased by the waves. When he heads back, Oscar stands, and there's a long look before they walk together to the gravel lot where they parked.

"Just call her." It's probably the billionth time Oscar has said the words since Lando's trip to Melbourne over summer break last year.

He exhales, about to lie and say he's deleted your number. But Oscar doesn't deserve lies. "I've tried."

"Did she block you?"

"Dunno." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, stopped at the end of the lane coming down from the overlook. There's not much traffic, nowhere near enough to warrant him sitting idle for so long. He can't bring himself to hit the call button after punching in your number. Which he still knows by heart. The only number aside from his mum's that he has memorized.

"Lan?" Oscar ventures softly.

"Am I stupid?" he blurts.

Oscar sighs. "No."

"This—" He gestures angrily at their surroundings. "This isn't fucking stupid?"

"I wouldn't say stupid. Ill-advised, maybe?" Oscar follows a passing car with his eyes. "It's been a year."

He knows.

"I think if you were able to get over it, you wouldn't be here right now."

"I don't even know if she's here." His voice is wavering and he can feel the sadness and frustration and anger stinging, piercing what's left of his heart over and over, clawing up his throat and up into his brain, burning his eyes.

"You know her better than anyone." Oscar's voice is still gentle and soft. Careful, and Lando knows he's truly only there to support him. "Where else would she go?"

"Nowhere." This tiny corner of the world is your home.

"Call her."

Lando throws the car into park and bangs his forehead against the steering wheel. "This is stupid. It's been a year. A fucking year. I can't even bring myself to text her or call her, what the fuck do I think I'm gonna do if I bump into her on the fucking street?"

Oscar doesn't speak, merely waits.

"What would I say to her?" he whispers, scared to raise his voice because he knows he'll either scream or cry.

"Mate…"                                                                         

"It's stupid. I'm stupid. I should never have—" He cuts off, swallowing hard, squeezing his eyes shut. It shouldn't still hurt this bad. "I shouldn't have come."

"But you did."

"Yeah," he gasps.

Oscar's silent for a long moment, looking out the window while Lando struggles to compose himself, knowing that if he reaches out to offer comfort it won't be appreciated. "It's a small town, yeah?"

"Yeah." He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, wishing his heartbreak had been the type that was easily numbed. He's tried everything. Alcohol, exercise, random women, even random men when he was drunk enough. Therapy, antidepressants, meditation. Nothing's worked. He can get so drunk he almost forgets, he almost loses himself, but just when he's thinking this is it, it all comes rushing back and he snatches his body away from whoever he's with. Never much further than getting his belt unbuckled before he's rushing away with a shit apology and an empty ache in his chest.

It's been over for a year and it's still fucking him up. He can't do what the therapist suggested – seek forgiveness for your part in a wrongdoing – because Charles laughed in his face.

"You? Slept with her? Impossible. She has standards."

Fucking bastard.

"Switch, I'll drive."

Lando doesn't argue even though Oscar hates driving in America. Nothing rattles his unbothered friend. But six lanes of Americans driving like – Oscar's words – fucking cunts? His friend is ready to commit crimes. Once in the passenger seat he sighs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It isn't long before he feels the car stop and he sits up, not looking to see where they are. "I'll call the charter for a flight out."

"Not yet," Oscar tells him. "Wait here a minute."

Confused, he rubs at his eyes, trying to keep more tears from forming. He just wants to go. Best to resign himself to being lonely. Alone. Maybe he'll be lucky and time will eventually heal the pain, even just a little, and he can— Grunting as he looks out the windshield, he watches Oscar walk into a small brick building.

"Really, Osco, not the time to be a fucking nerd," he sighs, leaning back and throwing an arm over his face. Why the fuck are they at a library?

It's not long before Oscar's back, getting behind the wheel and humming softly to himself. He doesn't speak, still humming while he buckles his seatbelt and drops a folded sheet of paper in Lando's lap.

"What?" Lando sighs, dropping his arm and looking at the paper. Even more confused, he picks it up. "What is it?"

"Mate."

Sniffling, he rubs at his nose then unfolds the paper. At first he's still confused, reading the address written in Oscar's handwriting. "Is… Is that hers?"

"Yeah."

"H…" He sucks in a breath. "How."

"She said she wanted to go back to school and work in a library, right? They've got a display board up of recent things that have happened, and there was a picture of her with a bunch of kids. A paragraph about how she's working here as a research assistant while pursuing her master's in library science."

Lando rubs at his temples, knowing his friend wants to tell the whole story but longing to tell him to get to the fucking point. And also a little touched that Oscar remembered the detail about you wanting to work with books.

"Asked the lady at the desk about her, said I was an old friend driving through. She's off today, won't be back until Monday. When she went to help someone I nicked the notebook by the computer and it has everyone's address." Oscar smiles, obviously proud of his ability to spy without being caught. "Nice lady. Said y/n's an asset."

Lando nods, typing the address into the search bar of the map on his phone. "It's…"

"Close." Oscar reaches for the in-dash screen, pausing just before his fingers touch it.

He could tell him not to. Could shake his head. And Oscar would nod, they would call the charter, and be on a flight back to Monaco by dinnertime.

And he would spend the rest of his life trying to forget.

He swallows, barely nodding his head.

"…we'll shift our focus to the surge of trade throughout the Mediterranean, but first—"

You look away from your laptop screen when there's a knock on the door. The professor drones on and you mute him, standing from the couch and setting the laptop aside to go see who it is. You're not expecting anyone, and the neighborhood isn't the type where neighbors drop in uninvited. Peeking through the window, you furrow your brow at the unfamiliar car parked on the street. Leaving the chain attached you open the front door just a bit.

And nearly hit your knees in shock.

He's looking down at the stoop, at his impossibly white sneakers, and his hood's pulled up over his head but you know it's him.

"Lando," you breathe.

His head lifts and his eyes take your breath away. They're just as you remember them, the jade hue that could see straight through to your soul.

He looks sad. Worried.

Scared.

"H-hey," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

You can only stare at him, unable to really believe he's on your front stoop. The light breeze picks up and you're slammed by the aroma of his cologne. It's so faint you know you shouldn't be able to smell it but you do and a wave of memories rush through you with it.

"Hey, nice to meet you." He smiled, an easygoing aura radiating from him as he stepped over and held out his hand. "I'm Lando."

"Hi, I'm y/n."

You press your lips together and swallow hard. "Hey," you murmur.

You, walking along pit lane with Charles and on the phone with your best friend. "So I finally got the game installed. I need to upgrade, the lag is so bad I die before I can get a shot in."

"Really? What are the specs?" Lando asked suddenly, appearing at your side.

"Call you back," you laughed into the phone, putting it away and smiling at him. He was always popping up to talk to you, had quickly become one of your favorite people on the grid. He never seemed too busy to at least stop and speak to you, that easy smile putting you at ease.

Lando exhales, his shoulders rounding. His eyes are almost mournful, the light of memory flashing and you wonder if he's reminiscing, too.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he muttered, picking up a helmet and looking around, finally placing it two inches from where it had been.

"It's fine," you promised with a laugh. "You live here, it shouldn't look like a magazine spread."

"Yeah? I guess. Anyway, here you go, have a seat."

You swallow again, the sound of his hand slapping his computer chair echoing in your mind. Easing the door to a little, you reach up to unlatch the chain and take a step back as you pull the door open further. "What are… How did you know where to find me?"

"I love it here, really, but I miss the space. I miss having a little patch of grass where I can plant flowers and not have people squeezing in around me," you said, sliding the tarts from the baking sheet to the cooling rack.

"I get it. But I mean, you could talk to Charles, right? See about getting a place with a garden?" Lando looked at the tarts with a longing sigh.

"At least let it cool," you teased. Leaning against the counter, you shook your head. "No, this is his home. He'll never want to move out of Monaco."

"I like it here, but it's not home." He shrugged, pinching off a piece of the pastry shell for a taste, grinning when you slapped at his hand. "There's a villa up the coast a ways – it has space and nice gardens. I've thought about getting it, but seems a waste just for me."

"You could get a dog."

He's standing in your tiny living room. He looks so out of place and yet he fits and you think you're just in shock. Pushing back his hood, he fiddles with his hair, the nervous gesture you remember him doing. "Osco… He's with me – I mean, in the car," he says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Man's a fucking spy I think."

"No, no, you put your hand here." His face is serious as he guides your hand to his shoulder. "Okay?"

You nodded, grateful he was willing to teach you. You knew Charles would happily pay for dancing lessons but it's embarrassing, not knowing how to waltz. And when you'd mentioned it to Lando he'd said to come by, he could show you the basics, and he'd practice with you so you wouldn't make a fool of yourself at the prince's gala. His hand moved to rest at your waist, warm and strong, and you felt a glimmer of heat as his other hand took yours, holding it up.

"We'll take it slow, yeah?" he asked softly.

He's still standing there, looking lost and scared, and all you can do is stare at him. You've seen him – on tv, online, on your phone because you hadn't been able to delete the pictures of him and every once in a while your phone likes to play a sick joke and throw you a memory that somehow always includes him. But you're struck by the slight differences since you've seen him in person. His hair is a little longer, that one curl he used to complain about dancing against his forehead. The scar from Amsterdam last year is faded, barely a line across the bridge of his nose.

He's still the most handsome man you'll ever see. He still takes your breath away. It's taking everything in you to not beg him to forgive you.

"Love it. This. Us."

You suck in a breath and hold it. "How are you?" you ask, because really what else can you say?

I'm so sorry I never should have let us end like we did, even if we were hopeless from the start. I still love you, I'll never stop loving you. I'll never stop needing you. I'm miserable.

"I'm fucking miserable, y/n." His voice is strained. "I-I came months ago. At Christmas."

You feel your eyes widen at the same time you watch his do the same. Suddenly recalling a strange car parked just down the street from your parents' home that had sped off. At the time your first thought had been that it was someone up to no good. "You did?" you whisper.

"I remembered where your mum and dad live, and I… I hoped I'd see you."

He would have, if he'd waited five minutes. But you remember the texts you'd sent that had gone unanswered. The one phone call you'd attempted two months after moving away from Monaco, at four in the morning when your dreams had been him.

They still are.

Lando takes a step forward. "Y/n…"

"Why are you here?"

"I miss you," he says, his voice still strained. Like he's just finished crying. Or is about to. And you don't want to see him cry. It'll break your unhealed heart. "Are… Are you okay?"

You jump slightly when there's a soft tap at the front door. It's still hanging open – way to go, just invite burglars and murders in – and both you and Lando spin to look.

Oscar holds both hands up. "Sorry to interrupt. Um… Hi."

