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marxo-fm · 6 months

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Take me to Church

✯ John Price x f!reader | Playlist

Summary: A reader who’s so religious that she doesn’t even think of anything close to inappropriate, until she meets her dad’s best friend, Mr. John Price.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mature themes and language, age gap (reader is 25 and Price is in his early 40’s), religious trauma from Catholic variety, dad’s best friend, loss of virginity, pet names, slight aftercare in the end, fear of getting caught from reader, smut, assurance, fingering, reader isn’t all that clueless but super inexperienced, protected PIV, oral (fem! receiving), reader has some troubles with masturbation (failure to finish), Price teaches the reader how to feel good, praising, no descriptions of readers body, race, skin color, ethnicity, hair type/length and body type.

A/N: Currently don’t know wtf I’m doing with my life and how this absurdity came to mind, but aye, I’m all here for it. This was so…..!? Yeah. Also big shout out to Hozier, my icon. Side note: I truly apologize If this fic is rough, I will edit it soon but it’s mostly because I haven’t written in a hot minute, due to school and shit, but I’m back now—and I’m proud of this!

—

The breeze kisses your skin as you soak the sun's warmth on a Friday afternoon. The grass is green, and the clouds are out, summer has just begun. You feel yourself start to come back, you were struggling but now that’s over—for a bit. You look over as you watch your dad chopping wood. Usually, he has his friends helping out, but you guessed they had things to do, which explains why they weren’t here.

You memorized their names.

There’s Gaz, Simon, a man who goes by the name of ‘Soap’—which you find funny and you’re not sure if that’s his real name or if it’s just a nickname—and then…John.

Mr. Price. Or so you call him. Sir or Mr works just fine. But you never explored your unknown and strange feelings for him. How you always felt so shy around his dominating presence, or how his voice sounds like honey and sins. You prayed at night and asked for forgiveness when thinking of such thoughts you’ve never thought of when you see John.

Until one day in high school—in health class—they taught about intercourse and other things that left you baffled and quite scared. Anxious. Curious.

You’d get scolded by your Catholic parents when you asked such things, they say it’s too early to get into these topics, or that you should wait until marriage. Your parents are good, but you always follow their rules. You never once disobeyed, only minor times but you always asked for forgiveness.

You’ve always been a good girl, but Mr. Price always makes the fire in your belly grow. And that fire burns through your veins in an excruciating need for something so sinful. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, but you never fight it off, and that was bad.

“Hey honey, ought to help me out here? The jerks I call my friends are out busy somewhere, c’mon, I’ll teach ya.” Your father motioned his hands as he walked to his area where he chops his wood, you’ve never done this before, but you’re excited. He gives you his axe, and you almost give out due to how heavy it is. “Can’t carry it like that sweet pie, hold it strong and firm.” He instructs.

You do as he says, squinting your eyes to look at his face of approval, “I think I got it.”

He nods and you bring the axe up to your shoulder, and you bring it down with every ounce of strength.

You chopped it.

“Attagirl, that’s one hell of a way to chop down wood.” A man with a deeper voice and a southern drawl said from right behind you, you turn around and the blood rushes to your head.

It’s John.

“Oh…Mr. Price,” you stammer, and you feel a rush of embarrassment plastering your cheeks.

“Y’know ya can call me John, right? Good job raisin’ her pal, she got manners.” He chews on his toothpick as he takes the axe from your hands, and the contact leaves you feeling vulnerable and so flustered. His rough hands that he used to work, chop wood, and fix things felt oddly familiar on your soft skin.

“We taught her well, ain’t that right darlin’?” John looks over his shoulder, his flannel covering his bulging biceps and that itself makes you feel thirsty for cold water.

“Yes, Dad,” you replied softly, “Well, I’m just going to head on over back home to help Mom out. Want anything to drink John?”

John looked at you momentarily, the way his name slipped out of your sweet mouth left him speechless. His eyes gaze over your white dress that sits just above your knees, it feels like he is undressing you, but he’s just wondering how and when the hell you looked like this. Of course, you were always beautiful, but there was something special there.

A spark.

“No ma’am.” He waved his hand and went back to work. You watched as his forearms grew bigger when he swung that axe down.

Forgive me for my sins.

You mumbled before you opened the door to your home and walked in.

—

“My baby’s such a bad girl, aren’t ya? Takin’ me so well.” John praises as he thrusts into you in sinister motions like he’s been deprived of something so good for such a long time, that it almost drove him over the wall.

