#also I could take time off like a Friday-Sunday but flying all the way to either Vancouver or Quebec is pricy or even Toronto or NB same | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suzie-shooter · 1 year

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Detroit Indycar GP : James Blair race commentary highlights

“Dare I say - strap yourselves in, 'cause this could be a long one. This could be lengthy.”

(James at this point blissfully unaware he's about to spend the next two and a half hours in exquisite agony unable to look at his phone while knowing it's blowing up)

They reckon the track's a little bit of a pig of a thing from chatting to a couple of the guys over there. Some have said, and I won't name names, that it's the worst track they've ever been to in their life.

Indy500 last week, I didn't unfortunately catch it. (it's ok James we know you were getting steamed on a superyacht at the time)

A lot of discussion around a couple of things. First of which was who's the hottest Indycar driver? [...] For me though I think I have to go into the Newgarden camp, as far as just raw hotness. He also has piqued an interest in the role of the financial services sector which is attractive to me. It's a trait I look for in all my lovers.

(sticking the rest under a read more because it gets LONG)

We're going to get a replay here of Pato O'Ward making a total penis of himself at turn three in Indianapolis.

Getting replays of Newgarden with lipstick on his face and pouring milk on his head - without context that could sound like a real night out.

Fuck me, what a waste of time that monologue was. Jesus Christ.

I've already labelled [Newgarden] the hottest in the paddock. [...] What a stallion. What a total stallion. Backbone even.

There's a shot of Marcus in the background there, getting his kit off.

Little bit of insurance chat for you there.

The Canadian national anthem. Well this is a strange turn of events.

There's Marcus and Lissie. Guess it's out now. Pffft.

Ohh there's so many messages coming in *wheezes* (never has a man managed to simultaneously look so pleased with himself and so absolutely horrified 😆)

Sorry. What for? Nothing.

And then it's Marcus Armstrong P11, car number 11. Fuck he loves a P11. Fuck me he loves a P11.

Few opinions flying around. [...] I'm not saying anything sir. [...] I'm just going to get the live timing open. And we're not going to talk about that.

I can't wait to speak to [Clem]. Tough day for him.

We can ride on board Kyle Kirkwood's camera, so I can keep an eye on the arse of Marcus Armstrong. Business as usual here at Screaming Meals.

"Has he started showering because of her?" I don't believe so.

I want [the winner] to be Armstrong, he's got rapid pace, I don't know how he managed to shit the bed in Q2 yesterday the way he did.

You know that meme, right? Of Carlos Sainz - being like - shall I do the accent? Yeah, fuck it I'll do the accent - "I seriously don't know how to react right now." That's how I feel.

Pull yourself together Blair. It's going to be a long couple of hours.

Sack Monaco off. The only reason I went this year is 'cause Marcus wasn't racing at the 500. But dare I say if he is racing next year you won't catch me anywhere near Sass Cafe on Sunday night. I will be up it in Indianapolis.

Hahahaha ohhhh you will not believe who's just text me....it ain't Clem.

Flava Flav was there on Friday which was pretty cool. Flava Flav...second biggest celebrity in Detroit right now.

This is record numbers for a commentary.

Where's Armstrong? Fucking around as per usual.

Next pod - hopefully in the next couple of days. Marcus is flying back I think tomorrow. Don't know who the guest's going to be on the next pod. We haven't really got around to arranging that yet. Sort of flying by the seat of our pants so to speak.

F for Ilott [...] he'll have an excuse, sure as death and taxes, Callum Ilott will have a reason for what happened and why it wasn't his fault. From where I'm sitting that does look like a bit of a fuck up, I hate to throw him under the bus.

Callum Ilott's car looking like it was taking a fancy to the back end of Kyle Kirkwood's car, to get little a bit National Geographic on it.

Anyone got any questions? That you think I'll actually answer? "Tell us about Monaco," I'll tell you about Monaco. "Where's Clem?" Clem is in Barcelona, drinking a lot of sangria.

"When are you and Clem announcing together?" Pretty sure me and Clem were already pretty public, so, um, I don't know how much more social media attention that particular relationship needs.

Dream podcast guest? I'd like to get on like some real psychopath and just give them a hard time.

That's going to make things a little bit more straightforward, and I needed that this evening, because something tells me that by the time I've finished this Twitch stream, things might not be so straightforward.

[Marcus is] getting absolutely fondled verbally by the commentators here and I'm loving every second of it.

I reckon next lap he's going to be all over him, like sauce.

I'm going to be bald at the end of this race. Balder than Marcus Armstrong.

Callum looks angry. Okay, he did say it's his bad, so I'm not going to get an absolute tongue lashing from Ilott which sounds filthier than I meant it to, for saying that that one might be his fault.

Nobility and humility exemplified as per usual from Callum 'Pilot' Ilott there.

There's actually a few things in the works, with a couple of different organisations and people which should mean that the days of the lengthy gaps between Screaming Meals episodes could be numbered. And that's all I'm legally allowed to say.

Marcus is back to P11 somehow.

We'd quite like to get some Formula E guys, we'd quite like to get some more industry people. Such as, you know, for example, you know, maybe Lissie Mackintosh, she was a good industry person that we had on. Marcus really liked her actually.

Power's on fire. Not literally.

Grosjean's just taken a different piece of tarmac and he's gonna go straight to the pitlane, I'm not even sure if that's for a pitstop, I think that could just be to avoid embarrassment.

There's a lot of people watching me all of a sudden and everyone keeps talking about Max Fewtrell so I can only imagine that this is his fault, but I'm streaming off my phone so I can't actually phone him to figure out whether or not this is his fault. Okay, so Max sent all of his viewers here. Thank you Max, appreciate the gesture.

So. Yeah. I found out the week leading up to Long Beach. And Clem was with me at the time, and we were in Malibu actually, and he'd been winding me up all week about like celebrities that he'd seen and I didn't see [...] and the phone rings and we get this piece of news and I just kicked off, I said right, I've had enough of both of you trying to wind me up with these stupid false celebrity stories, just - shut up, like - talk about something else - good try but you're not getting me that easy. And then the longer the silence went on, the longer I - the worse I thought the joke was getting. And then it went on further and I realised it wasn't a joke. And - all - all is well in the world of Screaming Meals. It's all good, it's all good. But it has been a funny few months. That's all you're getting. Watch the viewer number plummet.

Gearbox issue [for Pato] by the looks of it. Oh no! Anyway.

Armstrong's done Malukas, good job [...] so Armstrong to P12. Right in between his two favourite positions. I'm staying way away from that one.

An open diff which again sounds quite dirty.

He'll be saying get the fuck out of the way inside his lid. No, he probably won't be, he's pretty chilled behind the wheel actually, Marcus. Before and after the race he's an absolute misery to be around, but during the race he's usually actually pretty calm.

The two Marcuses of Chip Ganassi Racing, or Marci as they should be known in correct Latin [...] I think that can be a thing, Marci? The two Marci? Does sound a little bit like some sort of disease though, no? You decide in the chat, is Marci is the plural of Marcus? I mean they've got to come up with some sort of solution at Chip Ganassi Racing. I guess they probably call them like normal Marcus and like Marcus Armstrong. Or maybe shower-Marcus and non-shower-Marcus. Or underwear-Marcus and non-underwear-Marcus, I mean the options are limitless.

Pato O'Ward searching around the car for somebody else to blame.

What does twitter look like? Is it a complete nightmare or is it somewhat civilised? I don't even know why I asked [...] 'twitter is mad' - oh no! [...] 'all good - for Lissie' - oh god [...] hey look I need to know how my Monday looks tomorrow people. Jeepers creepers.

Armstrong got drilled by Newgarden.

Here's O'Ward - whose fault was it this time?

Apparently tumblr's lost it [...] it's been a long time since I've had a tumblr account.

Somebody's just said I have full permission to pick their next tattoo. Um. Here's what I was thinking of getting - and I don't have any tattoos and I don't want any tattoos - but I was thinking if I did get one I'd get one like here [his forearm] to try and be a fake Love Islander. And I'd either get something that is really important to me or something that is completely stupid like for example, 'I'll have the tuna carpaccio'...would be something that's really meaningful to me.

So we're an hour and forty into this stream and I've not had the opportunity to check my phone - let's keep this in mind - once since it started. I feel like a plane that was also in the air in 9/11 and you've just got no idea the horrors that await you when you land.

Screaming Meals merch - it's imminent but it's not this week, put it that way.

It looks like Herta's going to have a tough time with that front wing going forward, it's already flapping around like nobody's business, like a big dick in a locker room.

Little bit of rubbing - bit rude [...] just a little bit of a love rub from Rossi up the inside of Rosenqvist.

If [Grosjean] does get a penalty it's another spot for Armstrong so if you ask me he's guilty as sin, but I'm not exactly sure what the crime was.

'We' being Marcus Armstrong, if you hadn't pieced that one together, because it's a collective, it's a team effort, and I like to take credit that I'm probably not entitled to.

Ilott's bull really did try to mount his cow there.

Come on Armstrong, pull your finger out of your arse.

Marcus apparently taking some credit for some things that I said. Situation normal.

[RLL] were actually looking like one of our options at one point last year. But we got Ganassi...and we're very happy, we love Ganassi here at Screaming Meals.

Graham Rahal's going to want to just go back to his hotel room, order a Pizza Hut and just about all of the hotel room porn that the TV has to offer.

Marcus has done fucking well to avoid that one, because he's swung round the corner at full tit and he's had to really stick the arse out a bit and get it round him.

Dixon says he's got speed, apparently. Sounds like a good night out.

Matt...somebody very popular called Matt has just joined the...oh Matt! G'day Matt Gallagher, how you going mate?

Come on Armstrong, just get on the button [...] and he's been caught napping a bit on the restart, you useless prick.

666 viewers...

Armstrong or Dixon - don't you make me answer that question. Nah, not answering that one. I don't know if I can. I couldn't answer it if I wanted to.

Does Kirkwood still have to pit or is he good? I don't know. James are you okay? I don't know.

And now we're having to fend off Ericsson - just put him in the wall Marcus, we can't afford to give up P7 now.

And it's going to be Armstrong with a best equal result of P8 in the NTT Data Indycar series and um - yeah. I wonder what the rest of his day's going to look like...

#james harvey blair #marcus armstrong #screaming meals #detroit gp 2023 #lissie mackintosh #clement novalak #screaming meals recap

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thebirdandthebee · 2 years

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Easy As

A Carmen Berzatto Universe

A/N: Thanks for your patiences while I was out of town! This was another request - see below. My request box is still open :)

Vanessa Monaghan is the breath of fresh air that Carmen had been gasping for.

Page 13: Tostones

“You’ll be back before you know it,” Carmen reassured as the taxi driver loaded the suitcase and tote, hugging Vanessa tightly.

“M’gonna miss you,” she mumbled into his chest, her winter coat bundled in his arms.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, baby,” Carmen kissed her cheek, rubbing up and down her back. “I’ll come pick you up at the airport on Sunday,” he reminded. “If you don’t get in the car soon, you’re gonna be late.” Vanessa nodded, taking a step back. “Give me a kiss,” he demanded softly, to which she complied, pressing her lips to his.

“Text you before takeoff,” she promised.

Carmen saw her car off, sighing, before turning back into the building. Heading up the elevator, the apartment felt different with Vanessa gone. Sure, he’d been in there alone plenty of times in the last 10 months, but knowing she was on her way to another state for a whole week wasn’t quite the same.

Vanessa had been asked to speak at a marketing summit in Miami for the week, participating in a keynote tomorrow, Tuesday, and a panel on Friday afternoon. She’d fly back Saturday morning, leaving Carmen on his own the entire week.

They had really hit their stride with timing and at the point in their relationship, when all they wanted to do was be together, it was awful being apart.

The first day went by quickly.

Carmen was busy with work and Vanessa was doing a lot of networking and mingling with young professionals who were clamoring to get an internship in her office.

Every time she changed, she’d send picture of her outfit to Carmen. He looked forward to her updates every day, but especially her pajamas at night, which usually included his boxers or his old Cubs T-shirt.

The second day wasn’t so bad either, there was less texting between the two of them – Vanessa in the thick of keynotes and networking, and Carmen working on The Bear’s fiscal year-end paperwork.

On the morning of Day Three, Vanessa gave Carmen an early-morning FaceTime call.

“Hi Gorgeous,” he greeted, having just returned from the farmer’s market. He was meeting with a few vendors there and snagged a few healthy handfuls of kale to make wedding soup.

“Hi baby,” Vanessa sighed an exhale, her hair in rollers but her makeup all done. She propped her phone up on the bathroom vanity and he watched, enraptured, as she went about taking down her hair in a plush robe.

“How’s Miami?” He asked, leaning over the kitchen island.

“Not as warm as I’d like, but the conference has been good,” she replied. “There’s also this sweet little Cuban coffee shop across from the hotel, but the mom of the owner makes tostones and black beans and rice every morning, you’d just die,” she gushed. “Can you try and make them for me when I come home?” She asked, fluffing up her hair in a way that made her look like his personal 90’s wet dream.