"Hey," you squeak. God, you can't do this. You can't have this awkward, painful conversation in front of Oscar. "C-come on in," you say, dragging a hand through your hair.

"I, um, just…" His cheeks darken as he closes the door and he clears his throat. "Could I use the restroom?"

Blinking at him, you feel Lando step closer to you. With a small nod you point in the direction of the bathroom, backing away from Lando as soon as Oscar's back is turned.

"Y/n… Please—"

"What?" you ask. It's as though seeing Oscar threw some common sense into you. "I'm in the middle of a class."

"For the library thing, yeah?" One corner of his mouth lifts.

"How did you—" You glance towards the bathroom. "Maybe he is a fucking spy."

"He was trying to help me."

"He always has," you whisper.

"He's kept me from going completely insane this past year. I… I owe him a lot," he murmurs, and he's picking at his own fingers.

You're reaching to stop him and jerk your hand back. He's not yours to comfort. He never was. "He flew all the way here with you when he could be home with his girlfriend. I think you owe him at least a new car."

"She's pregnant."

You gasp. "Really? I should—" But you can't. You haven't been able to call her, either. You text sometimes, but your friendship with the other girlfriends will never be the same. She hasn't mentioned being pregnant and you know it's because you're not in the 'club' anymore. It's a wildly different life you lead now. And you're happy. You're miserable and lonely but you fake the happiness for the sake of your family and coworkers. "I'm happy for them."

"God, I hate this," he whispers, and he rubs his hands over his face.

Then he's reaching for you. Almost catches you, but you jerk away.

"Y/n—"

"You have no right, Lando. What, did you think I'd just fall right back into your arms?" you ask, voice trembling because you want to. You want to be hugged as only Lando's ever been able to do. But you can't let yourself, remembering all too well how your life had been destroyed because you wanted a hug once.

"I didn't – I miss you," he whispers. "It's been a year and I still can't wash the coffee cup you left on the counter because it's… It's still got your lipstick."

Your heart twists, thinking of the hoodie tucked in the very back of your closet. The one you were going to throw out two weeks ago but couldn't after you opened the bag and could still smell him. Then you firm your resolve. You can't. "I'm not stupid. I've seen how not lonely you've been—"

"I was trying to forget you!"

"Then try harder. Doomed, remember?" You'll never forget him saying that, or how your heart had fractured.

"I couldn't even do it, because I felt like I was cheating on you!" The words ring out and he looks shocked, face twisting. "That's how fucked up you got me."

That rankles you, and you don't know if it's because he tried or because he's blaming the failure on you. "It's not my fault you can't get off," you snap.

"I can only get off if I'm thinking about you," he snaps back.

Your cheeks flame, your broken mind immediately conjuring up the image of him in the shower or on his bed. And you would swear you can hear his breathy moans. You bite your tongue hard to keep from confessing that when you try to make yourself cum you have to think about him, too. "Lando—"

"Tell me you're happy," he whispers. "Say it and I'll go."

"Happiness is subjective," you say, because despite everything you can't lie to him.

There's a creak or a sigh. Both your heads swivel and though you've only ever respected and admired Oscar, you aren't happy to see him. He doesn't speak, turning and studying the notes and photos on the refrigerator door.

Your heart lurches, knowing he'll see the snapshot of Lando.

"Y/n."

You snap your eyes back to him, forgetting all about his friend when you look into his eyes.

"Can we just… Talk. Please."

"I would have talked a year ago. When you left me on read. I would have talked a few months later, when I called you and you didn't answer." The worst part had been that his voicemail greeting was the automated voice.

"I was hurting! I was trying to get over you! I wanted to hurt you—"

You gasp, the admission a knife in your chest. You deserve it, you know that, and so much worse, but it stings.

"Like you hurt me."

"What was I supposed to do, Lando? We were doomed. You said so yourself."

"I'd rather be doomed with you than broken without you."

You must leave. Despite how long it's been you're not strong enough. You doubt you'll ever be strong enough to resist him. About to step away, you remember it's your house. Small and cramped and yeah the neighbors are too close for your liking. But it's yours. "Go, Lando. Live. Be happy without me."

"Like you're happy here?" he asks, throwing his hands out. "Rotting away in a fucking library?"

"I was happy until you decided to show up." Your voice cracks and you try to hold it back but a sob escapes as you back away, shoulder banging the doorway of your bedroom.

"Don't lie to me, y/n," he pleads, taking a step closer and reaching out.

"Don't touch me." You shrug his hand away, trying to get out of his reach, lift a hand to slap his arm. He catches your wrist before you can and your breath sticks in your throat when he moves forward. "Lando, please, let me go—"

His lips crash against yours and you whimper. It's harsh and demanding and you struggle weakly against him, spinning as soon as his hand grabs your waist. His near feral moan vibrates through your body and in a heartbeat you're clutching at his hoodie, whining as your back meets the closing door.

"Lan," you whimper, shaking your head as you break the kiss. "Please, we—"

"One more," he gasps. He lets go of your wrist, his hand trembling as it cups your cheek. "God, please… I just need you one more time. Everything's wrong without you." His lips brush over yours, and you feel your own inconsolable longing reflected back at you. "Y-you were everything, let me feel everything again."

His kiss tastes like tears and stifled rage. It grows harsher, his body crowding yours tighter against the door. It's everything you've wanted for over a year and yet not enough and you whisper his name into the breaths you share, knowing you'll feel the worst pain imaginable when it's over and you're alone all over again. The pull of him is too strong though and you want to feel everything again too, want just one morsel of what you once had.

"Wish I could hate you," he groans, voice as rough as his fingers in your hair, so tight your scalp stings. You whimper with both delight and pain and he answers with a moan, snatching back, breathing uneven as his hand slides from your hair and there's a frantic, familiar scrambling to remove his hoodie and your shirt. His moan as his fingers brush your bare skin ends in a whine, tracing patterns over your chest. "Wanted to hate you. Wanted to forget you but you—" His mouth is on yours again, his hands clutching at your breasts. Your nipples are stiff before his thumbs brush them and he groans deep in his chest, pressing his thigh between yours.

He pinches and squeezes, lips almost cruel on yours, and you can feel the rage he feels. Know you deserve every bit of it for everything you'd done, and more than he's capable of showing. Tears sting your eyes. It's beautiful, crushingly so, because you know this will be the last time. You want to rush ahead, to feel the incandescence only his lovemaking had created inside you and you also want to slow down, to memorize every breath, every touch, so you can cling to the memories for the rest of your lonely existence.

"Y/n…" It's a low, drawn-out moan, lips parted over yours.

"Please," you gasp. You're practically squirming with need, and the hate for you that he can't muster is there, coming from yourself. "Need it, Lan…"

You feel his pained grimace, taste the ache and the agony on his tongue. "Need you," he whimpers.

"Us," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as your tears fall.

"Us," he barely sighs. One hand slips down, the rage still there as it pushes between your bodies and into your panties, cupping you and squeezing. His ragged groan echoes in your ears and it shreds the last sliver of your sanity.

You tip your head forward, initiating the next kiss, loosening your grip on his biceps and letting your hands smooth over his warm skin. Breathing in and holding it so you can taste and smell and feel him all at once. Your fingers trace the necklace at his neck and more tears fall – it's the one you gave him two years ago. Rough, his fingers rub along your slit, his other hand thudding against the door then cupping your throat. His lips still on yours, whining when you brush the tears from his cheeks.

He leans into you, fingers rubbing steadily, teeth catching your bottom lip as they grow slick. "Did you…" He moans when one finger dips, your hips tilt forward, pushing yourself against his hand. "You miss me, baby?"

"Yes." You're gripping his wrist, clutching his hair.

"This?" His fingers move in slow circles over your clit. "…Or me?"

"You, Lando, you," you whimper, head falling back, the curling heat so sudden you fear you'll cum already.

"Have you let anyone fuck you?" he asks, still rubbing your clit agonizingly slowly.

"N-no." Your cheeks burn, hating yourself for feeling a spike of desire at his crude question. Pulse racing, you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, and his low hum as he leans closer, lips at your ear now. Your pussy clenches, gushing and you let out a shaky moan, able to hear the slick sounds of his fingers working your clit. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he chuckles.

"You need to cum? Hm?" He moans right in your ear and your pulse thunders beneath his fingertips at your throat. "You're gonna cum that quick?"

"I—" You whine, clutching tighter at his wrist. "It feels good, Lando, I can't…"

"It's gonna feel better when I'm fucking you," he whispers.

"Yes," you hiss, head falling back with a thump. "Please!"

"You want it, baby?" There's a slant to his cooed words and you wonder if he does hate you after all. "Want me to fuck you?" His lips tug at your earlobe, smirking while you whine. Slipping his fingers down, he dips them inside you, echoing your moan as you immediately squeeze around them. "Oh I missed your pussy so much… That's why I couldn't fuck 'em, you know?"

"Lando, please." God, you're gonna cum. It's sick and it's twisted now, but he knows exactly how to play your body.

"Cuz I know how good this feels…" He sucks on your earlobe, fingers curling tightly, exhaling harshly as they brush your spot and your hips jerk. "Gonna feel so good when you cum on my dick."

"Yes, baby, I need that," you whimper, digging your nails into his wrist. You need it more now than you did a year ago, your body buzzing. "God, please… Let me cum for you, Lan – Fuck!"

"Cum on my fingers, baby," he hisses, stroking your spot so hard it hurt. But his words and the reminder that he knew exactly what to say and do to you send you spiraling, pussy squeezing tightly around his fingers as a ragged cry ripped from your chest. "That's my girl, fuckin' cum…"

His fingers slip out and you gasp at the gush, tugging at his hair while he rubs your slit rapidly as your body tenses and trembles, panting harsh in your ear when you squirt over his fingers. When you slump back he coos, fingers strumming your clit and causing your back to arch.

He snatches his fingers from your clit with a low growl, and your lips meet in a fierce kiss, hands meeting at his belt. You wriggle between him and the door, frantic and scrambling to remove your panties, gasping against his tongue as he kicks his jeans away and then he's jerking your hips towards him, pressing his face to the side of your neck and your breath catches in the back of your throat, hooking your legs over his hips. His cock, hard and straining, glides along your slit and his teeth sink into your skin as his hips surge forward.

"Lando," you cry out, eyes rolling back.

"Make me hate you. Please, fuck, I need to hate you."

"How?" It's a broken sob.

"You can't." He presses his forehead to yours, hands so tight on your hips you know you'll feel the bruises forever. "You can't, y/n…"

"I'm sorry," you whisper, lifting trembling hands to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, Lando."