How you felt so good, so welcoming, as his thrusts became deeper and faster. Touching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed—nor could feel. It was an out-of-body experience like your soul had ascended, and you didn’t know whether it was real.

Until your alarm woke you up. It wasn’t real, but gosh did it feel real. You’re sweating, and your heart is running a marathon, as you regain your breath, you feel like you committed a crime. A crime so punishable that it could result in a death sentence.

You grab your rosary and you rock back and forth, praying and asking for forgiveness for ever dreaming about him. Your parents always told you that you wouldn’t have a good spot in the afterlife—a place called hell—if you thought of or committed any acts of sin. Especially anything and everything related to dirty inappropriate thoughts or worse, sex. Commit any of these before marriage, and you have a spot ready for you down below.

You feared for your life, even though it was impossible for anyone you love to know. They won’t ever know you have thoughts about John, or how you feel warmth between your legs when you picture him touching you in places you can’t please. Or how you picture him shirtless chopping wood, grabbing your waist from behind as he helps you hold the axe properly and swing it down. It was oh so shameful of you. Dirty, bad, sinful.

But you feel as if enough was enough, you’ve been good for far too long, that you deserve to feel good about yourself for once.

It was the perfect time, six thirty in the morning and both your parents were sleeping away, not knowing their good and obedient daughter was yearning to touch herself.

You lock your doors for safety as you scurried back to bed, you lay down on your back as you skim your fingers down your chest.

Deep breathes in and deep breathes out. You don’t know how to do this, but you’ll give in anyway. You sigh as you pull your shorts down, with your underwear as well. You drew circles around your belly before trailing down to your heat. Soft gasps escaped your mouth at your sensitive touch. Sensitive and swollen from the dream you just had.

You close your eyes, rubbing circular motions on your most sensitive area as you picture John doing this for you instead. Rough and hard-working hands aiding you. A coil in your stomach tightens, urging you to untie right then and there, but you can’t get the motions to stay the same.

You winced as you pushed your finger deeper, your back arching in response. You don’t feel anything, no pleasure, only pain and emptiness.

You want to scream in the agonizing torture of being so close yet so far away. You pull your shorts back up as you go inside the restroom to wash your hands.

You committed acts of sin and weren't pleased, and now you feel nothing but guilt and insecurity of not knowing how to do something right.

—

The next day, the same place you were before. Outside on your dad's truck watching his friends help out with work. John wore a tight brown tee that accentuated his muscles, he's a retired man, but you could see every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears in that body of his.

You blush, thinking about it. About what could be hiding under his shirt.

He catches you eyeing him but you quickly divert your eyes back to your book. John smirked, telling your dad he'll be back in a second and wants to talk with you.

"Ya watchin' me, sweetheart?" He smiled, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. You watched as he did so, fearing that he'd ask you to take a puff, though you never would. "I...I was just trying to learn how you chop your wood, sir."

A deep chuckle escapes his mouth, "Y'know I can teach you, doll," the new nickname had you unable to face him, but he loved seeing you flustered. He took a puff and you nodded, "Come on over to my place, your dad won't mind. I'm not at home much, anyway. S'good to learn y'know," he went on as he walked closer to you, his southern accent becomes deeper as he goes, "You'll have the privacy that you need, to read your books and pray." He knew how religious you are, heck, he's a good friend to your parents.

"I don't know if my father will let me go, with a man nonetheless." John looks back and then back to you, "It's only me, angel."

You decide to ask your father, just in case. You don't want to go behind his back, even if John is family. You walk on over, building the courage to ask your father if it's okay to go over to a man's house, a man you yearn for.

"Dad, is it okay If John takes me to his house? He's gonna teach me how to chop wood." Your dad looks at you momentarily, before speaking, "Of course honey, just because I want you to help an old man out here and there. 'Aka' me." You tried to keep your cool, to not look so eager about going over a man's house.

John smiled, the thought of having you all to himself at his place gets him straining against his jeans. He loves it when you eye him as if he doesn't know or sense when you drool over him.

"Here's your room, sweet thing, if ya ever need anything I'm just a shout away." He sets his tools down and walks to the kitchen, his jeans shaping his toned legs and shirt sizes too small. Butterflies invade your stomach, merely at the thought that you'd be sleeping under the same roof as this man, and willing to teach you something you're so interested in.