“Yeah, I can try,” he laughed.

“There’s also a stray cat that like lives in the hotel, he’s so sweet,” she sighed. “Should we get a kitty?”

“Ness, you’re allergic,” Carmen reminded her.

“I know, but I could get medicine for it,” she said thoughtfully, carrying her phone over to the main room and propping it up in her closet. Dropping her robe, he eyed her with precision in her black bra and matching thong.

“Hi beautiful,” He murmured, feeling heat at his temples as she held up two dresses against her body.

“Blue or green?” She asked, checking out her options in her reflection of the phone. “Blue,” she decided.

“Blue,” he agreed, though she’d look beautiful in anything. The dressed slipped down the figure of her body like silk and she spent the next few moments adjusting.

“Okay baby, I’m going to take off, I’m meeting a group of college grads for coffee so they can grill me,” she sighed, picking up the phone again and stepping into her heels.

He watched her spritz her perfume across the line of her collarbone and felt a longing tugging at his belly button. Damn, he missed her a lot. He could smell the perfume from Chicago.

“Call me tonight?” He asked, leaning back against the sink and tucking his free hand across his chest into his underarm.

“Of course,” she smiled, pursing her lips in a kiss before ending the call. Looking down he could see he was half-hard in his joggers. At least he had plenty of Vanessa’s outfit photos to get him through the morning.

That night was a different story. The day had gotten away from both of them, and as Carmen was riding the train back toward the apartment, his phone dinged.

He was grateful there was no one sitting next to him when he opened his texts from Vanessa to see a handful of racy shots of her in her bra and panties – some with either one or the other. His favorite was the one of her in his old Cubs shirt – nipples visible through the fabric as she fisted it to cover between her legs, but her bare hips on display.

From: Vanessa

My fingers aren’t as good since I know what yours feel like.

One more jostle from the train and Carmen was going to pop a full boner.

Carmen didn’t want to remind her of the time left apart, so instead of messaging her fuck that conference, come home, he went another angle.

To: Vanessa

You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life and when you get home I’m going to fuck you absolutely dumb.

Across the country in Miami, Vanessa giggled wildly, feeling like she was back in high school with a crush on the quarterback. But with Carmy, it as more like a crush on the A/V Club President.

Vanessa got through Day Five slowly. The coffee wasn’t helping the way she needed it to and she’d had just enough of fluorescent lighting and young professionals handing her their resumes. She admired their gas, but now, on Thursday, knowing she wasn’t going home until Saturday, she was pretty miserable.

Skipping lunch at the conference, she grabbed a salad at her hotel before flopping on her bed. She knew Carm would be at The Bear in the thick of lunch prep, so she called her Dad and chatted with him for a while instead. The afternoon passed slowly and she flopped on her bed after arriving home after a happy hour that evening.

From: Vanessa

Can you send me some nudies, I miss you.

Carmen shook his head as he checked his phone in the office

To: Vanessa

At work, sorry, miss you too beautiful.

She laughed, knowing full well that he would never send her nudes regardless of whether or not he was at work.

From: Vanessa

Just a little selfie? I want to see your cute face.

Carmen cleared his throat, fixing just a curl or two before snapping a photo of himself at his desk before sending it off.

From: Vanessa

You have all day Saturday off, right?

Carmen didn’t get a chance to reply before another text pinged.

From: Vanessa

We’re gonna need a full day.

Carmen still wasn’t sure how he got so lucky with her.

Vanessa really did try to make the best of her last day in Miami. She went for a run in the morning, grabbed a coffee and tostones from her favorite little spot and took a painstaking amount of time on her hair and makeup. She moderated a panel on the last afternoon and turned down the conference-ending activities to go back to her room, pack and turn in early.

Vanessa’s flight left Miami at 7 a.m. and put her back at Midway by 9 a.m. Carmen was already waiting at baggage claim with a Cuban coffee in his hands when she appeared at carousel 4.

“Carmen,” she breathed, feeling the tightness across her shoulders lax.

“Hi baby,” he greeted, having just enough time to set the two cups down before hugging her tightly. He stroked his hand down her hair and kissed her cheek over and over as she squeezed him. “Kiss me, I missed you,” he commanded softly, to which Vanessa gladly obeyed.

“Missed you more,” she sighed against lips.

“Don’t leave again any time soon,” he advised, slanting his mouth over hers.

“Take me home,” she all but begged.

“I’ll grab your suitcase, you zip up this coat,” he tugged on the zipper of her cropped puffer. The ride back from the airport to the condo felt longer than ever, but just moments after arriving home, Carmen was pinned to the sofa, Vanessa in his lap as she kissed him fervently.

“Is it pathetic that every day I thought about how much I missed you?” She asked, holding the back of his neck in her laced fingers, her thumb running over his Adam’s apple.

“If it is, then I’m equally pathetic,” Carmen said, looking up at her with pure adoration in his eyes.

“I’ve never felt like this about another person,” Vanessa confessed, pressing her hips forward into him. “I wanna be with you all the time,” she leaned into Carmen’s touch as he ran his hand through her hair gently.

“I think for me – it’s you,” he said sincerely.

Vanessa didn’t care they hadn’t been together for a year yet – she agreed with a kiss.

#Carmy #care #carmy smut #Carmen Berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fluff #Carmen berzatto x ofc #carmen berzatto x oc #the bear #the bear hulu #carmy the bear

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bigreputation92592 · 2 months

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The world is an enchanting place, filled with a harmonious blend of strength and gratitude. 💖💕💞💕💕💞💕💖💖

Dear Taylor Alison Swift, @taylorswiftsdaily

I hope all is well with you. I wrote you this letter, I hope you find a way and get to read it. My name is Kelley Sagiv. I just wanted to express my deep admiration for YOU, Taylor Swift. You have been a source of inspiration and have played a significant role in helping me through difficult times.

When I was ten years old, my family and I decided to take a road trip to Florida to celebrate Passover with my extended family members. On Saturday, April 12, 2003, we embarked on a road trip from Brooklyn, NY, to Florida. When we arrived in South Carolina on Sunday, April 13, 2003, I asked my mother, "What time is it?" She said, "It's 1:30 p.m., Kelly," and my whole world changed in an instant. Tires were screeching, and horns were blowing, but I did not hear anything. I was ejected along with my father, sister Lily, twin sister Ashley, and two dogs from the SUV. Luckily, an off-duty nurse was driving behind our vehicle at the time. I had a brainstem injury what led me to became quadriplegic and vocal cords paralysis.

Life, as we both know, paints its canvas with both triumphs and tribulations. Through the highs and lows, your melodies have resonated with the echoes of my heart, serving as a sanctuary during moments of uncertainty and despair. @taylorswift @taylornation

My sister Lily and I share a unique bond, forged not only in the crucible of paralysis but more profoundly, in our shared love for you, Taylor Swift music. We've playfully altered lyrics, adapting words to resonate with our own experiences. In the album Fearless, Taylor Swift sing, "You Belong With Me, She wears high heels, I wear sneakers, She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers, and we added I'm on a wheelchair." A playful twist capturing the spirit of our shared journey. We also frequently create videos where we recite the bridge sections of Taylor Swift songs. Lily and I both find Your music to have a therapeutic effect.

I love all your songs, but I truly relate more to the song "Clean" from the 1989 album. I know "Clean" is about someone getting clean and recovering from drugs, which doesn’t apply to me, but I relate to the lyrics in a different way. Every day, I feel like I'm struggling with myself. Being quadriplegic and having vocal cord paralysis, I constantly feel like, "The water filled my lungs; I screamed so loud, but no one heard a thing."

In 2016, a Friday night marked the onset of symptoms—coughing up green phlegm and difficulty breathing. Hospitalized and diagnosed with pneumonia, all I craved in solitude was the comfort of your music. My sister Lily, understanding the healing power of your lyrics, joined me, and together we playfully adapted "Clean" to capture the moment.

All I wanted to do was change another lyric to Taylor’s song; Lily and I decided to change the lyrics to "Clean," "The water filled my lungs; I screamed so loud, but no one heard a thing," and I added, "Medicine drips; now I could finally breathe!" A week later, discharged from the hospital, your music became the melody of my recovery.

Your lyrics are not just verses; they are profound reflections of the human experience. As you sing in "All Too Well," "Time won't fly; it's like I'm paralyzed by it. I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it." This sentiment resonates deeply with me—I, too, am on a journey to rediscover and love myself again, to reclaim the person I was before my accident. @taylorswift

Taylor, your music has been my refuge and a conduit for self-expression when words failed. Your ability to transmute heartbreak into power has guided me through moments of heartache, resilience, and growth. "Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby" mirrors the vulnerability I've known, your music reflecting my path of self-discovery. @longlovelive @tswiftdaily

There are instances when I get the sensation that I am conversing with a ghost who is there in the room while I am talking to myself. My mood swings fluctuate like a scale that fluctuates up and down. It's never consistent. My critical internal monologue tells me that I am ugly, fat, hopeless, and worthless, and have a big, unsightly nose. It also tells me that I am obese. In my opinion, there will never be anyone who wants to be with me. In my mind, I think that my friends only spend time with me because they feel sorry for me and want to make me feel better about myself. I feel like this is the only reason they hang out with me. I know it’s not true. I know that they really love me and want to hang out me. It’s only my brain making up these thoughts, but I can’t help but feeling like this. Sometimes I get the impression that no one appreciates my personality or the kind of person I am. I get the feeling that I am "always" the problem, much like how Taylor Swift referred to herself in the song "Anti Hero" from her album "Midnights," saying "It's me, Hi!" I'm the problem; it's me, it's me, hi! I'm the problem; it's me. Everybody agrees. I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero." @taylornation @taylor-swiftfacts

In the darkest corners of my existence, your songs became beacons of hope. Your words inspired me to fight through adversity, to never lose sight of the strength within. "I best believe I'm still bejeweled. When I walk in the room, I can still make the whole place shimmer" encapsulates the essence of standing tall despite the storms.

Most of my life, I've been embarrassed about my appearance, and sometimes I feel like everyone around me is "gorgeous on the inside and outside." While I'm like the ugly duckling of the wicked west, who has no regard for her own appearance because she believes she’s to worthless, unattractive, useless, and fat to everyone around her, according to her, she does not believe she is worthy as a person and will never find true love. The more I look around, the more I find myself feeling jealous of what other people are doing in my environment that I am not able to do. When I see people doing everything, they want without depending on anyone, I become emotional, teary-eyed, and depressed. I believe in my heart that they live a better life than I do. They do not need to rely on anyone for assistance, as I do. When I am among other people, sometimes I feel like saying, "Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby." "And I'm a monster on the hill." Mentioned in the song, “Anti- Hero” by Taylor Swift from her “Midnights” album. @taylorswiftstyle

Unfortunately, scalpers purchased most of the tickets, and each ticket is triple the price! Wheelchair-accessible tickets cost more than regular tickets. I find it disgusting and unpleasant. I feel like scalpers bought the wheelchair accessible tickets on the floor and then changed the price for each wheelchair accessible ticket by quadrupling the price. They take advantage, and it’s disgraceful! I needed to purchase at least 5 tickets, and each ticket costs $2700, and that doesn't include the tax fees.

I purchased tickets to Taylor Swift’s concert in April and planned on coming to the concert on Sunday, May 28 at MetLife Stadium; however, about on April 14, 2023, I got a major infection and was hospitalized for a month. I became septic from a UTI, and the infection spread to my lungs, and I got double pneumonia.

As I navigate life's twists and turns, I am profoundly grateful for the gift of your artistry. Your ability to capture the complexity of human emotions has made you a timeless beacon of strength and vulnerability. During moments of uncertainty, when life threw unexpected twists my way, your lyrics provided comfort and understanding. "Shake It Off" became an anthem, a reminder to dance through difficulties and let go of what I couldn't control.

On a ventilator, fighting to breathe, your music played on repeat, providing a steady rhythm in moments where breathing became a fight. Your resilience once again became a guiding light, illuminating a path of optimism and hope.

My sister Lily constantly played Taylor Swift's music on repeat or on shuffle with all her albums, knowing how much her music filled my heart. In the hospital, my sister Lily even made posters to put on my wall saying, "Shake it off, shake it off!"

On May 6th, I was discharged from the hospital, but unfortunately, I had to stay in Florida for my recovery. Unfortunately, I was unable to travel to New York to attend The Eras Tour.

I was depressed and heartbroken when I had to miss the eras tour in MetLife Stadium. I felt my world was over I experienced a profound sense of despair, sorrow, and anguish. I wasn't sure if I would ever get the opportunity again to attend The Eras Tour. But Taylor Swift, you filled me with renewed optimism when you revealed that you would be including additional shows in Miami, Florida on October 18, 19, and 20. I was filled with immense joy and a sense of elation.