He exhales slow, releasing your hips and sliding his hands up, keeping the rest of his body still. It feels as though he's re-memorizing your body, closing his eyes while his palms sweep over your shoulders and up to your wrists. There's a prolonged moment as his shaky breaths fan over your lips, then his eyes open.

They're luminous. Shining with emotion. You can't breathe, can't even blink, can only just barely feel him shift, reminding you he's buried deep.

"I miss you so much." His hands are gentle, smoothing your hair back and cradling your cheeks. There's the reverence you remember.

"I'm right here." Your vision blurs and his lips are on yours, tender where they'd been rough before. "I'm right here, baby."

"Can't lose you," he mumbles, shifting again, his arm winding around your waist and holding you close. "Can't lose you again, baby, okay?"

You whisper his name, unsure of what to say. You're not sure you understand. "Lan?"

He kisses you again, turning and you're floating even after he lays you down on the bed. Each touch is gentle, like he's afraid of hurting you.

As though you're a dream he doesn't want to wake up from.

"I love you," he says. And for the first time since he stepped into the house it's the voice you remember. Clear and bright, warm and your favorite sound. It's him, the real Lando that you know and love.

Your lips part to say the words back – of course you love him, you've loved him since the beginning, before he was yours to really love. Before he was your forbidden secret.

"I bought the villa." Even he looks surprise as the words pass his lips and there's a small smile on his face and you want to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. He's talking as though he isn't inside you, as though he didn't just make you cum against your bedroom door.

"You did?" you ask softly, fingers following the freckles splattered over his cheek and neck. "When?"

Lando shifts, gently guiding your legs around his waist. The friction causes your toes to curl and he pauses, stuttering out a whimper. "F-first of the – god – year."

"Do you like it?" You're asking about the villa, remembering the photos he'd showed you on the realty website.

"Fuck I love it so much," he moans. His hands squeeze your thighs and he lifts himself up slightly, licking his lips slow. Eyes still luminous, he looks down at you and you can feel he's holding his breath.

"I love you," you whisper. "I love you so much."

And it's like that's all he needed. He leans down, kissing you deeply, his hands finding yours and holding on, fingers tangled as he rolls his hips slow. His thrusts are slow and deep, echoing moans and gasps the soundtrack to the passion. There's no subdued rage or cruelty anymore, and you whisper apologies between kisses, needing him to know how sorry you are for hurting him.

"I'm so sorry… I love you… Love us." You whisper the words over and over, tasting the salt of his fresh tears and yours.

Clasped hands tighten, knuckles turning white. "Be mine," he murmurs, his tremble rippling through you. When you arch, crying out yes, he dips his head, pressing sweet kisses over your heart.

"I always was," you promise, eyes locked with his as the passion crests and you cum with a scream of his name. It's blinding, deafening, and all you know that is real is the tight grip of his hands.

"Get your degree," he murmurs an eternity later. You nod, heart racing, the ache that has been in your chest for so long begins to fade. "Move in the villa with me."

"What if it's doomed?" you whisper, fear slicing through the elation. "What if we fail?"

"W-what if we win?" His breath stutters harshly, hands squeezing yours even tighter. "What if it's sacred?"

He kisses you, both of you trembling as his thrusts quicken and you feel his muscles grow tight. Your name is a soft, pleading cry and you feel the heat of him filling you, hips straining and pushing you deeper into the mattress.

Another lifetime passes with delicate kisses. Tender whispers. Praise and love are murmured between you, and you feel the eternal hope springing back when he offers forgiveness.

If it's all a dream you never want to wake. You'll gladly sleep until your final breath or even hasten your end so you never have to know cold reality again. But it's not a dream when you wake up, it's real and he's real, and the love in his eyes is still there.

The peace, the dreamy bubble formed around you, is burst by a gentle tapping at the bedroom door.

"Um… You good, mate?" Oscar calls out, his voice amused and embarrassed.

Lando giggles against your shoulder, kissing your skin before lifting his head. "Are we good, love?"

"Can we get a dog?" you ask suddenly.

"Just one?"

You nod. "To keep me company while I'm studying."

Lando grins, dipping to kiss you quickly. "All good, Osco!"

"Thank fucking christ," Oscar groans..

a.n.: originally this was close to 9k, but I cut a full scene from the end, because these two idiots deserve a happy, hopeful ending. I hope you enjoyed. housekeeping: if you'd like to be added to my taglist(s), please fill out this form.

taglist: @driverlando | @leodette | @trisharee | @manicpixiemom | @littlegrapejuice | @mochimommy2002 |

[adventuringblind]

Oscar the Matchmaker: Part Two

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Genre: series

Summary: Oscar struggles with the aftermath of Alpine and a rough start of the season

Warnings: Toxic work place

Notes: I’m using alpine drama as a plot point. Also they call Oscar Jack because lord it’s such a cute nickname he has.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The fact that two rookies are enjoying the luxury that comes with being a world champion is completely ridiculous.

Max loves to spoil them. Mainly because is makes them shy as they try to turn down his offers. He’s stubborn though and usually gives them no other choice but to relent.

Now he’s spoiling them with sleep. They all love sleep. All the time. It’s one of their favorite activities.

Max however, is not sleeping, just resting. His mind moving but his body remains stationary.

Oscar shoots out of the bed faster then Max can register. The Aussie is practically silent as he does it.

The Dutch is quick to follow him. Gently kissing the forehead of the girl still asleep before leaving the room.

Oscar is pacing back and forth, his hands tugging at his hair. He looks to Max as if he’s trying to seem productive and yet not getting anywhere simultaneously.

“Jack?”

He jumps at the sound of Max’s voice. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake, just to lazy to move.” Max drags him over to the couch. “Wanna talk about what’s going on in your head?” If there is one thing Max has learned about the Australian, it’s that he’s calm and collected outside and a whirl whine on the inside.

“I just panicked. It’s Tuesday.” He sighs.

A sleepy eyed female walks into the room and drapes herself over them. The two males practically use her as a blanket. “Tuesdays are Alpine meeting days.” Her voice may be sleepy, but the venom in her voice doesn’t go unheard. Max threads his fingers through her hair that is splayed messily across his lap.

"So muscle memory?" Asks the confused Dutch.

Oscar starts fumbling around with his words. "Well - no, it's just that- Alpine weren't the best to me, I guess." His fingers find his hair and run the back if his neck raw.

The confusion turns into concern as Max goes wide-eyed. He knows all the drama that happened. There were countless nights on the phone with Daniel about it. That was Max's first impression of the rookie. The fact he apologized to Daniel for taking his spot and being a hindrance to him.

"He'd gotten in trouble for over sleeping once, and it was absolutely hell. I had half a mind to report them to the FIA." The girl on their lap is flushing with frustration now, her knuckles turning white from her fist tightening around nothing.

Max could see the memories flooding the Australians eyes. He leans over to him and kisses the top of his head. "It makes sense now why you avoid them like the plague."

"They are the plague."

The witty comments sometimes shock the two. The girl is usually quiet around people she doesn't know and is kind for the most part. However, she's also protective.

Max and Oscar chuckle at her antics. Watching her carefully drift in and out of sleep.

~

The next race weekend, they walk in together. It's not uncommon since her and Oscare are practically attached at the hip, but Max is new. They just tell people it's a coincidence.

Oscar has always walked her to her garage. Currently, it's towards the end of the paddock. Meaning they have to pass Alpine to get to it.

Max takes not of how Oscar refuses to look anywhere but the ground. He can't see the female since she's on the other side of Oscar, but he can hear her seething.

The Australian visibly relaxs when they are past.

It sucks saying goodbye to her. They woke up this morning, and it felt perfect. The morning rays leak through the window, limbs tangled up in each other. None of them wanted to get up or leave.

Now, the first had gone off to work, and Max and Oscar were left to walk back down.

Max makes it a point to walk on the side closest to the hospitality entries. He doesn't say anything as they near the door. Some of the guys in charge meandering around right outside.

"I know what you're doing." Says the Australian.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Max looks at him and winks. Somehow, the action calmed Oscar's overreacting brain.

Max waved off Oscar as he jogged to catch up with Lando. The Brit shot him a few confused glances. The ones that said he has questions.

Lando may he an idiot, but he's not as oblivious as everyone thinks he is.

Max leaves that for another day.

~

She knew something was off with the Austr as soon as he entered the room. They're all exhausted from the race, but he was completely void of life.

There's no goofy smiles or sarcastic jokes. Just Oscar, sitting on the bed staring at the wall. She can see him processing something. Whatever it is, it can't be good.

She looks at Max. The Dutch just stares at her with confusion. She'd learned that his upbringing made him mildly clueless when it came to dealing with emotion.

With that in mind, she sets off to Oscar's side. She sits down next to him and takes his hand in her own. "Jack, you gotta talk to us." She signals Max with her eyes to sit on the other side of him. Good thing she's not clueless or they would be in trouble.

"It's stupid drama stuff."

"It's not stupid if it's making you upset." She puncuates with a kiss on his cheek.

"Stupid Alpine and their stupid comments. Apparently, I am not the most expensive but terrible rookie to ever be signed." He sighs. They can hear how he tries to pass it off, but they both know he's lying.

"Lies and slander. You're the best rookie this season. You're driving a tractor right now for fucks sake." Max says.

"Logically, I know that. Emotionally, I don't."

"And you're not required to know that yet, technically speaking." She counters, causing the Australian to roll his eyes.

Max chuckles to himself. “I could crash my car into their garage if you really want me too.”

“As funny as that sounds, I would rather you win if neither of us can even get close.”

“…at least you two are consistently in the points!”

~

Tuesday again. They all lay asleep in bed together. Max opens his eyes for a moment and catches the females gaze.

She places a finger over her lips and points at Oscar. The Australian breathing evenly, sound asleep.

[ramielll]

I was waiting for you -Part 2

Benjicot Blackwood x fem reader

Contains: some angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn

Word count: 1663

Tw: canon typical discrimination against women, drinking

Part 3

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

„You were conspiring behind my back about my betrothal?” Y/N’s voice rose dangerously before she remembered herself. She paced in her room as her brother sat in one of the chairs in front of the hearth. Looking tenser by the moment with watching his older sister growing more agitated. He did feel guilty about the ordeal, he knew he should have discussed this with her before coming to Riverrun, but it was as obvious to him as it was to their father, that if she knew, she would have never agreed to come here.

„I apologise for keeping this from you sister, but I would hardly call this conspiring. You are a woman grown, and you already have the luxury that you do not have to marry for us to further our advantage, thanks to my own betrothal.” He sighed and tried to give her a reassuring look as he continued. „Father gave me this task, but rest assured, your wishes will be considered.