"Can't believe your dress is that short, doll. Your mother let you out like that?" He eyed your white dress that sits just above your knees and shows more skin than the dresses you usually wear. "You know, Mr. Price, I'm an adult now."

"Course you are," he takes a sip of his beer, "but I ain't take you as the one to dress like this. Can't say I don't like it."

You smile, flustered at the way he just complimented you. You can't deny that you like it, you love it. It sent a rush of arousal through your entire body, and he noticed the way you crossed your legs.

"Damnit,"

"What is it?" You asked curiously, not knowing that John saw the way you squeezed your thighs together. He wants to ease the need and desire that coursed through you, but he doesn't want to screw it all up.

"Nothin', now come on outside."

"Now, you're going to hold it just like this," he instructs, pushing his hard body against your back as he holds your arms. You could feel the hardness of his strain on your back and you scream internally, unable to form coherent thoughts.

You made this so hard for him, so difficult to the point where John himself forgot what he wanted to teach you.

"Easy," his calloused hands left your arms and snaked their way along your waist. Your stomach flipped at the action. Goosebumps flare over your entire skin, his manly scent entering your nose and taking over your mind. You swallowed, and continued.

"Now raise your axe, and swing it down."

You did just so, and you successfully chopped the wood.

"That's it, angel baby, look at ya. Such a good learner."

"I am, aren't I?" You slightly bit your lip, John cursed himself and cupped your face. "Mm, damn right you are." John wondered deeply if you were such a good learner in other parts as well. Price cupping your face was a first, but his calloused hands that signal just how much of a hard worker made the intense throb between your legs grow.

You wake up with your blanket suffocating as you struggle to fall asleep, again. You tossed and turned, repeating everything and every touch he gave you. You try to stop the need and the burn in your belly, you really do, but it's hard when you don't know how to fulfill your need. It became so bad to the point where you stood up and walked to the kitchen for water.

He wasn't in his room, he was out for the morning. A busy man and you're so silly for thinking he'd be home, even when he informed you he wouldn't be home every passing hour.

But oh how much you needed him. In ways, you couldn't forgive yourself for it.

You sit down, as quiet as a mouse, waiting patiently for him to come back just so you can confess your dirty sins. Maybe he'll forgive you for them, or maybe he won't show you mercy.

You try to occupy yourself, laying down on the couch and turning on the TV, still in your nightgown. You pull the blanket over, ready to watch a cooking video to learn a few things.

But it hits you that you're actually able to do something about the heat in between your legs, now that nobody is here. The house was quiet except for the TV playing.

Your hand trails under the blanket, lifting your nightgown as you reach for your soaked underwear. Shameful how you're soaked even when he's not around, John really leaves his mark on you. You let out a sigh as you reached your wet and sensitive clit.

It's not easy when you struggle to please yourself, it's so disappointing, honestly. Today was no different.

There is this creeping guilt, but it always hits you the most just when you creep up the tip of the mountain, only for you to fall off when you realize what you're doing.

You can't stop thinking of him, shoulders aching and tears urging to escape when you're so close to reaching the end, only for it to be unsuccessful.

So, you close your eyes and let out a deep breath. Spreading your legs further as your fingers plunged into your aching hole, you gasped. Picturing yet again, how he pleases his women. Of course, he knew how, he is well experienced and capable of pleasing a woman, to the point where she forgets her own name.

You're committing acts of sins in his own home, unforgivable and dirty. Because you were raised with the idea of being perfect, but no one is perfect. From the moment you're born and the moment you die--but the moment you die is the moment John Price fulfills your dirty little dreams.

He whispers in your ear telling you how to do this and how to do that.

'Just like that.'

'Those fingers are too light, darlin', lemme do all the work."

"Attagirl, in and out."

And you almost reached the top of the mountain, whispering finally as sweat buds trail down your forehead.

Finally, finally, finally.

Until you fell down the mountain you tried so hard climbing, when John swings open the door to the sight of his best friend's daughter getting off on his couch. You hurriedly pull your panties back up.

At that moment, you wanted to scream.

To run away.

To die.

He's going to tell your dad, and your entire body freezes. You can't plead for forgiveness when you're so far gone. No mercy will be shown when he kicks you out and tells your parents how bad their daughter truly is.

You sit straight as your body shakes in fear, you're unable to cry when you know your fate.

A sinful girl.

"John," you choke, "I-I am so so sorry, I didn't mean to. I really wasn't-"

"How long have you been at this?" Your heart drops all the way down as the blood from your face drains. "O..only," you struggle to speak as his deep brown eyes gaze at you, "It was only this one time."