I was extremely delighted to learn that you have included additional Eras Tours in Miami on Sunday, October 20, 2024. I successfully obtained a pre-sale code and received it. However, when I attempted to enter the queue waiting room half an hour before the ticket sale began, I encountered an issue and was unable to access the room. For an hour, it wasn’t working for me. At 3:45 p.m., I was finally able to enter the queue waiting room, but I found myself 8,000 spots behind everyone else. When it was my turn, every ticket that I was about to buy said that someone had already beaten me to those tickets. Each time I attempted, it consistently provided me with the same response. Sadly, I couldn’t purchase any tickets.

I understand that being a verified fan does not guarantee the purchase of tickets. Unfortunately, Ticketmaster did not offer any tickets that were accessible for individuals with disabilities. I am deeply disappointed by Ticketmaster's decision to not offer any ADA-accessible tickets. It is truly disheartening and unacceptable.

I am having the same issues that I previously had to try to purchase Taylor Swift tickets. The scalpers and other people are selling Taylor Swift tickets to The Eras Tour in Miami on Sunday, October 20, 2024, each ticket is selling for $5000+. I’m trying everything I can think of to be at The Eras Tour in Miami on Sunday, October 20, 2024. I would be so grateful and feel like the luckiest person in the world if you would pick me to receive the hat giveaway during the performance of the song "22" and give it to me. I am going to be at the Eras Tour in Miami, no matter what. If I must spend thousands of dollars for each ticket, then that’s what I will do.

My transformation into a Swiftie began when I first heard "Love Story," a song from the Fearless album. Being a Swiftie has always been dear to my heart, and it only gets stronger with every passing day or year.

Taylor, your impact on my life is immeasurable. Your music has been a steadfast companion, a testament to the transformative power of art. I extend my deepest gratitude for the strength, inspiration, and solace your music has gifted me.

I wish that we were friends in person. I wish that we talk and tell each other everything. I want to learn everything from you. I want to learn how to be more confident in myself, how to love myself, and how to be a greater person. I would be so grateful and feel like the luckiest person in the world if you could pick me to receive the hat during the performance of the song "I’m feeling 22" and give it to me. I didn’t purchase tickets for the Eras Tour in Miami on Sunday, October 20, 2024. But no matter what I need to do, I’ll be present at the eras tour on Sunday, October 20,2024, in Miami.

I’m trying everything I can think of to be at The Eras Tour in Miami on Sunday, October 20, 2024.

My transformation into a Swiftie fan began when I heard "Love Story," a song from the Fearless album. Being a Swiftie fan has always been dear to my heart, and it only gets stronger with every passing day or year.

Thank you for being a source of inspiration, a constant presence in my life. I eagerly anticipate the day when I can attend one of your performances, not just as a fan, but as someone whose life has been profoundly touched by your art.

I am quadriplegic and have vocal cord paralysis, but I still know how to shake it off! And dance like a disco ball who is always shining bright like a shimmery diamond.

Thank you, Taylor Swift, for taking the time to read my letter; I respectfully await your reply, as this is extremely important to me. @taylorswift @taylornation

With heartfelt gratitude,

Kelly Sagiv

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popcornforone · 2 years

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The Innocent Boyfriends Fics:- The Fashion Of Three Words

Why am i writing stuff like this & not what I’m meant to like my actual reviews? Oh well.

Once again mainly fluff & pining, nothing to strong. Anything implied is your head thinking it*wink wink*. Hope your enjoying these.Sorry this one’s long I went off on a tangent half way through.

A Saturday dinner reservation suddenly appears on your calendar while you are at work doing your 9to5 in the Tuesday. You almost spit your coffee out. This means he’s coming home, even if it’s just for one night & even if it’s linked to him doing press before hand, he’s at least going to be home for Saturday & Sunday. You do very quickly msg him & say this is happening right? This isn’t an error. Almost instantly a reply says no, it’s happening & it’s not press linked. We are going out for dinner drinks & dancing & im going to show you off to the city. Your smile you are unable to hide. Your colleague, who never picks up on anything, even says oooh what’s happened to put a spring in your step. You blush & say you’ve got a date. She has no idea that you are dating such a handsome & well known person.

The week flys by & is also so slow too. When you walk through the door at 6pm, he’s not there. You didn’t think he would be but your heart still falls a little when he isn’t. You do your normal Friday night stuff & it’s as you get half way through your film when you get a txt saying he’s on the plane. You know he’s not going to be here now until the early morning. You go to bed in the spare room, something you always do when he gets in late. He asked you to move in 18months ago as a friend, when your lease was up & he was dating someone else, & he needed someone to be in the flat more, but feelings blossomed since then & now you share everything. You know he will need his sleep, so you don’t want to be disturbed.

Upon waking up in the morning it’s raining. It’s cold & it’s very autumnal outside. Noones in your bed but there is a note on your pillow, that says don’t cook breakfast. Upon getting up to open the curtains & blinds in the kitchen the door clicks open. In he walks, he puts down the two cups of coffee (with ice) the almond croissants & gives you a bunch of purple tulips. He didn’t put his hood up so his curls are flattened & there are drips falling off him as he shakes off his coat. He is beaming at you & as his coat lands in the counter top he is engulfed by your arms & passion takes over. Whispers & promises to each other, are quickly taken from the kitchen to another room. It’s a good that it’s iced coffee it’s not going to melt.

The day passes eventfully, without even leaving your place or 2 rooms really(although you did pause for that breakfast) & eventually it’s time to get ready for dinner. It’s smart casual where your going, so you know you’ve got to put a bit of effort in, especially as he said he wanted to show you off. Jeans & a nice top won’t cut it today, it’s gotta be something just right. You don’t do fashion but you are now on the 5th outfit standing in front of the long mirror. Your feeling the way you look but your worried it’s a little too much with the shoes & the colours & that it might be too long. Also it has no sleeves. You go to head back to the bedroom to look at the outfits & you see him standing there like this on his phone & he sighs. “I didn’t know a girl who didn’t do fashion had so many nice outfit” he learns off the wall & passes his phone to you.

You scroll through. He’s taken a photo in every outfit you’ve been in so far. You had no idea he’d been there that long. “Have I made us late?” You ask sheepishly “oh no we’ve still got 10mins before we have to leave but I think you need to stop with the outfits now” he puts his hand on your shoulder “you could have worn a bin bag tonight & looked amazing, any of these outfits are fantastic, but this one brings out your smile the most & I can see all those tattoos so well” he winks & his hand now moves down your arm, stroking it as you look at him bashfully. “You always know how to make me smile babes but I cant wear this babes, I have no sleeves” you go to walk away to get changed & he pulls you back to him, your hand this time on his shoulder & his around your waist as you both kiss.

“I can resolve that” he says & with that he turns around & picks up another jacket from the sofa. It’s the one from that wine advert, with the gold & blue flowers & puts it on you. It smells like him & the silk inside feels amazing. You hum as he does the buttons up. This jacket has special meaning to you both. You hadnt seen the advert but had tried the wine with him while you were both going through break ups 9 months ago. After having a bottle of both he shows you the advert for the wine & in a tipsy state you said out loud that he looked even more handsome in that than anything else, not that he looked bad most days. He had sighed loudly before then finding your lips with his & then mumbling into you mouth that he’d waited for you to say that from the day you’d met him at the museum.

Back in the now while, you’re both remembering that night & your both exploring each other before going out for dinner, you both come up for air as your embrace softens. You’ve not said the words to him before but now feels like the right time to tell him. You kiss his patch in his beard & whisper into his ear those 3 little words. What your not expecting is as you start to say it, he’s saying it in yours too. You both pause before the last word to look each other in the eyes. Kisses fill the air & you both just can’t stop saying it. He pulls away & grabs his keys. “We are now running late “ & he points at the clock. “I was always going to tell you that tonight. I’d planned that for desert at dinner but now you look so perfect, & I just couldn’t not wait a second longer with you in my jacket. It’s yours for life, if you’ll have me for that long?” “Always babes, I’m only going to ware this from now on & then I’ll give it back to you so you smell like me”. You leave the apartment arm in arm & wait for the elevator, eyes still not leaving each other. As soon as the lift doors close you return to exploring each other, no time should be wasted in private anymore.

#minifics #boyfriend fics #my fics #innocentboyfriend #innocentfics #fluff

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hisadoringkitten · 3 months

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I don't actually know how many days right now...

The last few days have been chaos. First, he came to the realization that he could not rent the van he was planning on because he doesn't have a credit card. It derailed the pre-established timeline of him leaving on Monday and me leaving on Wednesday because now his dad has to fly down to rent a vehicle. So he was pushing back to leave Wednesday, probably a few hours before me, and having to help me clean out the place because I wouldn't have time to do so. This plan is very stressful as he's been extra volatile since having to ask his dad for help (on father's day, no less) and because it wasn't going to give me time to process before leaving myself. It also means Wednesday will be a very long day for you, driving here with the trailer after work, us loading it, me sweeping out the place, and immediately getting back on the road to empty the trailer into the storage unit and make it home in time for you to work from home Thursday on no sleep.

Now, it looks like I might leave Saturday night when he gets off work. It moves my timeline up considerably but cuts down the stress of an extra 2 days with him in crunch time and leaves most of the clean out up to him. It'll have to be fast-paced, but it's doable. I don't have much more to pack, mostly just my clothes and probably 2-3 boxes. I'll have to take Reggie, my dog, to the shelter a bit earlier, but that's fine. I still need to hand off my keys to work and sign some paperwork with them. I have a doctors appointment that I'll have to move to your town for workers comp and move the storage unit reservation, but that's fine too. It'll be busy, but it means you don't have to pull an all-nighter and have to work the next day. Your daughter wanted to come visit her grandma, so you were considering coming to town anyway, and this would cut way down on the trips, the pace, and the chaos. With this, you'd come into town Friday after work, drop her off, and stay the night at your mom's. Then, we can pack up the trailer while he's at work Saturday afternoon and leave when he gets off work. We'd get into town early Sunday morning but reasonably rested, unload the trailer, and make our way home with enough time to rest before you go in to work on Monday. It'll also give me a bit more alone time to process, and the kids won't be crying and processing on the trip. I think it's all around better and safer for everyone.

I'm surprised he agreed so easily, I think he just wants me out of the way. That's fine. We'll discuss it tomorrow and decide then.

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lifewithoutmeds · 1 year

Text

April 14, 2023

Oooh, another long spell without writing, curiously, and things haven’t been that good and i haven’t really been trucking along.

Not much has transpired in the last month. work, social outings, the usual to-do chore list. i was doing pretty well budget wise then went a lil manic and bought a new LL Bean jacket, new adidas NMD shoes, and a fly fishing rod/reel combo (new, but off of OfferUp.) Those three cost $350. I also bought a hair dryer, but I probably needed it, not having ever purchased one and having used a small portable travel one for the last several years.

Kinda feels nice actually having a few new shiny things in my life.

Buying and the contemplating of buying the jacket made me have to face my weight again and my body image. I could have gotten a regular small, or a petite small or a petite medium, and i realized that with my circumference, i’d probably have to go with the medium, and with some embarrassment/chagrin, i did so, and glad i did, because it fits almost snugly. realized again how much my body image/weight is negatively impacting me and making me feel like i can’t participate in fashion or what i consider to be good taste even in clothing.

so once again i’m re-dedicating myself to weight loss, to the discipline required in taking small steps in the right direction. Had a great session with kelda yesterday and she was saying how much i vacillate between extremes. i will binge eat then go to extremely restrictive eating, then binge some more. i don’t just eat pasta once; once i eat, i finish the box, i eat the entire pound, maybe not in one sitting, but i figure, i’ve already slipped, why not just go all the way. and she was encouraging me always find the middle, because i have such difficulty doing that.

yesterday was practice, as i watched what i ate, tracked my calories, and made sure i had good amounts of protein and some fruits/vegetables, but when i saw i still could eat some calories, instead of just starving myself, i treated myself to a haagendazs bar that still put me in a caloric deficit. but it didn’t make me feel like i was starving or limiting myself unduly.

kelda was saying that even if i didn’t feel like getting up or moving, if i just made myself move for five minutes, that would be better than just vegging. i think it’s called the two minute rule. just to commit to two minutes of any task that seems troublesome, and typically, upon having started, it’s easier to keep going and keep at it longer.

today feels better. yesterday, i had done all of the things, so maybe that contributed. i worked hard (at work), ran the vacuum twice, washed the dishes three times, walked for 40 minutes, exercised for 20 minutes, read some of my book, and filmed a bit for my fishing youtube. i ate a small salad, i ate well-portioned and relatively healthy meals throughout the day, had my one hour of facetime therapy with kelda. i brushed my teeth and even washed my face and put on overnight face lotion before i went to bed, a task which has been strangely difficult for me even though i hate myself for not doing it afterward.

this weekend’s plans: Today/Friday: a few chores, getting gas, in n out for lunch, then fishing from about noon - 7 p.m.

saturday: brunch with amy lee, exchange a few items with lana around noon, hot flash lesbian event in the evening

sunday: not much so far. a walk? some cleaning? probably preparing a bit for the trip to belfast/dublin later in the week.

i think it’s important to: keep moving, as kelda said. to have things on the calendar. to stop getting deeper when i already feel bad about myself. to have regularly scheduled social things, travel things, and have adequate rest in between times. it’s important to stop and process, and journal/write this stuff out. it’s important to pause and clean and purge as necessary.

it just occurred to me how much i enjoy matt and kendy’s company. i should probably schedule something with them soon. i love good conversation that flows, i love the banter, i love the cleverness, the wit, the undercurrent of care and kindness.

today feels better than others. probably some combination of a week that has felt accomplished, with some good coffee this morning, and anticipation of a few good things to come (fishing, amy, lesbians.)

also i’ve committed to living a lifestyle that allows me to lose 1.5 lbs a week. that means: calorie tracking/restriction, 80-100 grams of protein a day, 15,000 steps a day (which usually necessitates at least one longish walk), and 20 minutes of weight training daily. it’s nice to think that if i keep this up, in x days i’ll be y pounds thinner, and ooh by x month, i’ll be z pounds thinner! the trouble is the days, is the hours, is the minutes, is the boredom, is the emotions, is the tiny acts of slipping up or giving up. but i have to use that as exercises in discipline, which i admire, and feel i lack. i must be what i admire.