She stopped her pacing to look into her brothers’ eyes. He did look sorry, and she knew this wasn’t really his fault, still she thought he would at least mention their plans. The situation was tense enough for her and quarrelling would not make it better. „It was shrewd of you to keep this from me but thank you for taking my feelings into regard. Not many noble ladies have that.” She added in a low voice. „There is no turning back now it seems.” Her voice shaking with realisation. „All I ask is that you do not make the decision without asking me in the end.“ She could feel the anxiety seeping into her bones just at the thought.

„I promise.” His eyes shown honesty. „But you also cannot simply refuse everyone.”

Y/N only nodded. She always knew this moment will eventually arrive. She thought that she should feel lucky for having even a small saying in the matter. But no matter how hard she tried, at the moment she couldn’t muster much gratitude.

The young man stood from his chair and offered his arm. „Let us get to supper. I’m sure the others are waiting already.”

„Of course.” Y/N took his arm without another word and took a deep breath as they entered the hallway and began walking towards the great hall. There was nothing left to argue about. All she could do, is to hope and try to get familiar with one of her suitors. She must make the best of this dreadful situation.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The stoney hall of Riverrun was already prepared for supper, with people being seated around a long table as they made their entrance. The man surrounding the table stood from their seats as she approached them on her brother’s arm. There were only two seats left. One between her cousins and one at the right of Edmure Frey at the end of the table. Y/N tried to take a step towards Oscar and Kermit, but her brother gently tugged her back, steering her towards the other seat. She sent a mean glare in his direction before she sat down with a tight-lipped smile.

Everyone began eating and loudly chattering as she poured herself some wine to down it quickly and just as she reached for the pitcher again a hand took it from her to pour into her cup.

„Lady Stark, allow me to say, how radiant you look tonight.” Edmure Frey, only a year or two younger than her, was a pleasant looking young man. With shoulder length, light brown hair and greyish green eyes. He was clearly trying to gain her favour with flattery, but he did not look like a cunning man. It could be worse, she thought. If he turned out to be kind or good humoured, they might find familiarity.

„Thank you, my Lord.” She gave him a small smile before taking another sip of her cup.

„I heard you take a great interest in histories my Lady. Not many ladies are so fond of reading books other than ones about romance. You have my admiration.” Edmure Frey leaned closer as he smiled and tried to flirt. She laughed and was about to say something, but another voice interrupted.

„You must not have met many ladies, Lord Frey, so you might find it hard to believe, but the majority of noble ladies have their own minds and interests.” She looked up at the men seated in front of her, only now really noticing him. His dark eyes immediately meeting hers with a subtle flush on his face and smile directed towards her.

„My Lady, I apologise for Edmure, one should not be so surprised about a lady being interesting.” Lord Edmure grew stiff beside Y/N as she looked down and tried to stifle a snort.

„Well said Lord Blackwood.” She said with a laugh, missing how the three men on the other side of the table shared glances of interest at their conversation. Benjcot’s smile broadened. „Call me Benji or Ben, my Lady. Like you used to.” His voice grew more sincere as did his smile while gazing at her.

„Very well… Benji.” Her face reddened and she lowered her eyes, getting shy suddenly at Benji’s intense look.

While the conversation did die down after that between them, everyone else around the table could see Y/N and Benjicot taking quick glances at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking, through the rest of the evening.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Y/N was restless as she laid in her comfortable bed. She tossed and turned, trying to find a good position but it seemed sleep evaded her. She shoved aside her blankets with frustration and got up. This trip was not turning out as she envisioned it. Her emotions about this whole ordeal refused to give her any rest. So, she slipped her feet into her shoes and donned one her thicker robes over her flimsy nightgown as she made her way outside.

Y/N walked through the long halls and then the empty courtyard before slipping out in the back and arriving on the familiar little pathway between the forest and the river. She made this journey many times before. Although back then it was mostly during the day and with company, but she needed this alone time now. Y/N knew not stray too far from the castle, it was unlikely to meet anyone with bad intentions this close to the walls but it was still better to be cautious.

She stepped over rocks and cold patches of grass, breathing in the chill of the foggy air, feeling calmness finally washing over her. She did not know how many minutes have passed when she heard rustling behind her. Y/N stilled, momentarily fear washing over her.

„Lady Stark!” She knew that voice. „You should not be out here alone.” Her heart filled with relief as she turned towards none other than Benjicot Blackwood.

„Lord Bla- Benji.” Her voice came out too timid for her liking as she tightened her robe. „I was only-„

„Escaping?” Benjicot finished her sentence with a smile. She laughed as she smiled back at him. „If I were to make my escape, I would not do it in nothing but a but a nightgown.”

„Of course.” He was grinning now. “Do not be afraid to ask me for any assistance when it comes to your actual escape my Lady” Benjicot stepped closer with his hands behind his back.

„I don’t think that would be wise of me, how would I know that you will not tell my brother?” He stopped in front of her, closer than deemed proper, so that he can see her face in the moonlight. It was a good thing he held his hands clasped behind him, his fingers suddenly itched to touch her pretty face. He always knew she was beautiful growing up. During the times they have spent together, were many occasions where he made a fool of himself. Only to get her attention or to make her laugh.

„You don’t trust your childhood companion? You wound me my Lady.” She looked down before raising her gaze shyly again. „You should also call me by my given name. You are right. We’re old friends after all.”

„As you wish Y/N.” He made the mistake of stealing a glance at her lips. He needed to get a grip on himself. The situation was improper already. Being alone in the dark, with an unwed noble lady, for whom he also possessed great affections too. He reluctantly took a step back from her. At this, Y/N could almost feel a bit of disappointment.

„Allow me to walk you back to your chambers Y/N” He offered his hand, which she took without hesitation.

They made their way back to Riverrun mostly in silence. Both of them feeling both nervousness and comfort at the closeness they shared after all this time spent apart.

She felt a twinge in her heart as they arrived at her door. She did not yet want to end their private time together. Y/N turned towards Benjicot before stepping into her rooms.

„Would you accompany me to a walk tomorrow Y/N?” He asked before she could say goodnight.

„Yes, of course!“ Her voice was but a whisper as she smiled. „It would be my pleasure. And it would also get me away from my brothers’ expectant eyes, as well as from Edmure Frey’s blatant flirting.” She laughed awkwardly. „I will gladly play the part of your saviour.” He lifted her hand to his lips and gently brushed a kiss over her knuckles. He tried really hard to be dashing, but his cheeks flushed and his stomach flipped as he saw her equally rosy face and soft parted lips.

„Goodnight, Y/N.”

„Goodnight Benji” She whispered before closing the door behind her. She had trouble falling asleep again, although for an entirely different reason this time.

[mrs-stans]

Donald Trump might make the Oscar cut – but with Sebastian Stan playing him

TORONTO — In the Donald Trump biopic “The Apprentice,” famed New York lawyer Roy Cohn lays out three important rules to Trump, his young disciple: “Attack, attack, attack” is the first; “Admit nothing, deny everything” is the second; and “No matter what, claim victory and never admit defeat” is last.

For anybody who’s watched cable news in, oh, the last decade, that all seems pretty familiar. Trump became a cultural figure, first in business and then on NBC's competition show "The Apprentice" before taking the Oval Office. The controversial new movie charts the future 45th president’s rise in the 1970s and ‘80s, but includes echoes of his political era throughout. (“Make America Great Again” even makes an appearance.)

The Oscars also have rules, though it’s an unwritten one that comes to bear here: Play a real-life figure and you’ve got a decent shot at a nomination. Which is a boon for “Apprentice” stars Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong, who give outstanding performances as Trump and Cohn, respectively.

“The Apprentice” (in theaters Oct. 11), which had a surprise screening at the Toronto International Film Festival Thursday, starts with a young Trump working for his father Fred's real estate company. Donald dreams of opening a luxury hotel in Manhattan, but starts out going door to door collecting rent. He meets Cohn, who first helps the Trumps in court and then becomes a mentor to young Donald, who listens intently as Roy rails about civil rights, makes hateful remarks and says leftists are worse than Nazis.

Trump takes to heart Cohn’s advice ― there are only two kinds people in the world, “killers and losers” ― his hotel business takes off and turns him into a Manhattan power player. There’s a turn, however, and the movie focuses on how Donald’s confidence and cruelty takes hold. He cheats on wife Ivana (Maria Bakalova), rapes her in one of the film's most disturbing sequences, and shuns Cohn after he becomes sick and eventually dies from AIDS.

The most fascinating aspect of “Apprentice” is watching its leads change their characters and body language to drive home that cinematic shift. Stan starts out playing Trump as an awkward, lonely sort before taking on more of the mannerisms that we’ve seen on our national political stage in recent years. (Even though he doesn’t quite look like Trump, the voice and inflections are spot on.) Strong is initially a scary and discomforting presence before gradually turning more sympathetic as his disease sets in and Trump worries he’ll get sick just being around his former friend.

Granted, it’s not normal for a biopic about a presidential candidate, and a high-profile film-festival one at that, to arrive less than a month before the election. It likely won’t sway voters either way, whether they see Trump as monarch or monster, and Trump’s more likely to threaten legal action than show up to the Oscars. But the movie’s worth paying attention to because of its powerful acting, from Stan, Strong and Bakalova. (In a packed best-actor lineup, one of Stan’s biggest rivals will be himself, since he’s also phenomenal in this month's “A Different Man.”)

One of the best scenes, in which Trump and an ailing Cohn let each other have it with all the venom they can muster, wraps up a lot of the core themes in a movie filled with meta commentary. Trump’s screwed over Cohn, and the lawyer tells him “you were a loser then and you’re still a loser” and that he’s “lost the last traces of decency you had.”

“What can I say, Roy,” Trump snarls. “I learned from the best.”

[lovableapocalypse]

the 1

bassist!remus x fem!reader

wc- 800 ish

warnings- swearing, alcohol, fluff?

a/n- watching the oscars inspired me to write an award show fic lol. also i chose the brits bc theyre british idek. another thing ik this picture is alexa chung but i just want to preface reader has no description except blushing and i do not picture her in any way specific i just liked this picture. lastly ive been so unmotivated to write so i tried tonight but ive been hating everything i write so the longer chapter im working on is taking awhile but its coming. im like 2k deep and not even halfway into the plot lol. anyway love u all.

The champagne you had been consuming tonight brought a heavy flush to your skin. The round table you all were surrounding was decorated elegantly and littered with drinks. Your head was perched in your fist and a look of awe was evident on your features. This was the boy's second year attending the Brits but it still ceased to amaze you. 