You lied.

Another sin.

He stands in silence, shutting the door behind him as he takes big steps towards you. He hovers over you, looking down to see a dirty girl in front of him. As if you played this innocent and sweet girl, though you were, except in John's eyes you weren't. At least that's what you thought.

He takes your chin and pushes your head up to face him, you weren't able to look in his eyes, it was all too much.

"Look at me," he grumbled, you did just what he said. Not once resisting, although it was difficult.

"I ain't mad at ya, it's natural, honey."

Your eyes widened and your shoulders relaxed from the tension and fear.

"You're not going to tell on me?" You asked, Price chuckles.

"Course I'm not, I ain't no snitch, I'm a grown man." He bends on his knees, his thumbs rubbing circular motions on your exposed skin.

"Did it feel good? Sorry to have ruined it for ya' angel." It sure did feel good knowing you almost reached the top, it really did, but it felt better having John assuring you that it was all okay. "You don't have to be sorry--I was just..."

"Go on."

"Continue what I interrupted, don't let my presence stop ya," he signaled his pointer finger toward the door to his room, "it ain't comfortable here. No space to spread those sweet legs, is there?"

You shake your head, "Go on, unless you want me in there. I know deep down you do, doll, you can feel so much better." He's right, the moment you've been dreaming of, it finally comes true. How could you say no to John being in the same room making you feel good?

You almost can't believe it.

He suddenly picks you up from the couch, initiating a soft gasp from you when he opens the door and throws you on his mattress.

You balance yourself with your two hands when he undresses himself in front of you. Starting off with his shirt. You gasp once again, at the sight of his sculpted body before you. His chest was full of hair and his toned dad bod was the definition of perfect.

He gets on the bed and slowly crawls towards you, his head now in between your thighs. "I interrupted your time of need, sweet girl, let me make it up to you." He smiles before hooking his finger on the hem of your underwear, pulling them down all the way to your ankles. On display right before him, so shy you hid away, unable to look at the lewd sight in front of you. "That ain't gonna work for me, eyes over here." His fingers dug into your thighs, you did just as he said, looking at his eyes that continue to look at your pretty pussy.

"S'fuckin' wet."

It's a dream come true for John as well, to see you all wide open and soaking wet for him.

He places peppered kisses along your thighs, and you whimper as he stops. John makes his way up to your lips, biting your bottom lip before kissing you deeply and hungrily. Exactly like the dreams.

His stache brushing against your top lip only made it feel real, his tongue deep inside your mouth as your hands held the back of his head, pushing his mouth impossibly deeper. He's eating your face as if it were his last meal on death row. Like a predator catching his prey.

He pulls away from the intense kiss, the saliva leaving both of you.

Good God did he know how to kiss, you let him do all the work when you could barely kiss him back just as good.

His chest heaved, and he continued with his kisses on your neck and down your collarbone, pushing a soft moan out of you that drove John over the wall. "Make more noises, it's only the two of us, jus' let me hear ya." He cooed, his hands lifting your nightgown over your hips and then over your head. His eyes trailed over your breasts hidden in your bra. "Ah fuck," you sit up, allowing John to unclip your bra, the sight of your chest out on display for him made his mouth water. He grips your left breast with one hand while he sucks and kisses the other.

"Oh, John...keep doing that, please."

He kneads your breast, almost putting you to sleep with how good it feels, "mmmhm," you sighed, "you been wantin' this, and I'm sorry for waiting this long." He apologizes as he places kisses down your belly and finally makes his way back to being in between your thighs.

"No need...to be sorry," you breathe, tilting your head back when he swipes his tongue between your wet folds. The new feeling alone made your legs tremble, enticing a loud gasp from you. You start to rock your hips against his mouth as his deep groans vibrate through your entire nervous system. "Taste like fuckin' Heaven, oh sweet baby, I think you are heaven itself." Praise that had you dropping your jaw as he inserted his hot tongue in your hole.

You swore you saw Heaven.

Brows furrowed and back arched as he eats you like a hungry man, your hands gripping the sheets underneath you, and your legs spread further open inviting him in for more.

John inserts one finger in as his tongue continues to suck on your most sensitive area, and you let out the loudest moan you didn't think you were capable of ever making.

You died in this moment. And John swore he died in that moment, also.

"John," you pant, focusing on what could be your first-ever orgasm.