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chopper-witch · 2 years

Text

Ritual 777: Dead Men Don’t Rape

Eddie Muson x female!reader; Jennifer’s Body!AU

Minors DNI. I will find and tell your parents or guardians.

Story title inspired by Ritual 777 by Temple Twins

Chapter title inspired by Dead Men Don’t Rape by 7 Year Bitch

I will have a full playlist soon. I swear. It’s almost done.

WC: 1,700+

Warnings: being really, really sick; attempted rape; reader you eat someone alive lmfao not sorry; you eat brains and a heart; something that could be considered fatphobia?; imo I underdescribed reader’s actions but y’all will be the judge of THAT; death (obviously), please do not read my shit if you can’t handle or shouldn’t be watching game of thrones/euphoria/etc.

A/N: This chapter has no Eddie in it at all (again). It deviates from Jennifer’s Body in several ways but it fits better to later plans. Finally, I have like,,, mad bad dyslexia so please forgive all mistakes I put this through grammarly and like regular spell check and did all the other techniques I was taught/

I also don’t really like this chapter, it feels incomplete despite from beginning to end it being all I want :(.

Prior Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Do gods die?

Demons?

You?

“I’ve got you.”

————

You don’t think you’ve ever been so sick in your life.

Wednesday night blurs into Thursday blurs into Friday blurs into Saturday into Sunday. You have no idea if you did your homework or did that test in history or even made it to any of the council meetings or —

You’ve become ravenously hungry as well, but everything you eat or drink turns into the black sludge you vomited up before.

With the little energy you have left on Sunday night, you go biking to the store almost twenty miles away as a last-ditch effort. They’re the only place in all of Roane County to have a watermelon slushie flavor and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. The only thing you might, might be able to stomach.

“No offense, but you look like you’re dying,” the cashier says in a monotone voice.

You take the bag from him and just stare into his eyes which are just as dead as yours likely look. “I had no idea, thank you.”

“No problem. Have a goodnight.”

You sigh and shake your head as you walk away. “Yeah, you too.”

The door slides open and a man leaning against the wall stands up straight. He was there when you went in, smoking, and still there now. You’ve learned there is usually a man lingering outside convenience stores surrounded only by forests, smoking. Good place to linger without being told to leave, you figure.

The cigarette lands at your feet and you keep walking.

“What’re you doing out here so late? Not safe for a girl like you.”

Oh, Christ. Just one day without shit being like a punishment from the universe, please.

You ignore him, placing the bag and slushie in your basket and getting started on unlocking your bike.

“I could drive you home. Be safer. Just ask you do a little something for me.”

Why are some men so fucking gross? And why is this lock stuck?

Right. Denied Cherie’s offer to get you a new one. Should have taken her up on it. Then maybe the guy wouldn’t be two feet from you and instead, you would already be halfway through the lot.

You are beginning to mount your bike, leg swinging over it when a pair of hands grab your shoulders and yank you back.

“I was trying to talk to you, bitch!”

Long lost is your balance as the bike goes crashing to the ground, the slushie splattering all over the pavement. The man has you poorly balanced on one leg as he continues to pull you backward.

Your eyes shut.

At least there will be my side. At least there will be proof. At least maybe that damn cashier will run out.

His grip tights on one shoulder, the other wrapping around your neck.

You gasp.

You thrash. Actually thrash this time. There are no drugs to keep you physically down.

There are also no drugs to keep you partially numb, sedated, help you hallucinate through this.

“I’ve got you.”

“Get off of me!”

The man goes flying.

Through the air.

And with a loud and sick crunch, his skull hits against the edge of the sign’s corner.

You turn. He’s lying nearly forty feet away like a rag doll on the ground. Your feet are bringing you closer despite the bile creeping up your throat begging you to stay away. But you get to him regardless, peering over his bleeding-out body.

“Hey, are you okay?” You stupidly ask. “I didn’t mean to—”

Your voice dies in your throat.

Your mouth floods with saliva.

That ravenous hunger seems to have found its solution in the form of a cracked skull bleeding all over the pavement.

You are leaning in and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Animalistic instincts are something you’ve understood but never comprehended, but this must be it. The feeling like there is a magnet yanking your mouth to the mess of blood on the ground in front of you, no thoughts guiding it there, just the pull. The weight.

There is a beat barely an inch above the pooling mess. A thought holds you back, a moment of hesitation.

A moment of humanity.

Just a taste. That’s all.

Just one, tiny, itty bitty, little…

It’s sweeter than you imagined. Blood always had a metallic, tangy taste when you got a paper cut and stuck your finger in your mouth to calm it. It’s supposed to be tangy like that. Iron and all that jazz.

This is like honey on peaches. Sweet, a fruity kind of savory.

You go back for another taste.

“Get off of me!” The man gurgles, eyes barely blinking conscious for a second.

You pull back. Your head tilts as your eyes stare into his.

He screams.

And you go straight for his neck.

Who cares when this guy tried to assault a teenage girl?

Who cares when his fear flows into you, pumping the energy you’ve been missing into your veins, his blood and flesh?

Who cares when a surge of power like you’ve never felt burns in your veins?

It must be the adrenaline or the cortisol or something that is making him slowly taste sweeter as his blood surges out even more. Fear hormones flooding his body, his blood, making it all the more delightful for you.

All of this for you.

Every ounce of fat ends spit out, an ever-growing pile of human fat now next to where his mutilated corpse lies. Organs are devoured at almost lightning speed and muscle?

You don’t know how the cashier hasn’t walked into the scene with how much you are savoring the muscles.

Stringy here and there, sure. Underdeveloped in some places, sure. But so full of...

protein.

What lies last is his heart, his lungs, his liver, and his absolute eviscerated brain. the lungs and liver you haven’t dared touch, one sniff and you knew they were bad.

The brain is practically begging to be eaten. Already ground up for you, skull cracked open like a bowl.

The first piece is... mushy. Wet. Tempting to spit out on texture alone.

But the taste?

It tastes like heaven. What was that in your psychology class again? Neuro... neurotransmitters? They must have lit his brain up with fear when he died, when he saw you above him, and flooded him with the most delicious flavoring you have ever tasted in your life.

So you slurp it all down, even scrape the edges of the skull and the concrete to make sure to brain matter is left uneaten.

The heart.

It disconnects easily, seeing as pretty much everything else around it but some muscle and connective tissue is gone.

You hold his heart up to the light.. You’ve never seen one in real life, just the fake one in bio class. And a pig one, in bio class. For a muscle, it’s awfully gummy feeling. Not quite as stringy.

Your teeth sink into it with trepidation.

It’s… chewy, sticky,

perfect.

One small bite turns into two normal ones turns into three large ones until you are savagely shoving the muscle down your throat as fast as you can.

The cashier impressively never comes out still.

The world sings when you open your eyes again.

Glows brighter than before. The parking lot lights are surrounded by a brilliant halo. The neon store sign pulses like it’s alive.

Something sings in the distance. Angelic in quality but completely indistinguishable.

It’s so beautiful.

Gentle.

Fragile.

There’s still the shredded carcass of a man to your left, complete with a pile of fat and a lake of blood.

The river is just over the road and down another a half-mile. A few weeks in there and it will just be an accident of some kind, consumed by animals.

No. No.

Someone needs to see this. See what you did to this man. This man who tried to hurt you.

Maybe the store employee when the store closes in twenty minutes or so. Then the cops. Then the local news.

Then maybe regional and if it gains enough traction, national.

That… that feels better. Feels right.

Your hands search for his wallet. Someone needs to be able to identify this man who is no more than a shattered skeleton and pile of ground human at this point.

Frank York. East Hawkins. 57.

“You were a real asshole, Frank York.”

You snap the wallet close but keep the ID outside of it. Then you place both roughly where his heart should be. Easier to identify the mess that has become his body.

The blood wipes off fairly easily from your skin and onto wherever it isn’t on your clothes but the color still remains. Blood stains aren’t just for clothes, you suppose. Blood red looks good on your skin. Like it’s meant to match, destined to be sticking to you.

You settle on your bike, ready to ride home through the woods instead of on the main roads. It’s not Halloween anymore. Looking like Carrie on a random Sunday will raise at least a little suspicion.

But wait. He has more to give, surely.

You pick it back up, take the money (which is only a few dollars ultimately) out with your mostly blood-free hands, and place it back on top of him. He’s dead. It’s not like he’s gonna need it.

Right?

Of course, you get called back one last time. Right about to mount your bike, something just drags you back.

Your finger swipes into a small pool of blood and you lean over where his ID is, carefully crossing out his name with the now quickly congealing substance.

Dead men don’t rape, but they do provide potentially a lucrative form of making money and an unbelievable rush of power.

————

Freshly cleaned from the blood stains and sitting on your bed, you stare at the clothing gripped in your hands.

You should feel some kind of… emotion. Sadness. Anger. Concern. Anything. You should be having a Lady Macbeth moment. A moment so dramatic that the English teacher has to literally tell Cherie to get off the floor before she sends her to the office.

Again.

Out damned spot, out I say! You should be shouting as you fall to the ground and rub your hands raw, Mrs. Jenkins telling you you can get up now, that’s enough. And you should be getting up with tears in your eyes after ten more minutes, acting like going is some great offense to your pain.

But you just feel…

Content.

Peaceful.

Satiated.

Yes, that’s it. Satiated.

Instead of throwing the jumpsuit and jacket out as you should, or even burning them, you toss them into a box with some of the awards you’ve gotten over the years.

The clothes settle nicely between a handful of perfect attendance awards from elementary and some academic honors whatever you got freshman year.

First kill award!

Then you settle into bed, drifting off to a peaceful sleep for the first time in nearly a week.

————

Prior Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #ritual 777 #jennifers body au #rape tw #tw rape #tw attempted rape #tw murder #murder tw #murder #rape

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nyuksw · 3 years

Text

Thin Walls — Juyeon smut

warnings: unprotected sex, masturbation, sex toys

You knew Juyeon because he was your neighbor living next door in a department building. You weren't exactly friends or talked too often other than the casual greetings and small conversations when you two bumped into each other. You couldn’t deny the fact that he was very handsome, beautiful facial features and nice body proportions, but you two were only neighbors and that was it.

That was until he came home one Sunday night with a girl and stayed up all night, the creaking and banging from the bed and their moans keeping you up all night annoyed because you had to go to work the next day. Couldn’t he take it somewhere else? stupid thin walls and stupid Juyeon.

The next day you saw him as you two took the elevator and he greeted you like always, earning just a small nod from you acknowledging him.

“Have a good day.” He smiled at you and walked out of the elevator making his way to his car.

You scoffed, have a good day — how could you have a good day when you didn’t even get to sleep more than 2 hours thanks to him. Your day at work went surprisingly well and your co-worker Younghoon offered to drop you off since it was late at night.

The rest of the week went as usual until Friday came and again, Juyeon had another guest staying over for the entire weekend, keeping you up from all the noise they made.

One month passed by and it became a habit of him bringing someone over for the weekend. You grew even more mad after each night and then seeing him the next day on Monday acting like nothing happened flashing you that gorgeous smile and wishing you a good day.

Why were you feeling like this? Maybe it was because you haven’t had sex in so long after your last relationship ended and he had it good every weekend while you didn’t, or maybe it was because you liked him deep inside. But how could you not? He was so sweet towards you, and yeah maybe you never talked to him for more than 5 minutes but his actions towards you were enough for you to feel a little something deep in your heart. But maybe he wasn’t such a good boy as you thought after experiencing those sleepless nights as his next door neighbor.

Friday came again and you were getting yourself ready, expecting his door to open and close with a loud slam at any minute. Hearing the noise caused by bumping into things on their way to his bed probably by kissing. But no noise was made that night and for the first time on a weekend you fell asleep peacefully and fully. You thought they would come around the next day but they didn't either.

You laid on your bed unable to focus on the book you were reading, your mind clouded with Juyeon. He must be really good in bed, considering the fact that the girls never stops moaning. You wondered how he was in bed, how his kisses must feel like. How he looked while shirtless, you have never seen him shirtless but you could see he had a nice upper body, the shirts he wore often showing some of his muscles nicely.