It was easy to forget they were a largely appreciated group now and these luxury events were a part of that. You were more dressed up than you think you’d ever been. Remus had wrapped his arms around you from behind when you were putting the finishing touches on, meeting your gaze in the mirror. He looked more than attractive in his simple black suit and his lips pressed to your neck, “You look beautiful.” Your face lit up at his words and your heart melted even at his most simple compliments. 

You, the band, and the team’s managers were all watching the current artist perform on stage and Remus had his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. They were nominated in the next category and you could tell the boys were tense. You moved to sit up straight and glanced at Remus. He caught your gaze and warmly smiled at you. You returned the gesture and leaned into him. 

“Even if you don’t win, I’ll still love you.”

He laughed, “Good to know.”

You smiled against him and rested your hand on his thigh, squeezing. The artist on stage finished and the room felt crowded with anticipation for the next award- Best Group. The band was up against some impressive names, but they’d put in the hard work and you believed they deserved to win. 

You could feel Remus’ hold on you grow intense as the announcers walked on stage. Your heart was racing and you could hardly retain what they were saying, catching certain words as your mind fluttered. Impressive. Best. Wonderful. Praise was floating around the room as short descriptions of the nominated bands played for the audience. 

When the last clip played, a cute montage of the boys sitting around you, and the woman on stage reached for the envelope, you held your breath. Remus grabbed your hand, squeezing it in his fist. You returned the gesture and glanced at the boys around you. James and Sirius leaned close to one another, Lily clutching James’ hand nearby. Peter was resting his face on his palm, their manager clutching his back. 

The boy’s had been invited to the ceremony last year under the Best New Band/Music category, but with only an EP out they hadn’t expected anything. And while their wins were unsuccessful, the experience itself had been amazing. 

This year the boys had produced a number one album and had been traveling all over the UK for shows. They had been dreaming of this moment, but were too scared to admit they might win- or lose. 

Your fingers were aching and time slowed as you anticipated the reveal. Your breath held still, you swore you heard wrong when both announcers shouted, “The Marauders!!!”

You gasped and reached for Remus as he sprouted out of his seat. You followed and he pulled you into him, smashing his lips against yours. You laughed and returned the gesture. Breaking away, you shared a yell of excitement and he squeezed your arms tightly. You both turned to the table, celebrating quickly as they moved towards the stage. 

Everyone’s smile was bright and unbelieving. You hugged Lily close as they greeted the announcers and moved to the mic. Sirius, the frontman he was, grabbed the award and lifted it up in appreciation. You cheered along with everyone and watched as he glanced at his bandmates in shock. 

“Fuck. Wow. Thank you.” He laughed. 

James threw his arms around Remus and Peter behind Sirius and they all grinned like madmen. Your hands moved over your face in shock, unbelievably proud of your boys and how far they’ve come. Sirius thanked their fans and the other bands nominated and finished with a group hug with his best mates. 

They shuffled off the stage and came back over in an adrenaline induced state. You hugged James, Peter, and lastly Sirius who held you close and whispered his love to you. Remus approached you again with a beautiful, bashful smile on his face. He kissed you sweetly and wrapped his arms tightly around you. 

When you sat back down you barely paid any attention to the ceremony and you took turns holding the award and admiring it. 

Remus pulled you close to his side again and moved his hand to your exposed thigh. He gently slid his hand up, whispering, “I just want to go home now and celebrate.” You subtly bit your lip, “Hmm. That sounds nice. Can’t believe I get to go home with a real rock star.” He laughed at the nickname and kissed your lips, muttering an ‘I love you’ under his breath. 

[boredzillenial]

Hiii i have been loving how you write for Oscar Isaac’s characters so much especially with the King John one 😩. Anyways, can I request a blurb of Orestes from Agora with anything Valentine’s Day related? You can do it with another character if you haven’t watched Agora yet, I’m completely fine with anything you will put ^^

Hi Anon! I gave this my best crack so let’s see! No smut this go around just a writing exercise ☺️

My Dove

Orestes hears of a Saint that may span the hostility between him and his new bride.

Themes: just Orestes trying to win her over, and failing to keep himself from simping

Word count: (idk it’s short lol)

A.N: historical and movie reference mistakes abound — just for funsies don’t take this seriously lol

“A Saint?” Orestes questioned “Valentine?” He tasted the name, finding it strange on his tongue. “And what did he do exactly?”

Orestes’ advisor shrugged as he picked over the arrangement of fruits on the table, “died for something or another. You know how these Christians get, will celebrate anyone who dies for ‘em.” He grumbled as he tossed a scroll on the table only to snatch a cluster of grapes. “Heard the ladies say something about it being romantic though.” His wicked teasing grin grated against Orestes’ nerves.

“Christian’s and romance huh?” Orestes returned his advisors smirk with a tight lipped one of his own. “Who’d have thought.”

“Thought it may help with -“ Orestes halted the sentence with a stony look. “- sorry, sorry.” His advisor threw up his hands and he exited the dimly lit chambers. It was no secret that the arranged marriage of Orestes and a daughter of one of the leaders of the Christian movement was strained to say the least. But he was at his limit with his own men giving him shit for it.

Orestes was not one to shy away from an opportunity for power. So when occasion presented itself he took it, regardless of the rumors he’d heard of her. Though he didn’t agree with the Christian notion of forcing his wife to heel, he thought maybe this could be a bridge. Some shared respect for this new Saint to bring them together.

Orestes grabbed the scroll along with a bowl of her favorite fruits and sauntered down the hall. He filled his lungs slowly, intentionally, as he readied himself. This needs to work, I can’t continue on like this.

This marriage had quelled the violence in the streets and to her credit his wife was commanding in her call for peace. Especially when aided by her father who ensured the zealots yielded. But the violence only shifted from the streets into his home. ”She’s as gentle as a dove.” her father had claimed in his initial offer. What a lair.

While he knew what her father said she should do, to obey her husband, it seemed she never could find the strength to actually do so. ”You opportunistic snake!” she’d screamed on their wedding night when he came to bed. She’d tossed the nearest thing a which turned out to be one of their gifts, a beautiful ornamental bowl. ”Now is that any way to welcome your husband, my dove?” he’d shot back at her. Ever since that’d been her moniker. He shook his head and huffed at the memory, at least she has heart.

That memory alone sent his heart hammering and sweat moistening his palms. His footsteps echoed through the corridors softly as he neared the ornate doorway to the atrium, where she spent most of her days.

As he opened it wearily he cast his gaze across the expansive room. His position had granted him more than a fair bit of luxury, and she had insisted the atrium be filled with flowering plants and water features. There she laid along the edge of the pool, dress hiked up to her hip revealed deliciously smooth skin that glistened with beading sweat. Her leg making slow ripples in the water.

Orestes felt as if his heart stopped for a moment. With here defenses down like this, body relaxed in the morning light… Gods she was beautiful.

The sound of his next step alerted her to his presence. She shot up like a viper, quickly pulled her leg up and under her dress and glared at him. “What.” She hissed

“Have you heard of Valentine?” He strained to keep his voice casual and cast his gaze elsewhere in the room.

“Saint Valentine you mean,” Her voice betrayed her interest as she eyed the scroll in his hand. “I’ve heard mutterings.”

“Well,” He waggled the delicate paper for a moment as he moved, “if you care to know the story.” Carefully he placed it on a nearby bench along with the bowl of fruits beside it. Orestes strolled slowly back toward the doorway. “He was very brave.”

He heard quick shuffling and the rustle of parchment. “Wait -” Her voice echoed in the chamber.

Orestes stopped and turned slowly, a brow quirked in interest. “Yes, my dove?” The look on her face sent his heart hammering again. For a moment the features there had softened and a smile played at the edge of her lips before hardening again.

Her voice though, was gentle, “Thank you, Orestes.” Oh how she could so easily bring him to his knees when she chose to be soft.

He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod with a smile, “Of course.” With what little control he had left he turned and left the atrium. Once the doors closed behind him he leaned against them. She’s taken my soul, my dove…

—————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar

[kleinblue52]

Sorry for the silly food metaphor, but watching Interview with the Vampire every week is like... eating the most decadent chocolate truffle you can think of, made of the richest, darkest chocolate which perfectly blends with the strongest, most fragrant of liqueurs and a hint of zingy red berry and as it melts in your mouth in a sensual explosion of warmth and pleasure you feel equal parts guilty and grateful that such a forbidden delicacy exists.

I had never experienced a TV show like this. The only other experiences that I can compare it to are Golden Age Hollywood melodramas, especially Sirk's, and the best creations of Oscar Wilde, Alexandre Dumas fils and E.M. Forster.

The exquisite, extravagant, luxurious beauty of it all, the depravity and the doom and the romance, so perfectly balanced by Daniel's dry humor that makes suspension of disbelief so intriguing because there's always that hint of a doubt about what is the truth and what is decadent embellishment by the two most unreliable narrators in the world... God I hope this show goes on for as long as the creators want, whenever that is it needs to go out in a blaze of glory.

[sp00kymulderr]

prism

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x gn reader

Warnings: 18+, pwp, kinda subby Dieter, kinda gentle dom reader. dirty facetime call, m masturbation, allusions to m receiving anal, lots of pet names for Dieter (nothing for reader)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: Dieter always gets desperate when he's away from you for too long.

A/N: comments and reblogs forever appreciated! To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist. Credit to gif maker.

Dating Dieter Bravo is not easy. That’s the truth.

It’s difficult. He’s difficult. An international movie star with an Oscar win under his belt? Yeah, he requires a certain kind of partner and a certain amount of patience. It’s not on purpose of course, you know that, but he is so used to a particular level of attention and he’s not exactly not a diva.

The worst thing about dating Dieter though is that he so often is just not around. Those long, long periods when he’s off in some beautiful but entirely too lonely location filming something ludicrous for equally ludicrous money.

Dieter requires attention and it’s kind of like torture for you both when you can’t touch him and give him all that he so desperately wants from you.

So you have to make do with what you can give him.

“That’s right baby” You say softly, watching him on the screen of your phone.

You’d taken his video call 30 minutes ago and he’d already been needy for you; plush robe hanging open as he sat in his luxury hotel bed and gave you those ridiculous big brown eyes, moaning your name and telling you just how he couldn’t live another second without you. Dramatic to the end, that was your dear sweet Dieter.

Your love adores an audience, never used to doing anything all alone. It’s to be expected after a few days of filming that he’ll call you with needy rasps and grunts down the phone line either talking you through your pleasure or begging for something from you. Today it is begging. Today he is all yours in exactly the way you like.