"I know, you're close baby, s'fuckin' tight, come for me." His words of encouragement suddenly break the coil inside your burning belly, the liquid seeping out of you as he continues to lick away every last bit from you.

He takes his finger and licks you away, which leaves you half-lidded.

"See? How hard was that? Like rippin' a damn bandaid off, does your wound feel better?" He teased, "It does," you say softly, still reminiscing what happened a few seconds ago. What you just felt, how it felt like fireworks exploding inside your veins.

"Such a perfect pussy, waiting to be full of me." He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans, you've never had sex, but you definitely never needed something more than now. You need him, to get to know him, even when you already do.

"Does it hurt like they say?" You asked nervously, watching as his jeans disappeared, leaving him only in his boxers. His thick thighs didn't do much justice in the dim light.

"When I do it, then it shouldn't be as bad, doll. Jus' a little pain, but if ya feel like it's too much, you jus' tell me. Hm?"

It makes you feel special with how sweet he treats you, he treats you with such care that it truly makes you dizzy.

He takes off his boxers and you almost lose all consciousness, his cock leaking with pre-cum and hard, you thought it was quite inhumane how big he is.

Sure you've explored your curiosity, but John, he differed from all of them.

"Poor thing needs some love and I'm going to show your pussy what the definition of love is." You grew heavy with desire, "ya need me to use a condom, sweetheart?" he asked, you nodded, simply because you weren't on the pill.

He opens his drawer and pulls out a condom, ripping it off with his teeth and spitting a piece of the wrapper out.

That was a sight for sore eyes.

He slips it on his thick cock, the condom intensifying every vien, it left your mouth dry like a Sahara desert.

How was that going to fit? Was all you were thinking about, but you were so sure he was going to make it feel okay.

He sets his heavy cock on your soaking entrance, teasing you while he moves his dick up and down your folds, you whine with need and John chuckles.

Was this the sinful thing that would literally damn you for eternity? How could something so dirty feel so good?

He brings a hand of his to pin your arms down, while the other holds your leg close to him. Your brows furrow as he slowly enters himself into you. John grows concerned when he sees your lips pursed and your eyes shut tightly, a tear escaping.

He stops, and you stop holding your breath.

"It hurts don't it? Want me to stop?"

"Please, no," you gasp, "I...I want you to keep going."

He readjusts your hips, before proceeding to continue, "You sure, honey?" You nod and whisper a hundred times yes before he thrusts deep inside of you.

"So fuckin' good for me, fuck!" he shouts, he loved the way your cunt fluttered and wrapped tightly around his cock.

The silence in the room was filled with his groans and loud moans from you, so lewd and so dirty. But you're too far deep to leave now, you're ready to die, happily.

"My," he thrusts, then pulling away and thrusting back in deeper, "gorgeous," you gasp when he continues his rhythm of thrusting and being so close to pulling out before he thrusts impossibly deeper again, "Girl." He breathed.

He brings his fingers to circle your sensitive clit, and you feel it happening again. It's more intense and heavier.

Your walls wrapped tightly on his cock, initiating that you're indeed closer than you have ever been before. "Mhmm," he moaned, and it was such a sweet sound you so badly wanted to hear again. He grabs hold of your legs, bringing them closer to your head, thrusting at a deeper angle that you can feel in your throat.

"That's it, baby, that's my fuckin' girl right here. All mine, gimme one more." He stopped as you cried out his name over and over until it became engraved in John's brain. He silences your cries with his lips as your legs shake around him.

"You did so well for me, your pussy jus' needed some medicine to be cured, got you coming all over my cock." He begins to move again, to finish himself this time. Your pain turns into pleasure and familiarity when he pushes himself in and out.

"John, that feels so..." He groans loudly at the way you watch his cock slide in and out, it was obscene but also surreal, "look at you, fuck, gonna make me cum just lookin' at me like that."

Which you felt so good about, it's all you wanted.

He pants as he reached a certain point, chest heaving as you can feel his cock twitching inside of you.

John pulls out, and there's sadness in your heart at the emptiness. Your heart thuds loudly that your first time to be with a man you dreamed about, it feels euphoric. You felt ecstatic.

He wipes away your dry tears and your hair away from your face, that drowned in sweat and tears.

John admired you the second he laid his eyes on you till now, he never knew the definition of perfect until this moment.

"Can you teach me how to feel good?" You asked as your hand roamed his broad shoulders and his back. And fuck, did John love that.