You didn't know why you were having these thoughts about him, and without thinking your hand no longer held a book and traveled down, passing past and under the waistband of your panties. You started touching yourself thinking of Juyeon, hissing at the sensation of your fingers rubbing circles on your clit. Would his fingers feel better than mine?

Not being satisfied with only your fingers, you reached to the last drawer from your night stand taking out a toy you haven’t used in so long.

You grabbed the vibrator and it replaced your hand inside your panties. You started moaning softly at first but then you clicked to make it vibrate harder. You were now a moaning mess, lifting your other hand to cup your boob under your shirt. But then the vibrator stopped working and frustrated you clicked repeatedly hoping for it to work again but it didn’t. You groaned and got up to change the batteries, but nothing worked.

“Stupid thing.” you said throwing the vibrator away not realizing it hit the wall, making the battery lid break and fly towards you.

You groaned and went to pick it up trying to fix it as you were still horny and desperate to have an orgasm somehow.

On the other side though, Juyeon was also sitting in his room finishing some work when he started hearing moans. Where are they coming from? He listened closely and realized they came from the other side of his wall. Were you moaning?

He got up and walked carefully towards the wall, placing his ear to it hearing more intense moans then they suddenly stopped. He heard some shuffling followed by a loud bang against the wall that scared the crap out of him and then he heard you groan. Are you okay?

He was concerned for a moment and was deciding if he should go check on you, opting to go knock on your door within seconds.

You heard a knock on the door. Now what?!

You walked towards the door and opened without looking at yourself first, seeing a surprised Juyeon standing in front of you. Juyeon eyed you from head to toe, processing the state you were in. Flushed cheeks, slight messy hair, he could see your nipples through your shirt and a vibrator on your hand.

You followed his eyes and realized you still had the stupid toy on your hand, quickly hiding it behind your back.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Well, the walls are thin and I heard a loud bang and I came to check if you were alright but I see that you are perfectly fine.” He smirked at the last part making you blush furiously.

You were lost at words, you were beyond embarrassed.

“Does that work well?” He asked, referring to the vibrator.

What?

No response. So he spoke once again “Do you think that could be better than me?” He asked looking into your eyes, his eyes darkening.

You don't know where the courage came from but seeing his eyes and face features become dark in a way you’ve never seen before, made you feel that tingling sensation between your legs again. “Why don’t you come and we can find out?”

He wasted no time walking into your place, quickly closing the door behind him and kissing you hard on the lips. One of his hands goes behind you grabbing the vibrator and throwing it away somewhere in your living room.

“You won’t be needing that.” He said against your lips and continued kissing you as his hands went to grab your ass and make you jump on him.

“The door on the left.” You managed to say between kisses and he started walking towards your room while carrying you in his arms.

Both of you fell into the bed without breaking apart from the heated kiss. He started grinding slowly into your clothed core making you moan and he took it as a chance to slip his tongue. His hands started wandering on your body, reaching your boobs as he pulled apart. He lifted your shirt and threw it away, attacking your boobs. Sucking and kissing on them before his lips went to wrap around your nipple sucking on it before letting it go making it pop. He gave the other bud the same attention, making the pool on your panties grow bigger. He pulled away and removed his shirt revealing his body, you eyed him hungrily and pulled him back for another kiss, running your hands across his body.

His hand sneaked between your bodies and went between your legs, touching and rubbing circles on your clothed pussy. His mouth worked between kissing you and then moving lower to suck on your nipples as he rubbed your clit.

“I’m dying to taste you.” He said, his breath fanning against your wet nipple causing you to feel more pleasure.

He took his hand out from your shorts and pulled them down along with your panties.

“Open your legs for me baby.”

And you did, giving him a full view of your wet pussy that was aching for him.

“So wet and pretty for me.” He smirked as he positioned himself in front of it, looking at it in admiration while caressing your thighs.

He placed a kiss on each of your thighs before giving you a long lick making you moan and arch your back. His hands went to grab your waist, keeping you still as he went to suck on your clit. One of his hands moved to spread your folds so he could have better access before inserting his fingers into you. He kept sucking your clit, earning beautiful erotic sounds leaving your mouth. He felt your walls clenching around his fingers and knew you were close, his lips releasing your now swollen clit and moving his other hand to rub circles on it. You came on his hand in seconds screaming in pleasure, he kept rubbing your clit as you came down from your high making your legs shake with the overstimulation. He stopped his movements and placed a kiss on your thigh before going up and kissing you on the lips.

“How was that?”

“That was incredible.” You said breathlessly. “Way better than that toy for sure.”

“And I’m not even done with you yet.” He said trailing kisses from your jawline towards your breasts, softly sucking on your bud once again.

He stood up and started unbuttoning his pants before you gained some energy to get up and do it yourself, falling into your knees you pulled down his pants and his underwear, releasing his dick with the head soaked in pre-cum. Your hand wrapped around his dick and you pumped him a few times before your lips wrapped around the tip, sucking all the pre-cum.

Your lips released his tip and you started pumping him again, your tongue starting to lick down the veins on his dick, making him throw his head back in pleasure. You wrapped your lips around his dick once again and started sucking his dick, bobbing your head as fast as you could.

“You look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my dick.” He said while pushing your hair back into a ponytail secured by his fingers.

“How does it feel?” You asked, pulling away only to give him a long sensual lick from the base of his cock all the way up to the tip, only to wrap your lips around it once again and sucking him off.

He was getting close but he pulled you away gently by the hair. “I want to come inside you.”

He helped you stand up and pushed you gently on the bed on four with your ass in the air. His hands are squeezing your ass, slapping it once before grabbing his dick pumping himself a few times as he lowered himself to kiss and lick your pussy.

He positioned himself and pushed his dick into you, filling you perfectly.

He moaned. “You are so tight, it feels so good.”

He started thrusting into you, holding you by the waist making your whole body also move and thrust back into him, the sound of skin and your moans was the only thing that could be heard. He lowered himself and started giving your back open mouth kisses all the way up to your neck. He grabbed your hair again and pulled you upwards making you support yourself in your hands. He thrusted hard and deep into you, making your boobs bounce. You came for the second time, shaking uncontrollably and collapsing into the bed. He pulled out of you and gave you a moment to catch your breath and come down from your high before flipping you over now facing him.

He positioned himself on top of you, kissing your neck and sucking on it leaving a mark.

“Can you do it one more time?” He asked in a sweet voice making sure you were comfortable.

You nodded and he placed a sweet kiss on the corner of your mouth as he positioned himself and pushed into you once again making you gasp. He pressed his lips against yours and gave you several small and delicate kisses as he thrusted into you, this time doing it slow but full of passion.

“You take my dick so well, it feels like your pussy was made only for me.” He whispered against your lips and moved his head to kiss and suck on your neck again.

“I bet no one can make you feel like I do, not even that guy you’re always with.”

Which guy? You were too immersed in the pleasure to think further about what he said, a soft moan leaving your mouth as he sucked again on your neck.

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about this, about us. Fucking you, making you mine.” He whispered in your ear.

His hips started to move faster and one of his hands went to cup one of your boobs, fingers playing with your nipple as the other rested on top of your head caressing it softly and moving some hairs out of your forehead.

“Come on baby, come all over me.”

You felt yourself getting closer to your third orgasm, wrapping your arms around his neck bringing him down to kiss him.

“Juyeon” You moaned on his ear as you came, your walls clenching around him, pushing him to the edge burying his head on your neck, causing him to finally reach his orgasm, coming inside you, feeling his warm cum filling you up.

Both of you stayed like that for a little while, just on each other’s arms.

He started to get up to look at your face, wiping the tears on your eyes from the overwhelming stimulation. Planting a soft kiss on your cheek he got up to grab a towel and some clothes to clean you up.

He helped you clean up and put on a shirt on you, you were too weak and shaky to move on your own so he carried you and moved you a little further to the top of the bed so you could lay on a pillow. He disappeared again to the bathroom to clean himself and came back with his underwear on. He went to lay down next to you and wrapped his arms around you.

“Was it too much?” He asked with concern in his voice but you shook your head.

“It was amazing. I’ve never felt like that before.” You reassured him by tracing soft circles on his arm with your thumb.

“I meant what I said earlier, I’ve wanted to do this for so long. And I don’t mean only having sex with you, but being able to kiss you and hold you just like this.”

“So did I. Not gonna lie, I felt somehow jealous when you brought girls with you every weekend.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t even try to lie when I could hear everything you did. You know these walls are too thin.” You said hitting his chest lightly.

“But that wasn't me. Every weekend I go to visit my family so I leave my apartment under one of my friend’s supervision just in case.” He explained and now you were even more confused.

“Then that means that your friend was the one that came to your place with girls and didn’t let me sleep for 3 nights straight every week?!”

“Yes, trust me now that I know I’m as mad as you are. I will make him buy me a new mattress for sure. God knows what happened there...” and he cringed just at the thought of it.

“Well you can stay here with me in the meantime, that is of course if you want.”

“I’d love that.” He smiled down at you bringing you closer to him.

“But wait, don’t you have a boyfriend?” He suddenly asked.

“No, I don’t silly.”

“Then who is that guy that brings you home almost every day?”

“Oh you mean Younghoon? He is just a friend! He brings me home lately since our shifts are ending at night so he only wants to make sure I arrive safely.”

“I-I can drop you off and pick you up from your work from now on if you want.”

You smiled and turned to look at him. “Really? You’d do that?” and he nodded and smiled back at you.

“I really want to get to know you even more. Maybe I’m rushing into things but I would love to be able to be your boyfriend one day.” He sighed dreamily next to you thinking about what the future has for you two. “So how about I take you on a date tomorrow?”

“I would really love that. I can't wait.”

He kissed the top of your head as you cuddled him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he stroked your hair.

The two of you talked for a little while before falling asleep in his arms, both of you dreaming about each other that night.

#juyeon smut #tbz smut #the boyz smut #lee juyeon #tbz juyeon #tbz fanfic #tbz timestamps #tbz scenarios #tbz drabbles #tbz x reader #juyeon smut scenario

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seabass17 · 3 years

Text

All that’s left | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

A/n: This is my first time writing something based on a video I found on TikTok, it’s not exactly the same, but it is kinda the idea. I hope you like it and please let me know if you might want a part two. Also, I apologize if you find some errors, im doing my best since English is not my first language. Anyway, happy reading!!

All that’s left masterlist

Pt. 2

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries (broken ribs, cuts, dislocated shoulder)

Word count: 2.5K

Summary: She still can’t get used to the feeling of being left behind by the people she once called family. After being hurt, she decides that she will give them a chance, and when they failed, she then makes the decision to disappear and start brand new. Of course, she leaves a letter that will left the team standing in the dark, and with more questions than answers about a lot of things, while discovering that she has more of one past that she let to know.

The sound of the rain hitting against the window of my living room was the only thing that could be heard in the silence of my apartment. I looked over my desk where the paper is waiting for me to pick up the pen and get this over with, but somehow, somewhere deep inside of me, a part is waiting, holding on to the smallest of hope that maybe, just maybe, he is going to come knocking to my door asking why the i haven’t showed up to the compound for the last three days, or why i didn’t text nor call the rest of the team. I wanted to see if they would notice my absence so I left the compound on Thursday. I got the answer to my question when Sunday arrived and my inbox was clear; no one noticed. Today is Tuesday, my apartment is thirteen minutes away, fifthteen if you literally fly or speed up, but still, no one came or text.

To be honest, I'm not surprised, that doesn’t mean it hurts less though. I know i should probably think this through instead of making the impulse decision of grabbing my things and get the hell out of here, going somewhere i can start fresh, somewhere i can start over and get a chance to get over all the things that happened, find people that actually cared for me, or maybe not finding anyone at all and die alone.

I stand up from my bed and go to my desk, it’s time to get this over with. I start writing the only thing that they get to keep.

“Dear Avengers, You’re probably wondering where I am, or you just don’t care, maybe you don’t even find this. If someone from the building finds this, keep it in case they ever come looking for me; thank you. So, this is it, this is my goodbye. You should consider yourselves lucky, given the fact that none of you even deserves a goodbye because you are the ones causing it. I could tell you the reason why I'm leaving, and you know what, I will tell you. I chose to trust you. The one thing I feared the most was trusting people, but when I joined the team, I thought ‘well, maybe i can trust them, they are my team’, guess what, I was wrong. You should really look out for your teammates Stark, oh, and by the way, you might want to look deeper into why the operation that saved those 30 civilians on may 20, didn’t go south, you might even discover its the very same reason of why i didn’t showed up in the compound for a week, yeah, they were busy torturing the information out of me for a week; information that, by the way, i didn't give, hence why the operation went great. Something even more funny, is that behind every mistake, every wrong that each one of you have ever done, I’m the one that suffered the consequences. Don’t believe me? Then you might want to do your homework, because dear teammates, I’m the one you couldn’t protect. By the time you find out the things you’ve done, I will be long gone. I'm very good at disappearing, Natasha (once she figures it out) can confirm that. I wish things would be different and we could be… family, but that’s never going to happen; not anymore. As of now, there will be no record of my name ever existing, everything that once belonged to me, will be burned, and as of me, well, I am no one.”