Now he’s showing you just what he needs with his hand fisted around his aching cock and his face flushed pink with a sheen of sweat making him glistening so deliciously. He’s angled the phone on his night-stand to give you the best view he can as he thrust his hips up to fuck in to his fist. He looks so lovely and you silently thank whoever invented video calling as you talk him through his obedient desperation.

“That’s good pretty boy. Imagine it’s me, yeah?” You coo, giving him what you can to help him along.

Dieter whimpers with movements stuttering a little. He’s been holding off for a while. Trying really hard for you.

“Just think...sweet thing...think about my mouth around you, taking all of you in. Can you do that baby?” You guide him your voice a little breathy as you work on your own need. You can’t possibly not get off to him being like this. “Jesus fucking christ” He groans “I’m gonna…”

You can tell. From the way he pants out his words in grunted syllables and from the clearly achy, leaky tip of his cock thrusting up through his fisted hand. “Oh no, be good. Give me another minute” You direct with a voice all sticky sweet with love and deep enjoyment the view. Only a little annoyance that you’re seeing it on a small screen rather than from in between his legs

Dieter whines and you tut. This is exactly how you like him, when he's tamed and desperate for you. A shame it only seems to happen when he's on the other side of the world. You love that you get to see him like this but you hate that there’s this goddamn screen separating you and all those miles of ocean. You want to make him cry. Hold him off for hours and then put your mouth on that gorgeous cock til he’s a mess.

"Oh sweetie, the things I'd do to you if I was there" you moan

"I'll get you on a...on a plane right now" He whimpers, and gives a look to the screen that makes you think of a sad little puppy not getting what it wants. You laugh a little.

"Hm, I bet you would. But I don’t think so. Besides I like you better when you can't disappoint me"

It's cruel but he moans, fucking his fist a little faster,

"Hold on for me"

"Can't-" Dieter sighed

“You better or I'm ending the call right now. You don't wanna come without an audience. I know you baby" Your tone gets harder, more commanding and he lets out a strangled groan. He whines your name all pathetic. He's a mess, fucked out and sweaty, cock already leaking over his hand right on the precipice of release.

"Let me come...I’ll...I'll buy you that ticket straight away and give you something better" He says quietly, distracting both of you and stilling the movement of his hips as he tries to bargain with you.

"Oh?"

"Let you fuck me properly I want you to...to...take me" Dieters words are so urgent, his breath coming out short.

You raise an eyebrow to the camera. That piques your interest. He's not given you that opportunity yet. For a couple seconds your silent, trying to control your own pleasure enough not to slip out of your current persona.

"Keep moving baby, don't remember telling you to stop" you finally say

"I'll let you. I want you to. Just let me buy you a ticket and get on the damn plane". He starts again, slowly so he doesn't explode within a millisecond.

"I'll think about it. It's a good offer, I'd love to fuck you. You know I would. Make you beg for it"

"Jesus...." He pants, too close to do anything else but beg "Please..."

"Go on, honey. Better be a lot" you finally allow it, and Dieter sighs in relief.

You watch the screen intently as he succumbs; his hips faltering as he spills hard all over his hand. It is a lot, it always is when he knows you're watching. He looks so good all messy and undone. It might be your favourite sight in the world. His hair sticks to his head a little. You want to run your fingers through it and see if he'll give you more of himself.

"Get over here on the next flight, I swear to god" He mumbles, breathy, before continuing "Can't give me up, I know you can't"

You roll your eyes at his cockiness and take your hand away from yourself. If he’s lucky you'll call him again later to finish this. He’s always lucky with you.

"You're gonna have to beg me, you’ll have to show me show bad you want it” You tell him, voice all cool confidence because you know he can’t say no and you don’t want him to. “I’ll call you again in an hour and you better be ready to show me"

You both know you’re going to give in but it’s not about that, it’s about his supplication right now.

He sobs all sweat and breathlessness and sticky mess when you stop touching yourself and he hears the zip of your pants going back up. You give him a sweet smile but oh you’re going wild on the inside at every detail you can see on that bright little phone screen. You’d lick his release right off his hand if you could.

“Get cleaned up, messy boy. If you’re good you’ll get to see me come next time too”

He’s about to say something more but you won’t let him have the last word.

“And then we’ll talk about that flight”

You hang up.

He’ll give you exactly what you want and you’ll give him exactly what he wants, there’s no question. But the waiting only makes it more worthwhile for both of you.

[wrongcaitlyn]

Do you plan on making the talk ur talk universe a trilogy? If you do, then YAYYY MORE FAMOUS NICO, and if you don't, then YAYY I HAVE A NEW FAVORITE AUTHOR

this is HILARIOUS bc i was actually DEEPLY CONSIDERING IT. like. just a few weeks ago. see the thing was i made this playlist, and i was super into it, and i was like, well shit, i already have the rest of this outlined- would i be willing to go on further???

i'll give the gist of it here: basically a majority of the first fic was around the start of his career. this fic is centered around this one album that will come out in a long long time toward the end of the fic + the seven memoir.

the third fic WOULD (heavy emphasis on would bc i'm still not so sure abt it) be centered around the egot.

in case you don't know what that is, it's basically like this prestigious thing where you've won an emmy (tv shows), grammy (music), oscar (movie), tony (musical theatre)

i once responded to this comment on talk ur talk asking whether i was intending on nico ever achieving egot status and i said no, because i don't really see him straying too far from what he's doing rn - he writes music because he loves it, and for the art, not for the prestige, but that i could definitely see apollo getting an egot sometime in the future bc i had mentioned him already having an emmy, grammy, and oscar, so he would just have a tony left and lets be real he would slay on broadway

but then i got into this mini hyperfixation on - if nico were to ever receive egot status - how would he do that?? grammy's are a given, and i went down this rabbit hole for how he could win the others, sticking to the fact that he adamantly refuses to act

oscar would be easy, best original song - something like "no time to die" by billie eilish (which won the award) or "yellow flicker beat" by lorde are movie songs that i 100% think he could write

for the emmy's there's an award for like best documentary pop culture or something like that (i can't find the doc where i put all this in but trust that i did the research at some point) which he could def do, or something that like he collaborated with apollo for - a documentary of some sort

and here's where the mini hyperfixation came in - the tony. now here's the thing i don't actually know a lot abt musical theatre. i was in like two musicals in middle school and that's it. so i did a deep dive on all the musicals that have won tony's, listened to a few soundtracks, found out that the lightning thief got TOTALLY SNUBBED???

and then fell down the hadestown rabbithole

so i'll just leave this info right here - i gave so much detail bc i'm still not rlly sure if i ever want to go into this?? simply bc i *do* know quite a bit abt pop music/production from watching videos and documentaries and stuff, but i'm really not a musical theatre person. so.

we'll see if this ever actually becomes a thing, because i know that greatest of luxuries covers a huge timespan and i'll likely be working on this for *quite* a long time, and we'll see how much motivation i would have to continue it after this! if nothing else, i think i would def go back into the universe from time to time to write little oneshots just bc of how this au has become such a huge part of my lifesjdf

aside from that, THANK YOU SO SO MUCHSDKF <333 i definitely intend to continue writing more solangelo even after talk ur talk is over, i have *so* many other au ideas and wip's that maybe i'd finally get a chance to start once talk ur talk isn't consuming so much of my time!! (not in a bad way, i truly do love writing it) <3 thank you for the ask!!

oh also, bonus note: even if i do end up ending talk ur talk after greatest of luxuries, it most definitely won’t be the end of famous nico!! i love me some fame au’s and wouldn’t be able to be stopped from writing them even if i tried😭 id likely just try out a different form of a fame au at some point, like my actor!nico and country singer!will fic based on so american which i swear is still in progress im working on it it’ll get there !!!

[thebetawolfgirl]

Memory Of The Heart

Pairing:Timmy x Reader

Warnings: light smut, mentions of trauma and injuries.

A/N: Wrote this at 11pm at night.

Memory of the heart

Timothée was on the other side of the world when he got the call from his sister Pauline telling him that y/n had been in a terrible car crash near the Brooklyn Bridge.

‘She’s alive, the doctors are working on her now. She suffered sever head injuries,’

Timmy heard his sister let out a sob on the other end of the phone and fear struck him.

‘Pauline what is it?’

‘They said there are signs of brain damage. They won’t know until she wakes up.’ Pauline sobbed over the phone as Timmy fell against the nearest wall and slid down to the floor.

He sat there feeling numb as his sister explained how it was a head on collision and that y/n’s friend, Sarah who had also been in the car had died on site and the doctors said it was a miracle y/n even survived the crash because there was nothing left of the car when the paramedics reached them.

After a while Timmy hung up the phone and just lay there on the floor before slowly standing and looked around the room in his rented apartment. He was hoping y/n would be joining him overseas and they would spend much needed time together, with both their work schedules they had barely seen each other before he had to leave for shooting.

But now here he was in a big luxurious apartment while the love of his life was fighting to cling to hers in a hospital on the other side of the world.

He picked up the desk chair and flung it against the wall smashing it to splinters in his rage, before picking something else up and hurling it across the room. He continued trashing his room until he felt someone wrap their arms around him from behind restraining him from destroying anything else, he recognised the tribal tattoos instantly.

‘Jason LET ME GO!!’

‘Not until you calm down little brother.’

Timmy struggled against him desperately trying to get free from the large man’s grip.

‘C’mon man you being arrested won’t help y/n.’

Timmy struggled harder and clenched his jaw and began growling. Trying to wrench free,

‘Timmy please stop this you’re gonna hurt yourself PLEASE!’

He heard the female voice and spun round and saw Zendaya in tears with Rebecca and Oscar behind her at the door way.

‘You’re not the only one that’s cut up about this horrible situation, we all love y/n, you’re not alone in your pain, little brother.’ Jason whispered to him before Timmy deflated in his arms and allowed Jason to guide him to sit on the bed where Zendaya walked over to sit beside him and lay her head on his shoulder.

Timmy sat in his room with his movie family and fixed everything that wasn’t broken and put everything as it was as best they could.

It had been two weeks and Pauline called Timmy every day and kept him updated, now he was at the airport back home walking to his ride when he got a hyper call from his sister saying y/n was awake.

Timmy told his driver to step on it to the hospital when his sister told him y/n had no memory of anything or anyone and wouldn’t let anyone near her.

Timmy rushed to the hospital and sped up to the second floor to y/n’s ward, when he entered he heard voices and hesitantly entered y/n’s private room.

Y/n looked up scared and met the eyes of someone strangely familiar but still strange to her she watched him intently as he approached her bedside slowly and careful.