I fold the piece of paper and put it in the envelope, once sealed, I write down the word my name in the center so they know. I take a last look at my apartment. Everything is intact, the furniture that came with it is the same as always, the only thing different is that it seems empty without all my belongings. I grabbed my luggage and exited the apartment and then went downstairs.

“Hey Richard” I say to the man that is in the reception like I always do

“Hey miss, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I'm leaving, for good. If someone comes asking for me, my friends, you tell them that you haven’t seen me. Oh, I left a letter for them upstairs, could you please make sure that it gets to them? Only if the show up, do not sent it”

He looked at me a little sad and confused.

“Oh, well, you will me missed miss, I hope you find happiness and yes, i promised i will make sure they get your letter”

“Thank you Richard, for everything, oh, and this is for you” I handed him an envelope with some cash. He looked like he was about to say something about how he couldn’t accept it but I cut him off. “Please, just take it, please”. He sighs but takes the envelope.

“Thank you miss…”

I smiled at him and then turned around to grab a cab. I'm supposed to be in the airport in 30 minutes. Once in the airport, the only thing left is to start again, be someone brand new.

*3rd person POV*

Friday morning was a little colder than usual in the avengers compound, everyone on the team was up and in the kitchen having breakfast. Everything was normal, until someone noticed that someone was missing.

“Hey guys” Bucky said right before taking a bite of the pancakes Wanda made earlier for everyone. “Have any of you seen y/n?”

The team stayed quiet, realizing that they haven’t seen her for quite a while, not until Barnes brought it up.

“Uh… maybe she took a trip?” Steve broke the silence while the rest started thinking when was the last time they had seen her.

“No, she was here when we arrived from the Jersey mission, it must have been like what, two days, maybe three?” Tony said. Bucky could feel his insides burning and twisting.

“No… that was eight days ago” Vision intervened. The avengers felt like someone just blew up the white house. Her teammate was missing for eight days and no one even noticed. Bucky was the first one to react by getting up and running to her dorm, only to find it exactly the way it was when he last saw her. He searched her dorm looking for something out of place that could tell him that maybe you were in trouble and that he has to come save you, but he is left desperate when he doesn’t find anything.

“She’s not here, everything is intact” He informs once he is back in the kitchen.

“Everyone” Steve calls out, “get dressed, we’re going to look for her. Let’s start in her apartment”

The team leaves to change their clothes and next thing they know, they are in her building. Without saying a word to the receptionist, they all made their way up to her apartment.

“Hey! wait-” he goes unnoticed because the avengers are already on her door. Wanda knocks on the door.

“Y/n? You there?” no one responds. “Y/n come on, don’t be mad at us” Natasha says.

After a few seconds they all start to worry when the door is unlocked, and they worry even more once they see the apartment completely empty.

“What the-” Bucky says

“Where are her things?” Wanda asks to no one especifically

“Where is she?” Thor says

“What the hell is going on?” Tony says a little louder

Bucky storms out of the empty apartment and goes to the man in the reception

“What the hell happened to apartment 108, where is y/n y/l/n?” he asks with worry and anxiety in his voice.

“I’m sorry, but, who are you?” the man asks the rather intimidating group of people in front of him.

“We’re the Avengers man” Peter says and the man suddenly realizes and his face changes from a confused one, to a sad one that makes the team’s stomach drop.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he sighs, “She left me indicated to give this to you” he hands them an envelope that looks like it's been sitting there for a while. Bucky stares at the envelope like it's some kind of nuclear weapon that if you touch it, it could kill you. Wanda notices, grabs the envelope and stares at the paper in her hands.

“When did she leave this?” She asked

“Three days ago”

“And why didn’t you send it to us?” Tony asked, getting angry at the poor man.

“Because she specifically said to handed it to you, if you ever came looking for her”

Bucky could feel the tears in his eyes start to form.

“She said that? `Ever’?” Bucky asked almost to himself. The man slowly nodded. Natasha could feel how her stomach started burning from the guilt and the pain of not noticing that her friend was missing for eight days, little does she know that the entire team felt exactly the same.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y pull the records on the mission on may 20 and also show me the status of y/n on that time” Tony said to the AI and after a few seconds later, pictures of the building that that was about to be blown out by HYDRA with 30 civilians inside showed up. While the avengers were sitting in the conference room looking at the pictures, the AI started talking.

“Mission of may 20. Information was given that HYDRA kept 30 civilians inside the building with the intention of blowing it up with them inside. Source of the information unknown. The Avengers came to the building and successfully rescued the civilians safely moments before the building was blown up. Agent y/n y/l/n was on an undercover mission on a HYDRA facility at the same time, the communication was lost three days before the civilians situation, and around the same time, the information about the building was given anonymously the very same day that communication with Agent y/l/n was lost; Agent y/l/n returned a week later. Medical record found, access denied”

“Override, Tony Stark” Tony said after a good couple of seconds, the pieces starting to fall in place.

“Access complete. Medical records of Agent y/l/n on may 27th. Access restrained: Agent y/l/n. She presented with several cuts all over her body, three broken ribs, a second grade concussion, a sprained ankle and a dislocated shoulder. Patient refused treatment and was only given medication for the pain”

The seconds were passing and no one in the room would break the silence. The pieces were starting to fall in place, Tony felt nauseous. He yelled at her for being irresponsible for staying a little longer than she should have in the undercover mission, given the fact that she checked in on june 10th, meaning that she waited two weeks for her injuries to heal enough so that he could yell at her for not being good enough. He fell down to his chair, feeling like if he stayed up, he might throw up.

“She was the one that gave us the information about the building” Sam broke the silence. “She was the one that got tortured, and still managed to pass through the data so that we, could be the heroes while she was the one that got beaten up”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, where is she?” Natasha asked the AI, and it responded after a few seconds.

“No information found”

Natasha frowned, Bucky looked up to the screen to see the red sentence. It only made him want to scream more.

“What does ‘no information found’ mean?” Bucky asked on the edge of falling apart.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y” Steve called

“No information available” it said this time.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, look for y/n y/l/n” Tony said, thinking maybe he needed to check what was wrong with the AI.

“No records found for y/n y/l/n”

“Detail,” Stark said.

The AI showed what it said before, there was no record of her name, it was like it never existed. No phone number, no mail address, no nothing, just a little picture of an abandoned building or mansion somewhere in the world.

“Wait” Natasha said, “I know that building, F.R.I.D.A.Y, do a close up on that picture”

“What is it?” Wanda asked

“It was where The Red Room used to operate” tha AI responded

“Why does it appear related to her?” Bucky asked, fearing the answer

“The picture was taken when a girl escaped The Red Room in 2002, she eliminated four people on the way, the age or who it was is still unknown” the AI responded.

“Oh god…” Natasha whispered but Bucky manage it to hear it

“Natasha, what is it?” he asked

“2002, that’s three years after i managed to escape, there was a girl, we were some sort of friends, i promised that i was going to get us out of here, but i couldn’t take her with me so i left her. Two years later I contacted someone on the inside so that I could get to her and plan her escape, but she was angry at me and said that she was fine, a year later she did escape, killing four people on her way” Natasha explained. Everything makes sense now, why she looked familiar, why she had exactly the same skills as Natasha. The team noticed it too, but they assumed it was because she had trained very hard to be an avenger.

“What was her name?” Vision asked.

“Eliza” Natasha said

“Wait a minute…” Bucky said, lifting her head looking at Natasha. “Was that her real name?”

“No, she didn’t wanted to say her real one” Natasha said

“Eliza, that’s y/n’s grandmother’s name” Bucky said and the room fell into a silence where you could hear the wind outside.

“In the letter…” Steve started, “She said that you could confirm that she was good at disappearing completely once you figured it out, so, does this mean that…”

“Y/n is Eliza” Natasha concluded

“She was in The Red Room” Bucky added.

“She said in her letter that all of us did her wrong,” Sam said, “how are we supposed to know what the hell we do to her? She’s been in the team for what, two and a half years? And just now we realized that she was the one that gave us the data that saved 30 people and got her tortured, and that she was trained in The Red Room like Black Widow here. What else are we missing?” he added.

“Guess there’s only one thing we can do” Steve said, looking at Tony.

“And what’s that?” Wanda asked

“We find her”

#avengers #bucky barnes #imagines #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky x female reader #the red room #natasha romonova #tony stark #steve rogers #wanda maximoff #peter parker #hydra

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cosmiclove-heavenstruck · 3 years

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Midnight Quidditch Games | Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x Gryffindor!Reader (written with a female reader in mind, though the gender is not stated)

Wordcount: 3800 words

Warnings: none, just fluff and friends-to-lovers

Summary: Fred and George come up with the idea of hosting illegal Quidditch Games for all four houses every Friday night. Harry convinces Reader to play with him and they end up on the same broom.

a/n: No Voldemort Au, set in Harry's fifth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (Based on a headcanon by @/ murphcooper on tumblr)

Friday was my favourite day of the week, and there were two reasons for that: One, it was the start of the weekend, and two, we played Quidditch.

Up until fifth year, the most I had to do with the popular wizarding sport was cheering at the official school games for the Gryffindor team and attending the Quidditch World Cup in 1994. Then Fred and George came up with a very illegal, yet very exciting and fun idea, which was to host unofficial Quidditch games in the middle of the night that any student could attend. Whether it were First Years who could barely fly, or simple people that never made it onto their house's team, anyone was welcome.

The twins had planned it the first two months of their sixth year together with Quidditch fans from the other houses and had created lists for every common room, which wouldn't be readable by the teachers or Filch.

“It's illegal! What if something happens? What if someone gets hurt, how do you want to explain that to Dumbledore, or worse, to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione argued as soon as Fred and George had prompted their idea to us one Sunday evening.

“I'm disappointed. Do you really think we would work that sloppy?”, Fred asked.

“The house elves are in,” George explained. “Which means free food and free healthcare, all in one!”

“Awesome,” Ron said, and he should be proven right.

The only rules to attend were the duty to remain silent and to come in your pyjamas, just for the sake of it. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws would be playing against Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, Lee Jordan would be commenting as always and because Madam Hooch wasn't available, Hermione would be our judge. This was decided unanimously.

The first two games had occurred at the end of November, and they had been a complete mess. We had to raise the number of players on each team so everyone who wanted to play fit in, which led to three Keepers, six Chasers, four Beaters and two Seekers for each house. Furthermore, there had been a dozen of first years who couldn't fly yet and who had to be taught by voluntaries.

Those first two Friday nights I had spent with Lee, Hermione, Luna and Dobby on the commentary stand, cheering and eating chocolate biscuits. Once in a while, I had thrown a biscuit in the air for Harry to catch.

Because of the bone-chilling cold and pitch-black darkness brought by the Scottish winter, Fred and George had invented glass bulbs which carried bright orange, warm fire and hovered over the Quidditch pitch.

With the first Friday of December approaching, the excitement grew bigger and it was basically the only topic during every meal. Now that the rules and positions had set and the First Years could fly, we were awaiting the first serious game – as serious as playing Quidditch in pyjamas with Hermione as a judge could be.

“You have to play, too,” Harry said to me during lunch on Friday. My friends had tried all week to persuade me to play instead of only keeping Hermione company, while I had constantly declined.

“Yes, come on,” Ron agreed. “We know you can fly, you played with us this summer.”

“No, no way.” I shook my head and pulled the pumpkin juice jug closer.

“Why not?”, Harry asked, covering my glass with his hand. I raised my eyebrows, but he only grinned, which made my stomach tingle. But I glossed over the unwanted feeling and shoved his hand away.

“Because all positions are filled. And besides that, I would be a terrible Chaser,” I answered. “Or a terrible anything, really.”

“You could play as a Seeker,” Hermione suggested and poured herself a drink. “You're good at noticing details.”

“But Harry and that boy from third year are playing as Gryffindor Seeker,” I reminded her, cutting my toast in half.

“You could fly with Harry,” She said plainly. I stared at her with wide eyes. I should had known the moment I had told Hermione about my not-so-tiny crush on Harry that it had been a bad idea. Now she did what I should had expected: Trying to set me up with him.

“No, I – no.”

“But I wouldn’t mind,” Harry said. “And if you don't like it, I can drop you off at the stands again. Come on Y/N, say yes.” He nudged my shoulder, looking at me with sweetest puppy eyes. I couldn't say no to him, he knew that. I sighed.

“Fine.”

A content smile lit up on his face. “Brilliant.”

Around half past nine, we made our way out of the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, as well as a dozen other Gryffindor students had their brooms shouldered, following me and Hermione through the dimly lit corridors.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I whispered, tapping the Marauders Map, which soon revealed Hogwarts’ grounds, ink lines flowing over the parchment. Filch was strolling around in his office, and so was Snape. McGonagall’s ink dot hovered in the East tower of the Fourth Floor. “Everything’s clear, but keep quiet,” I informed the others.

Hermione linked her arms with me.

“How are you?”, She asked, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Shut up. What was that at lunch?”

“Oh, come on, I just said what you were thinking. Everybody knows you have a thing for each other,” She said, and I quickly turned to make sure Harry was still talking to Dean and Ginny. Hermione chuckled. “I made a bet with Ginny that you will kiss after catching the Snitch together,” She added.

I swirled back around. “You what?”

“But Ginny thinks you'll snog in a broom closet afterwards.”

Before I could reply anything, Harry had caught up with us.

“What are you two whispering about?”, He asked, leaning closer so I could smell his deodorant.

“Nothing,” I said and was glad that the darkness hid my tinted cheeks. Hermione let herself fall back, leaving Harry and me alone at the front of the group.

“You're a terrible liar,” He said.

“Says you. Remember last year when we had detention with Snape –”

Harry wrapped his left arm around my shoulders, pulling me unintentionally closer, and placed his hand over my mouth to stop me from talking any further.

“You promised you'd take that to the grave.”

I grinned and pulled his hand away, though his arm stayed around me.

We made it out of the castle without any inconveniences, thanks to Peeves, who – on orders from the twins – created some chaos in the trophy room and distracted McGonagall.

We were the first to reach the pitch, and Harry unlocked the door under the stands with the key on the necklace around his neck, which led to the changing rooms and the spare brooms. Fred and George had stored the fire bulbs under a loose floorboard and were now freeing them so they could fly over the pitch. Hermione directed her wand towards the sky, sending out a Muffliato Charm, then winked at me and climbed up to the commentary stand with Lee.

In the meantime, the other houses arrived; the Hufflepuffs were followed by a tiny body of house elves carrying fast food on tablets over their heads. They spread over the stands, consorting with the students watching the game and providing them with hot meals and drinks.

“Welcome back everyone!”, Lee's voice echoed over the pitch and the crowd cheered. “And also welcome to everyone new here who wants to play or just likes to break the rules.”

“Hello from me too. We have some new players I want to introduce,” Hermione continued. “Marina Florence playing Keeper for Slytherpuff, Arthur Mitchell deputizing for Gryffinclaw’s Chaser Demelza Robbins, who is currently stationed in the hospital wing, and Y/N playing Seeker for Gryffinclaw together with Harry Potter.”

“That's ridiculous! Since when are we playing in pairs?!”, Draco yelled out of the crowd of Slytherin players.

“Since I'm making the rules, you daft idiot!”, Hermione called back, and laughing echoed over the field. Ron's language was clearly leaving a mark on her. “Now get on your brooms, everyone!”

“Make sure you don't slip off your broom in those silk pyjamas, Malfoy, ” Fred snickered loudly, and Draco held up his middle finger.

Slowly, the huge crowd of players on the pitch flew up into the air, positioning themselves on the right spots. I turned to Harry, who climbed on his broom. That was the part I had avoided to think about all afternoon: How would we fly on that thing together?

My heart drummed so loudly against my ribcage it was a miracle he couldn't hear it. We were friends, I reminded myself. And I would not ruin this friendship for the sake of some stupid feelings.

“Come on, Y/N,” Harry said, stretching out his hand. I grabbed it, and he helped me to climb onto his Firebolt, so that I was sitting in front of him. His fingers gripped around the broom stick, not very far from where I had placed my hands.

“You alright?”, He asked and I nodded.

“Brilliant,” I said, and he chuckled. He then wrapped his left arm around my waist before he kicked us off the ground and the Firebolt shot through the cold night air. My back got pressed against his chest, his knees squeezing my thighs, and out of shock, I held onto his arm around me.

I hadn't flown since last summer, and even then it had only been on Ron's old broomstick a few feet above the earth. This here was the complete opposite: Harry's Firebolt was a hundred times faster, and it barely took us three seconds to be the ones flying the highest over the stadium.

“I got you, everything's fine,” Harry said somewhere close to my ear as he had noticed my hand clenched around his arm, and a warm shiver ran down my spin. I looked down on the Quidditch pitch.

“It never looks that high when I’m down there,” I said.

“Are you afraid of heights?”, He asked, but I shook my head.

“No.” Not with you. I could feel his heart beating against my back and absently stroked over his hand on my waist, until Hermione's voice ripped me out of my thoughts.

“Okay, I want a fair game and no injuries, is that clear? And show some respect to the youngest players! Now ready, steady, GO!” With a wave of her wand, the trunk with the Quidditch balls snapped open and the Quaffle flew high into the air, followed by two Bludgers. For a short moment, I saw the Golden Snitch, then it rushed off into the darkness.

“So, what do we do now? Any secret strategies?”, I asked.

“No,” Harry answered, placing his chin on my shoulder. “We just wait and watch.”

A tingling warmth spread through my body at the subtle touch. Gently, Harry steered the broom around the pitch, while the others beneath us played.

“Katie wins the Quaffle – passes to Montgomery – Rick close to score, come on – YES, Gryffinclaw scores 10 points!”, Lee bellowed and loud applause erupted. “And Slytherpuff in possession – Blaise with the Quaffle – Josephine Gordon from Hufflepuff takes over, excellent Chaser that girl, and rather attractive – OW, I'm just stating facts!”

Hermione had smacked Lee on the back of his head.

“Anyways, Blaise in possession once again – now First Year Conan Ivory – Smith overtakes – and he scores. Ron, look at the Quaffle, not at Hermione – OW! – But Gryffinclaw still leads – Ginny overtakes – fights off some Slytherins – hey, careful Harry, Bludger coming your way –”

Harry quickly leaned over me and the Firebolt dropped a few meters, dodging the Bludger rushing over our heads. George (or Fred?) darted after the ball, calling a quick “Watch it, lovebirds!” at us, and hit the Bludger towards a Slytherin Chaser.

The other twin was close behind, shouting “Less snogging, more seeking!”

“Shut it!”, I yelled. For Merlin's sake, did everyone knew about my crush? Was it really that obvious for everyone except Harry? Not that I wanted him to find out – he would be embarrassed, he didn't think of us as anything other than friends.

Harry's arm slipped from my waist and he cleared his throat, but a broomstick did not provide much space, wherefore his chest was still pressed against my back and I could feel his rather fast heartbeat.

“Do you, uhm... want me to drop you off?”, He asked.

“Oh. Uh, no,” I said, trying to turn so I could face him, “I like it, but if you want to –”

“No! No, I just thought...” Harry’s eyes danced over my face like they had never before and we were quite close.

“ – Applebee has the Quaffle - and that's a score! Sixty to sixty!”, Lee called, and Hermione blew her silver whistle. I ripped my eyes off of Harry and looked down to the commentary stand. “Now, we’re gonna have a short break, because Dobby thinks you're gonna starve otherwise. All the first and second years are asked to go back to their dorms, because it's almost midnight – don't complain to me –”

Harry carefully steered his Firebolt back to the ground where he landed near Ron and Ginny. I climbed off and was glad to be spared an awkward conversation, because Ginny grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the pitch. The sudden loss of Harry's warm chest made me shiver.

“Now, have you ever thought about making out in a broom closet?”, She asked, a mischievous grin on her reddened face. I rolled my eyes at her.

“Hermione told me about the bet, so don't even try! No one's gonna make out in a broom closet,” I said.

“Except you and Harry,” Ginny replied. I opened my mouth to talk back, but was interrupted.

“What’s going on with you and Harry?” Cho had caught up to us, snatching a plate with fish and chips from a tablet an house elf carried through the crowd. “I have watched you, it's adorable, honestly.”

“First off, there's nothing to be adorable,” I said and stole a fry from her plate, “and second, you are supposed to watch the Snitch, not us.”

“So is Harry, but he only has eyes for you.” Cho smiled and tapped my nose with her finger. Ginny giggled and ate a piece of fried fish. In the same moment, Hermione breathlessly jogged up to us.

“What – were – you – waiting – for?”, She panted. I furrowed my brows.

“Huh?” Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“You were this close to kiss him, why didn't you do anything?”

“Is my love life this much more interesting the Quidditch game?!”

All three girls answered “Yes” in union.

“But he doesn't feel the same way for me!”, I argued. “We are friends –”

Ginny grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around. “Do friends look at each other that way? I don’t think so.”

Harry stood a few feet away with Ron, Seamus and Dean, though he seemed not to listen to their conversations and instead stared over at us. At me. When he realised he had been caught, he waved shyly and almost spilled his pumpkin juice. I waved back at him before turning to the girls again, all of whom were looking temporising at me.

“Oh, I – I don't know. Even if you're right, I can't just kiss him out of nowhere on his broom.”

“No, you gotta snog him in a broom closet so I get my Galleon,” Ginny said smugly, and Hermione nudged her with her elbow and looked at her watch, before blowing her whistle again.

“Everyone back on their positions, break's over!” Then Hermione shot me a serious look. “Get the boy, we're all done of you pining over one another. Ron can get the other boys to crash somewhere else, if you need the dorm.”

“Hermione!”, I gasped, but she was already rushing back to the commentary stand.

“Good luck,” Cho said, and Ginny winked. I glared at them before making my way over to where the Gryffindor boys stood. I saw how Ron said something to Harry, patted his shoulder and flew off.

Harry turned to me, smiling. His hair was even messier than usual due to the wind, and he had put on a black hoodie over his pyjamas. He looked cute and hot at the same time, and I couldn't quite believe that he was supposed to like me back.

“Do you want to – or?”, He asked.

“Yeah,” I smiled and he got on his Firebolt, making space in front of him for me.

“Good. I mean –” He cleared his throat as I climbed on his broom. The next second, we were high up in the air, his chest against my back again.

“Okay, guys, game's on again! Go!”, Hermione shouted and waved her wand at the Quaffle, which flew upwards and was caught by Ginny instantly.

“And we're back – Katie passes the Quaffle to Valentina – She flawlessly dodges a Bludger – Back to Peters, almost made it onto the Ravenclaw team – and he scores! SEVENTY TO SIXTY.”

I took a deep breath and leaned back against Harry, watching the game unfold. He propped his chin back onto my right shoulder, like an unspoken routine.

“I think I'm gonna play again next Friday,” I said out of the blue.

“Really?”, He asked, sounding surprised. I smiled. The crowd underneath us cheered.

“Yes. If you save me a place on your broomstick.” I turned to look at him, and he smiled brightly at me. We were as close as earlier, maybe even closer. I held my breath, until I noticed something small and golden buzzing through the air behind Harry, illuminated by one of the fire bulbs.

“There!” I pointed at the Golden Snitch, and Harry's head spun around to assure himself.

“Do you trust me?”, He asked.

“Of course,” I replied. Instantly, his hand was back around my waist and he yanked the Firebolt around.

“ – Seamus throws the Quaffle to Dean – Dean passes Nott – and he scores! NINTHY TO EIGHTY FOR GRYFFINCLAW! And Potter seems to have spotted the Snitch, Draco, Cedric and Cho close behind – Come on, show them what that Firebolt can do!”, Lee's voice roared from somewhere deep down, but my eyes were glued onto the Snitch: It whirred through the ice cold December air and up to the left ring of the Slytherpuff team.

Malfoy had almost caught up to us; even though the Firebolt was the fastest broomstick on the market, it was obviously slower when carrying two people instead of one.

The Snitch twirled around the pole, then dropped down and headed for the floor. Harry followed, and now we where almost vertically flying downwards. Because of the sudden shift of direction, I swore loudly and clenched my hands tighter around the broom.

“I won't let you fall, I promise,” Harry called over air rushing past us.

“I know, but a warning would have been nice!”, I yelled back, and he chuckled.

The weight of two people on one broomstick also meant that we got dragged downwards way faster, which meant we were outdistancing Malfoy. The Golden Snitch took a sharp right turn and now buzzed two meters above the ground to the other side of the pitch.

“You have to catch it!”, Harry yelled.

“WHAT? No, I can't –”

“Yes, you can! I have to steer!” And hold you. But he did not say that. I swore under my breath and carefully loosened one hand from the broomstick, stretching it forward. The Snitch was inches away from my fingertips and I pushed myself up, Harry's grip around my mid tightening. The silver wings touched my fingers, I stretched my arm further and in the same moment my hands clasped around the tiny, golden ball, we fell forward.

“ – And that doesn't look – Oh, Potter and Y/L/N are on the ground. I can't really see, if someone caught the Snitch –”

As one tangled mess, we landed on the frozen lawn, rolling over one another and stopping with Harry half on top of me. My whole body ached and I would definitely get bruises from the fall, but that was something I could worry about later. I caught the Snitch!

“Shit, sorry, fuck. Y/N, are you alright?” Harry's face hovered over me, a bloody scratch on his cheek. I grinned happily and held up the golden ball.

“Yeah, more than alright.”

“Y/N caught the Snitch! TWOHUNDRED AND FORTY TO EIGHTY! Gryffinclaw wins!”, Lee bellowed and the crowd cheered and applauded loudly. Harry held out one hand to help me up, and I took it.