Who was this man, and why did she instantly feel, KNOW she could trust him. She held out her hand for hint to take and looked into his green eyes.

‘Do you remember me, my love?’ He asked hopefully.

Her head was blank, but her heart was screaming at her ‘HES YOURS!’

‘I’m Timmy. Timothée.’

She frowned shaking her head and whispered ‘No’

He looked at her heartbroken about to let go of her hand and she gripped them hard pulling them back to hers in a panic.

‘Don’t let me go. Don’t leave me.’

He gripped her hands and kissed her knuckles and she sighed relaxing a little.

He leaned forward hesitantly and kissed her forehead and is hopeful when she closes her eyes leaning into him.

Y/n was allowed to come home after a few more tests and although her mother wanted her home with her, y/n insisted she was going home with ‘the kind man who held her hand’

She still wouldn’t call him by his name. Insisting that wasn’t what she called him at home.

Timmy helped her out of the car and she looked up at the modest house.

‘I wanted to buy you a bigger house, so you could-

‘Live like the Queen I am.’ They looked at each other in shock. He nodded slowly and breathed out a ‘Yeah. That’s right.’ He smiled helping her in to the house as she looked around the house taking everything in.

‘I’ve set up a bedroom downstairs if you don’t want to risk the staircase just yet, and I’ve got all your favourite snacks in and I’ll make dinner for us tonight, or if you prefer I can order something in.’

She walked up to him and lay her hands on his chest before laying her head on on his chest and closes her eyes, he gently wraps his arms around her body and kissed the top of her head rubbing her back.

‘This feels normal.’ She whispers against his hoodie and his heart swells in his chest.

She pulls away smiling at him before turning and walking around and heads upstairs having a look around.

Timmy decides to put her things in the makeshift bedroom through the back while she familiarise herself with their home.

Y/n walks along the hall and finds the master bedroom and walks in and opens the wardrobes seeing his clothes hung up or folded neatly, she pulls out one of his hoodies and walks to the edge of the large bed and sitting down and brings the hoodie to her nose, inhaling. She was beginning to remember the boy she knew from high school, but still couldn’t remember his name. He said Timmy, but she knew him by another name, she was sure of it. Her heart didn’t know him as Timmy or Timothée.

She saw a photo on the bedside table and picked it up and got a flashback of a memory slamming into her mind.

‘Hal.’ She heard herself whispering in the flashback, she was all in white and he was in a black tuxedo. She dropped the photo on to the bed as she returned to the present and stood up slowly and walked back downstairs and found him in the kitchen she watched him finish cleaning the dishes and dry his hands.

He heard her voice before he saw her.

‘Hal.’

He stopped dead and turned slowly to face her to see her standing at the kitchen door watching him as his breath became heavy.

‘What?’

She smiled at him and walked over resting her hands on his chest looking up at him ‘Husband’

He grabbed her waist and slowly moved his head to the side and kissed her jaw gently before moving to her neck leaving a small trail of kisses down to her shoulder before burying his face in her neck holding on to her as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

‘I’m home.’

He held her tighter before lifting her on to the kitchen counter in front of him letting her wrap her legs around his waist, before capturing her lips in a gentle kiss which she returned whispering his middle name like a prayer in between kisses.

‘Hal’

She opened her mouth letting him deepen the kiss and gripped his shirt in her fist while tugging on his hair gently as he pulled her closer lifting her off the counter and carried her upstairs to their bedroom.

‘Y/n. My wife.’ He whispered as he lowered her back onto the bed and removed her top over her head and kissed down her neck, she reached up pulling his shirt off messing his hair even more and smiled as he carefully removed her sweatpants she had put on coming home from the hospital taking her underwear with them and tossing them aside.

She removed his own bottoms before pulling him on top of her whispering in his ear ‘Husband’ making him nuzzle her neck before moving up and kiss her slowly.

They had sex many times and had made love many times, all over the house, but this time was different, she had remembered him after so many weeks of waiting for her to do so.

Tonight he got her back, he was her Hal, her husband. She was his

y/n, his wife.

Tonight would be the first time they would be together in months.

He pushed into her as he kissed her slowly swallowing her gasps, as she clung to his arms digging her nails in and wrapped her legs around him making him push in further and deeper. He began moving against her slowly taking his time and buried his face in her neck and entwining their fingers together on the pillow and began thrusting into her a bit faster still taking time as she ran her hand up his back then dragging her nails lightly down again making him gasp against her throat and nip her shoulder gently causing her to gasp his name ‘Hal.’

He began thrusting a bit harder hearing small whimpers to escape her lips with each thrust of his hips.

‘Y/n.’ He wrapped his arm around her waist lifting her from underneath slightly making him go deeper as she gripped his shoulders with her nails pulling him up to kiss him deeply.

He kissed her back as they both came together, clinging to each other and breathing hard.

She ran her fingers through his hair as he lay on her chest catching their breaths in the aftermath,

he moved off her and rolled them so she lay on his chest and ran his fingers up and down her back watching her fall asleep.

‘I love you.’ He whispered and saw her smile sleepily.

‘I love you.’

‘What brought you back to me?’

She looked thoughtful entwining his other hand with hers.

‘My mind didn’t remember anyone, but my heart remembered you almost instantly. Without hesitation, I knew I trusted you. The second I saw you I felt my heart scream at me, she looked up at him ‘He’s yours.’

She saw his eyes flash before tearing up ‘Always’ he responded before pressing his lips against hers in a heated chaste kiss.

@sufferingstarlight

@gatoenlaciudad

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@tchalamss

[denimbex1986]

'LONG before Cillian Murphy there was Sam Waterston, and long before Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer there was Peter Goodchild’s Oppenheimer (BBC4, Friday), which is being reshown for the first time in decades.

Goodchild, who was interviewed by Variety last month to coincide with the film’s release, started his BBC producing career in radio drama and later moved to television with the science documentary series Horizon.

When Horizon diversified into science docudramas in the 1970s, Goodchild, who holds a chemistry degree, got to combine his two interests in a successful series about Marie Curie.

It was his idea to make a seven-part miniseries about J Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb, played by Waterston. First shown on BBC2 in 1980, Oppenheimer was a big hit with viewers and critics, winning three Bafta awards. It also garnered Emmy and Golden Globe nominations after it was shown on PBS in the United States.

The budget of £1.5m (about €7.5m today) – 90pc of it coming from the BBC, the rest from WGBH Boston – might seem like a grain of New Mexico sand compared with the £100m price tag of Nolan’s Imax epic.

Back then, however, it was a huge spend for a British drama.

A huge physical production, too, with scrupulous attention to detail. For maximum authenticity, Goodchild, now 83, told Variety, the Manhattan Project’s Los Alamos Laboratory was recreated on a purpose-built set in Colorado Springs, complete with water tower and replica bomb.

The supporting cast was made up almost entirely of American actors based in Britain.

Two notable exceptions were future Poirot star David Suchet as the excitable, voluble Hungarian physicist Edward Teller and Edward Hardwicke (Dr Watson to Jeremy Brett’s Sherlock Holmes) as his Italian colleague Enrico Fermi.

Viewers who have grown used to watching even modestly budgeted dramas shot on HD video that mimics celluloid film may find the switch from Oppenheimer’s interior scenes, which were mostly shot on videotape in a studio in the UK, to the ones shot on film in America a little jarring at first.

But the story is so engrossing you cease to be aware of the contrast after a while.

What’s remarkable is how well Oppenheimer, which was written by Peter Prince and directed by Barry Davis, holds up 43 years later.

There’s none of the slowness or staginess you sometimes see in dramas from the period. Friday’s opening two episodes positively zipped by.

They spanned the years 1938, when Oppenheimer was at the University of Berkley, to 1942, when Lieutenant General Leslie Groves (Manning Redwood), ignoring warnings about Oppenheimer’s long associations with active communists and championing of left-wing causes, put him in charge of the Manhattan Project, which was to be housed in a high-security facility in Los Alamos.

Waterston, just four years ahead of his best actor Oscar nomination for playing Siydney Schanberg in The Killing Fields, is fantastic as Oppenheimer.

You can see why the BBC was prepared to pay him well above the normal rate for appearing in one of its dramas and to put him up in a luxury hotel during filming.

He conveys Oppenheimer’s charisma, intelligence, brilliance and charm, especially to women.

But we also see his ruthlessness and arrogance.

When we meet him, he’s romantically involved with psychiatrist and communist Jean Tatlock (Kate Harper), who suffered from clinical depression (she died by suicide in 1944), yet thinks nothing of casting her aside when he sets eyes on his future wife Kitty Puening (Jana Shelden), who at that time is married to someone else.

They tumble into an affair. In one particularly cruel moment, he humiliates Jean by turning up at a dinner party at her home with Kitty on his arm.

Even at this stage, the seeds of Oppenheimer’s downfall are being sown. Naively unconcerned about the dangers of having communist friends, he doesn’t realise he’s already under FBI surveillance.

A terrific drama from a far more creative age of TV.'

[tonyspep]

and you can keep up all the chatter bout my happy ever after (cause all that really matters is he’s mine)

a/n: this is for @jostystyles 2.6k top tracks writing challenge celebration. the lyrics i chose were "i've got his name i've got his nights" from the song "bragger" by kelsea ballerini and the player i picked was erik johnson. his love interest is an actress who looks like camila mendes from riverdale, palm springs and do revenge. thanks to @fallinallincurls who helped me brainstorm and is just the best. gif credit goes to @landyskog​

~*~and you can keep up all the chatter bout my happy ever after~*~

(cause all that really matters is he's mine)

pairing: erik johnson x oc

summary: isabel ramos has always tried to keep her private life away from the white hot glare of the spotlight, but with a man like erik johnson on her arm, how can she not brag

rating: t

[red carpet debut]

he ain't from round

this side of town

but he fits into every crowd

and he knows just how to do my body and my heart right

At this point red carpets - for vanity liquor launches, for the latest Netflix drama or superhero tentpole flick to even the Oscars - Isabel had been there and done that. She knew what to expect; the white hot glare from all of the lights, the constant flashes of hundreds of cameras, forty different people shouting her name and of course the dozens of interviews from various entertainment news outlets.

Tonight - walking the white (pun intended) carpet - for the second season premiere of HBO Max's newest crown jewel in White Lotus would be just a little different. She wouldn't be walking the carpet alone. She knew everyone was gossiping about her and her co-star, the handsome British actor, Theo James, but tonight she was putting those rumors to bed for good.