“I'm sorry, I know I promised, but I couldn't hold you any longer and –”

“Shut up.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips. My hands found their way into his raven hair, and he hugged my waist, pulling me so tightly his fingers almost touched his own rips with the opposite hand. I kissed him, and he was kissing me back; it felt like someone had lit a firework in my heart, and for one marvellous moment, we were the only two people in the whole wide world.

Then the other players landed on the field, and we broke apart, catching our breaths. We were both grinning, and I felt drunk from the cold night and catching the Snitch and kissing Harry.

The raven haired boy bent down to kiss me once more, this time softer, and he intertwined our fingers before leading us over to our friends, where Ginny flicked a Galleon into Hermione's open hand.

“Took you long enough,” Ron said, who had both his and Harry's broomstick shouldered.

“Well, they got around in the end,” Cho added, leaning against Cedric, his chin propped on her head. “Sleepover at the Ravenclaw dorm?”, She added, and we all nodded in agreement.

While Fred, George and Lee collected the fire bulbs and Quidditch balls, and the house elves cleaned up the dirt with a snap of their fingers, we made our way back to the Hogwarts castle:

Ron alongside Hermione, followed by Seamus and Dean arm-in-arm, Cho with Cedric, one arm around her waist, Ginny carrying a tired Luna on her back, and lastly, Harry and me, holding hands.

“You know, I'm glad I agreed to play with you,” I said. Harry smiled.

“Yeah, me too.” He pressed a kiss on my cheek. In spite of the shivering cold, I had never felt more warm and comfortable than in this moment.

#fluff #my writing #oneshot #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter #no voldemort au #quidditch

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danielxricciardo · 3 years

Note

Can you do one with Dani? Maybe with 56&58 from angst prompts, like they have a kid from a fling but aren’t dating/together

Summary: You have a daughter with Daniel from a one-night stand.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing

Word count: 1.7k

56. “I was alone with my baby. My own thoughts terrified me. And you never bothered to call.”

58. “I keep trying to be a better mother, even when everything I do seems to backfire.”

You can boast that up until the age of 22 you were a model person.

You were the perfect daughter: you were home every holiday or birthday, you never argued with your parents and you made sure to call them every day since you moved out of their home.

You were the perfect older sister: you gave your younger siblings money without your parents' knowledge, you helped them when they asked for your help, and you tried to give them advice when they needed it.

You were the perfect friend: when your friends called you that they needed a shoulder to cry on, you were right next to them with a box of ice cream.

You were the perfect employee: you always got to work earlier, you stayed after-hours to finish all your work and to help others and you did your job perfectly.

But now you're 24 and everything is fucked up.

You moved in with your parents again and you no longer have that perfect relationship with them. You resigned from your job and from all the gang of friends you had, you were left with only one friend: Emilia.

Why?

Because now you had a daughter, resulting from a one-night stand.

You were a single mother who relied on the help and support of those around her.

Given that there was nothing more than a one-night stand between you and Kiera's father on your birthday night, you didn't know if it would be appropriate to post him on Instagram and say, 'Hey, 'sup, I don't know if you remember me, you drank a lot of whiskey that night, but we fucked and now you have a baby. Congratulations!' What kind of psychopath does that?

Not to mention that he is a public figure, of course, he wouldn't believe you and say you're just a money-obsessed girl; that if he saw the message on Instagram, obviously.

But it was going to be your daughter's second birthday and you were starting to get remorseful. Sure, you accepted your life as a single mother and you knew you wouldn't have a happy ending like in the princess books you read to Kiara, but it wasn't right for your daughter. She needs a father in her life. And it wasn't fair for Daniel not to know he had a daughter. Of course, you can only tell him and it is up to him to choose what to do with this information: whether he wants to be part of Kiara's life or not. At least you would have tried.

That weekend was going to be the Grand Prix of Great Britain and you didn't do much flying there, and, anyway, you could stay with your cousin you haven't seen in about 5 years.

Although your daughter's father was a well-known Formula 1 driver, you have never been to a race, and you were amazed by the very high prices for a ticket with access to the paddock.

You had a choice of which day to go and tell Daniel, probably, the news of his life.

You were sure you didn't want to tell him on Sunday. Before the race? Maybe he had an accident and he would have hurt himself. So no.

Saturday? Before qualifying? If you had told him then he would have gone to qualifications, he would not have focused and he would have come out on a low position. So no.

So you decided on Friday.

You left your cousin's house in the morning for the circuit where the race took place. You passed security without a problem with Kiara. You could walk through the paddock without any problems looking for your baby's father.

You knew that the best chance of finding Daniel was to go to McLaren Hospitality. On the way there, everyone you met stopped to look at Kaira, wondering how beautiful she was. You thanked them and prayed that they would not realize that she was Daniel's daughter, considering that she was almost identical to him; you could take her curly hair and smile as a positive result of the paternity test.

"What a beautiful baby!" you hear a girl standing in front of Red Bull Racing with Max Verstappen, and you immediately realize it's Kelly Piquet; good thing you documented yourself before you came.

You see her come and lean over the stroller.

"Oh my God, what beautiful eyes she has! What's her name?"

"Kiara," you answer and you look panicked as Max comes towards you.

"Look, Max! Isn't she a beautiful girl?"

Max smiles. "Yes, she is."

"What is such a small child doing here? She's going to hear very loud noises."

Damn it. What would you answer now?

"We came to walk around and meet some drivers," you answer as convincingly as you can. "It's never too early to start, right?" you giggle.

The two laughed, apparently they believed you.

But you immediately felt your legs soften and you saw Daniel walking with his teammate. You bit your lip and held on to the stroller better. All the courage left you and you wanted to leave.

"A baby!" Lando gasps and comes towards you.

Wonderful! Everyone behaved as if they had never seen a baby in their life, pathetic.

Daniel came after him, looking at you strangely. Did he recognize you? He also looks at Kiera and smiles.

You could've died there. You wanted to cry and you couldn't take your eyes off Daniel.

The next thing you saw was black.

You woke up lying on a bed, someone was holding a cold water pad on your forehead. And your head hurt a hell of a lot.

"Hey, are you okay?" Lando, who was next to you asks.

"Mhm, my head hurts."

"Oh, yes, you hit yourself a little when you fainted but a doctor came and consulted you while you were still unconscious and said you were fine. Can I get you something?"

"Just water."

"Coming right now," he says and gets up from next to you, leaving the room.

Kiera! Where was she? You get out of bed immediately, even though it made your head spin and you felt like throwing up.

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down!" Daniel says and gets up from his chair with Kiera in his arms.

You look at Kiera and breathe a sigh of relief.

"You seem so familiar to me," says Daniel and you want to faint again. "What's your name?"

"Y/N."

He seemed to be thinking. He didn't know how he knew you and you were afraid to tell him anything now.

"Wait! Spain, 2 years ago! It was like your birthday and we did shots together, right?"

Fuck. He remembered.

"Yes."

Daniel was smiling. Did he only remember the shots in the club?

"About that night..." you say and catch Daniel's attention. You signal to Kiera who is playing with some keys in Daniel's arms.

Daniel looked at the little girl and it was as if you could see the wheels spinning in his head.

"Wait a minute..."

"I brought you water, do you feel bet-"

"Go away!" Daniel shouts at Lando. Lando gets scared and gives you your water bottle then leaves. "What were you saying?"

You bite your lip.

"Kiera is your daughter."

"Dada!"

Daniel was speechless. His eyes were wide and they seemed to be coming out of their sockets and he was looking at Kiera. You didn't know how to interpret his reaction.

"Are you serious?"

"I don't know why you think I'm kidding."

"Are you sure I'm the father?"

You snort and get out of bed, you go to him and take Kiera out of his arms.

"What do you think? That I go to different wealthy men and tell them that they have a baby with me to give me money? I came to tell you because I thought Kiera would do well to have a father in her life. But I see that her father is not interested at all. You haven't even called me in all these years."

Daniel frowns and looks at you.

"What are you talking about?"

"The next morning I woke up before you and left my phone number on a note. I left it on your nightstand."

All the color was drained from his face.

"I didn't see the note."

You snort again.

“I realize it was a bad idea. I was alone with my baby. My own thoughts terrified me. And you never bothered to call.” you say and a few tears run down your face.

"Hey, hey, hey! You don't get to cry! I found out I lost the first few years of her life! You should have come earlier to tell me! You could come here, I don't know, you could contact me on Facebook, Instagram!"

"Yeah, sure! You doubted me now, if you'd have woken up with a message from me on Instagram you would have believed me immediately!"

"I believe you now," he says and puts a hand on your shoulder. "Please, I want to know more about her life. Can you stay?"

You looked at him with tears in your eyes. Is this really happening?

You both sat on the bed and Daniel took his daughter in his arms.

"Her full name is Kiera Hazel. In two weeks she'll be 2 years old." you start saying it with a big smile on your face. "Her first word was 'dada'."

Daniel laughs and looks at her.

"Was it hard to raise her alone so far?"

“I keep trying to be a better mother, even when everything I do seems to backfire. I had to resign from work because I couldn't divide my time between work and her, I moved back with my parents... All my friends left me, so yes, it's been pretty hard. But it's worth it when I see her smile.”

"I'm sorry you had to go through this alone. If you allow me, I want to be in her life. I want to help you."

"That will be great, actually," you smile.

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soccerximagines · 3 years

Note

Can you write something about Jude Bellingham please xx

Surprise Visits

You had met Jude through mutual friends while he played for Birmingham. What started of as a tight-knit friendship had quickly developed into a loving relationship. Despite the fact that you both were young, you knew that your relationship was strong and that it had the potential to last for a very long time.

Jude loved pretty much all of your qualities, but if he had to choose his favorite - it would be how supportive you were of those you loved. That's why, when he signed for Borussia Dortmund, you were both extremely happy and proud. You supported him every step of his career, even when it meant that he had to move out of England; and away from you.

Making a long-distance relationship work was a challenging task; filled by different obstacles. It requires not only love and affection, but also prioritizing and sacrifices. Although you were young, you knew this - having learned it the hard way. That is why, when Jude's parents suggested that you could fly out to Germany for one of Jude's matches, you agreed to their idea. Although you would be gone only three days, it was on a really short notice and you would be missing an important lecture, however it was worth it as it would make your boyfriend happy.

It was currently 10:24 am on the Friday you were set to leave, and you were doing some frantic last minute packing before going to the airport. Your mom was helping you by holding up all kinds of items, occasionally throwing one into the small suitcase. Finally the two of you finished, and you got into the car and headed to the airport.

After a couple of minutes in silence, your mom spoke up. "Well then, are you excited about seeing Jude again?"

"Yeah, I've missed him like crazy! I can't wait to surprise him," you smiled.

You fiddled with the strings of your hoodie as you spoke. Although you were telling the truth about missing Jude and about being excited, there was a tiny part of you that felt nervous as well. It had been a while since the two of you last saw each other in person, and although you knew it was a tad crazy - you worried about things feeling different when you reunited. However, you tried your best to push those worries aside for the rest of the trip - focusing on seeing your boyfriend again.

Getting off the plane, you checked through your texts, trying to find out where to meet Denice - Jude's mom. She was supposed to pick you up and take you back to Jude's place.

Only seconds later you felt her embrace you in a hug,"Y/N, so good to see you again, honey! Jude's still at training, so how about we stop for a coffee before going home?

About an hour and a half later it was time for Jude to come back from training.

Seated on the couch you could hear Jude unlocking the door and entering the apartment. Your chest was about to burst of excitement as he stepped into the living room, throwing his bag on the floor. When he started walking towards the kitchen, completely missing the fact that you sat there, you couldn't help but to let out a laugh; which then caught his attention.

As he laid eyes on you his entire face changed. His eyes widened in shock, and his lips formed a huge grin. "Y/N!"

Jude barely got the chance to step forward before you got off the couch and threw yourself into his arms.

"I've missed you so much," you whispered, your face in the crook of his neck - inhaling his familiar scent.

He hugged you to tight that you felt as if you couldn't breath. "I've missed you too, like a ridiculous amount."

His eyes widened once again as he realized, "Wait - does that mean you'll get to watch the game on Sunday?" Although you had visited him in Germany before, this would be only the second time you see him play for Borussia Dortmund. The first was not a good match for him, and he was determined to make this one a better one.

"Yeah, so you better play your best," you commanded while poking him playfully.

"With you watching I'll obviously have to."

He leaned in for a quick peck, before pulling back. You ran your fingers through his hair and smiled at him.

"I'll even dedicate a goal to you," he promised before kissing you again - deepening the kiss and enjoying the moment.

As you cuddled your boyfriend you couldn't help but to laugh internally over the fact that you had been nervous about seeing him. Although it had been a while since the last time you had seen him, everything was exactly the same; if not even better.

#jude bellingham #borussia dortmund #bvb09 #judebellinghamimagines #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #soccer #football players #football #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #imagine #request #blurb #England #england national football team

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven.

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind.

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks.

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there.

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair.

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story."

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.”

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh.

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?”

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web.

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project.

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile.

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter.

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise.

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine.

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes.

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile.

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior.

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging.

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers.

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle.

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

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