Guiding her down the carpet for the first time was going to be her husband (yes, husband you read that right) Colorado Avalanche stalwart defenseman, Erik Johnson. Her lips couldn't help but curl proudly as her long time makeup artist worked her magic. Keeping things private was never easy, not even Ben and Jen had managed to keep their wedding reception from leaking. But Erik's teammates were sweet in respecting their wishes and her friends were all too familiar with things getting out to the public before you wanted them to.

She touched the four point five karat sapphire ring on her finger, her heart picking up speed while butterflies erupted in her stomach. She had done this a hundred times - since she was sixteen and had broken out on the soap opera General Hospital, playing mobster Sonny Corinthos's headstrong daughter whose mother was his former lover and attorney, Alexis Davis - but this was truly different. Even though she had walked carpets with her exes and flings and everything in between, Erik wasn't them. He was everything she had hoped and dreamed of as a girl watching every rom com she could get her hands on.

Slipping her wedding ring from her left ring finger to her right, she laughed softly. There were still some things they wanted to keep for themselves.

"Hola, esposa," Erik's jumbled Spanish made Isabel smile, her own dimples appearing to match his. "Nice try, Blanquito," Her voice was soft and placating but Erik took it in stride, her teasing making his stomach tumble like only she could.

Growing up with Brazilian parents, Isabel learned Spanish before she learned English and could speak conversational Portuguese as well. Erik was trying his hand at Spanish and more often than not he mostly succeeded in making her laugh as he asked why she couldn't just teach him the naughty words.

Once her makeup was finished, he let out a whistle at seeing her full white carpet look. A summery silk maxi dress in a deep green with a plunging neckline and silvery strappy heels while her velvet black hair was twisted into an elaborate braid crown gave her the glam of the star she was and kept with the show's luxury resort theme. It was hard to believe she was his. He was just a hockey player, a Minnesotan born and bred raised in his small town that somehow made it to the league, forget being drafted number one overall and now winning the Cup.

Their first night, the thin Mountain air around them, her sneaking into Denver on a private flight in the wee hours (Erik knew it wasn't his best display of leadership but fuck it, Isabel was too good to be true) on a game day, she told him - their bodies plastered together, sticky with sweat, that's what she liked most about him. That he was the small town boy who made good. It reminded her that she was a small town girl, having left her Brazilian tropical life behind, for a brighter future in the States, her parents wanting to give her everything they never had. That she was just Isabel. Not this international celebrity, a point of fascination for strangers, but a girl who ached for love like any normal person would.

Everything was dimmer with Erik on her arm - the white hot glare warm instead of intense, the shouting not as invasive - except her smile. She knew it was blinding as they posed, his large hand on the small of her back. She missed the cool metal of his ring against her skin but she would make do. No one needed to know everything about her.

The headlines from The Cut to Duemoix to TMZ came fast and furious once they were at the after party at Balthazar with the rest of the cast and director and creator, Mike White.

@IsabelRamosUpdates WE TOLD YOU!!! WE TOLD YOU!!! OUR GIRL DID NOT DISAPPOINT ON THE WHITE LOTUS RED CARPET. SHE LOOKED STUNNING IN VINTAGE CHANEL AND OH YEAH DID YOU SEE HER MAN???? CHECK HER FOLLOWS SHE'S BEEN FOLLOWING AND LIKING THE COLORADO AVALANCHE POSTS SINCE LAST JUNE!!! SHE HAD Y'ALL FOOLED WITH THOSE THEO JAMES RUMORS HA HA HA HA @TMZ @THECUT @VULTURE @USWEEKLY AND WE HAVE THE RECEIPTS

[screenshots of her likes] [video clip of her saying she does not have a man] [posing with fans at the avs playoff games] [instagram comments on @6erikjohnson6's photos/videos]

@IsabelRamosUpdates come to us for the real stuff our girl was slick and got herself one good looking man. 6 '4 235 SIGN US UP AND DOES HE HAVE FRIENDS???????????

@TMZ on the white lotus white carpet dazzling isabel ramos gushes about new man, hockey player erik johnson "he looks pretty good huh?" "i'm very happy" "oh i'm always at every game i can go to just because you haven't seen me doesn't mean I'm not there"

@USWeekly theo james who???? putting to bed those pesky rumors two time emmy nominee isabel ramos debuts hockey player beau on the white lotus red carpet. she jokes with our carrie reynolds "a lady doesn't kiss and tell buuuuut all that time on the ice has its benefits''

Isabel wasn't surprised how easily Erik fell in with the cast and crew, charming them like he had charmed her. She couldn't imagine being any happier and that meant she was entitled to brag, posting a black and white shot of them in a heated embrace in their private car on the way back to the hotel. His large hand slipping under the silk of her dress while her hands were tangled in his soft blonde hair, their lips locked in a steamy kiss.

@isabel life has never been this good @6erikjohnson6

[banner night]

i don't want to be a bragger

but my man's a heart attacker

like mcconaughey and jagger

Tonight at Ball Arena they would be raising the Avs Championship banner and she wouldn't have missed this for the world. Filming for her next project - playing Sue Storm in the upcoming MCU version of the Fantastic Four opposite Henry Golding as Reed Richards - wouldn't start until the next summer, so now she was in supportive wife (girlfriend to everyone else) mode. The custom denim jacket Mel Landeskog had made for herself and the other wives and girlfriends fit well. The burgundy crop top and ripped jeans were more sporty than she normally dressed but the platform sneakers made her feel more like herself, elevating her closer to Erik's towering height like her trustee heels would normally.

The hat she wore belonged to him, the scent of his cologne lingering and that distinctive warm vanilla and woodsy scent he naturally carried made heat course through her veins.

He was too good to be true, stepping out of their bedroom in his well fitted suit, the broadness of his shoulders too much for her to take.

As good as he looked in his suit, when he took the ice in his full pads and jersey, she couldn't resist snapping a picture and if her caption sent people spiraling oh well.

@isabel [picture of erik during warm ups] whatta man whatta man whatta whatta man whatta mighty mighty good man

@ISABELRAMOSUPDATES OUR GIRL IS THIRSTY AND WE SUPPORT IT GET IT QUEEN 

@tonyspep quote tweet STARS THEY'RE JUST LIKE US LOOK AT KRISTINA (she'll always be kristina from gh to me) THIRSTING OVER MY GUY ERIK JOHNSON YOU LOVE TO SEE IT

[live with kelly and ryan]

and he'd never tell you he don't want attention 

but he's just too damn good not to mention

"Now, Isabel…." Kelly started, waggling her eyebrows while Ryan laughed beside her. "Let's talk about this very handsome, very tall man named Erik Johnson. Have you heard of him? I hear you two are close."

"Have I heard of him? Hmmmm. His name sounds familiar. Would you happen to have a picture? Maybe if I saw what he looked like I could answer your question, Kelly." 

"Well, Ryan I do believe we have a few pictures don't we?"

"Yes, Kelly, I believe we do. Just queued up from Miss Ramos's instagram ready to go. Like this one from the night of the White Lotus premiere, you're amazing on the show by the way. There's also this one from Del Mar race track. This one is from their kitchen. People eat on counter tops, young lady. And oh this one is from the night his team raised their championship banner."

"Huh, I guess I do know Erik Johnson. Oh my Gosh he will kill me for this as he likes to think he's all mysterious. He's really a big teddy bear. He throws his weight around on the ice and all that, but when we have down time we're usually with our horses and dogs and he loves those animals so much. We have our five dogs and then we foster Berners and Goldens, too. So it's crazy at home sometimes and that's actually how we met; I ride, I've done it since I was five back in Brazil and he raises race horses. And it doesn't help that he looks very good in his jeans on the ranch."

"And on the ice, too. Judging by this comment on the picture you posted of him. Is this what the kids would call thirsty, Ryan?"

"You would have to ask the kids, Kelly."

"Oh my gosh! Stop it!"

"We'll be right back with more Isabel Ramos after the break where we promise to ask her about the crazy second season of her show White Lotus!"

[one year later]

i've got his nights, i've got his name

there ain't no shame in this girl's game

if he were yours you'd do the same without apologizing

@isabel [picture of her and erik lounging by the pool his hand on her butt, wedding ring on display] [picture of them with her hand on his abs, her ring on display]

now playing "bragger" by @kelseaballerini i've got his nights/i've got his name #itsisabeljohnsonbitch

@ISABELRAMOSUPDATES [SCREAMING] OUR GIRL WENT AND DROPPED A WHOLE NEW NAME!!! WE HAVE TO RUN SCREAMING INTO THE NIGHT AS WE CHANGE OUR @ BECAUSE QUEEN HAD A WHOLE SECRET WEDDING!!! AND OMG LOOK AT THAT ROCK!!! ALSO THOSE ABS ON HUBS WE ARE LOOKING AND NOT RESPECTFULLY WE MIGHT BE BACK IDK WE ARE HAVING A FULL ON MELTDOWN GAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

TMZ newsroom "okay wow wow that is all i have to say!!! wow!!! over the weekend superstar isabel ramos broke the internet with her reveal that she is MARRIED!" harvey yelled.

"you guys," charlie gushed. "this is aaaaamazing. like first of all the pics she dropped were hot af. like look at her! and look at her husband!"

"charlie is plotting how she can reveal jake as her surprise husband," derek joked. 

@USWeekly SECRETLY MARRIED!!!!! [pictures of erik and isabel]

Their phones hadn't stopped buzzing and eventually Erik put them on do not disturb. Rolling over so her lithe frame was pinned under his bigger, stronger body, he started to kiss her neck, slow and sweet the way she liked best.

Her back arches, bare breasts rubbing against his bare chest. She sighs softly, her tongue melting with his own as they kiss. Her fingers rake across the muscles in his broad back while his hands mold to her curves, feeling every inch of her porcelain skin.

"Should we get started on a secret baby now?" He asks, lips sucking at her perky breasts. "Who says we haven't been already?" She arches a perfectly shaped brow.

"Izzy," He's the only one who calls her that and hearing it, so soft and hopeful but still with that growling edge because he wants her so bad, makes her heart skip several beats. "It's too soon to know for sure," Her cheeks flush, soft smile on her pretty lips. "But I'm late." She confesses and by the pool, in the hot Denver sun Erik shows her just how bad he wants to start their family if they haven't already.

[ten months later]

if he were a wine he'd be the shelf at the top (top)

if he were a house he'd be the end of the block (block)

walked up to my heart and went knock knock knock

so i've got to show him off

@isabeljohnson this isn't a surprise @6erikjohnson6 and i could keep a secret matteo "matty" david johnson was born yesterday at mount sinai. he weighed in at 7 pounds and twenty one inches long and we couldn't love him more #mama #daddy

[picture of isabel, erik and matty]