"Course' baby, on top of the choppin' the damn wood lessons," you both laugh, "I got all the time in the world, for you."

Your heart ached, he whispered sweet nothings before he carried you into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

Then you nestled under his arms and his body heat, his chest, and arms hugging you as the two of you slept the day away.

It was worth every waking second, and now you can sleep peacefully.

A/N: Y'all, wtf. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Need him.

This lowkey needs to be edited some more now that I’m reading it, but I’ll definitely do that later…

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sunsetchicane · 2 months

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Postcards - Part 1 of 13 [LN4]

lando norris x journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 10k

summary: The one where everything begins. You are working a gala and run into Lando Norris. A whirlwind evening brings you to a crossroads, your budding new relationship hanging in the balance.

warnings: tiny bit a swearing here and there, slight sexual innuendo, angst, all around pretty mild (for nowww)

author's note: I am so excited to start this series!! I have been planing and scheming and I can't wait for you all to see it unfold. Releasing part one is completely surreal. As always, feedback is appreciated, so please let me know of any questions/concerns/comments you have. Lots of love and I hope you enjoy!! [xoxo elle]

December 2021

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the fabric of your evening dress. You’ve done this countless times already, but another time can’t hurt. After checking yourself over in the mirror once more, running your fingers through your hair to make sure it looks right, and dabbing on a little more lip gloss, you exit the bathroom to rejoin your colleagues.

The event space sparkles around you with seasonal cheer. For the last few weeks, you were volunteered, without your consent, to help your department put on a charity gala. Since you were the freshest hire, it made sense that you were put on tasks that didn’t exactly fit your job description.

When you started working for a prestigious international publication based in Monaco, you expected to jump right in. You were an eager early graduate ready to take on the world at the ripe age of 21. Since you walked into the office on your very first day, you itched to grab your camera and hop on a flight anywhere to start chasing a story. Instead, you’ve spent the last few months being assigned to this and that around the office, slowly climbing your way up the metaphorical totempole.

Was it egregious at first? Most definitely.

Being in one place for an extended amount of time has never been your thing. You did two years of university on campus, but quickly grew tired of it. So, you switched to online and finished up in record time, all while hopping from place to place. However, you’ve slowly grown accustomed to seeing the same people everyday and making friends along the way while working in Monaco. It surprises you how fond you’ve become of this place. You’ve never called anywhere home, but this city has become as close as you think you’ll ever get.

Picking up your camera bag and black leather binder, you make your way towards the bar where the rest of the team set up shop. As you walk over to the huddle, you take a minute to truly admire all the work put into this gala. The giant arching windows of the event space are dressed in white and gold silks that match the table cloths and decor. Glittering lights hang from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the large room. Candles line every table, causing the glasses and white porcelain plates to sparkle in the sultry lighting. There’s a dance floor in the front of the room, behind which is a short stage filled with the hired band’s instruments. And finally, there’s your favorite part. On the far side of the room, a silent auction is being held. There are tables lined with exclusive works from your company. There are first editions, rare prints, iconic autographed pieces, everything that makes a journalist or a collector want to combust. Finding all of the works that are on auction tonight was an incredibly difficult task, but equally as gratifying. It all looks just how you imagined it – exactly how you planned it.

Stealing a few more seconds for yourself, you snap a few shots of the details. The lighting gives the photos a sensual cascade of warm colors. You adore the way they look and can’t wait to capture more moments as the night goes on.

You hear your name being called from over by the bar. Snapping out of your creative stupor, you briskly walk over to the small crowd of your coworkers. They’re going over final checks to make sure everything is in order before we open the doors in an hour. Bobbi, serving as point for tonight's event, delegates tasks to everyone. As they’re assigned a duty, they bugger off to execute it as quickly as possible. After everyone leaves, it’s just you and Bobbi.

“You need to work your camera so hard tonight that you have to invoice the company for a new one.” She says pointedly, her tone firm and commanding. Bobbi has the ‘scary leader’ bit down to a science. However, you’re not afraid of her. She’s genuinely a great person, not to mention a brilliant writer, and also the closest friend you’ve probably ever had. She’s a couple years older than you and has been a bit of a mentor over the months that you’ve worked under her. She’s the no-nonsense to your fully nonsense life. In short, she keeps you grounded, humble.

“Working her like a racehorse, boss.” You confirm, nodding and giving her a mock-serious face.

“Don’t call me that.” She says while collecting her things into a neat pile. “And wipe that look off your face before it gets stuck like that.”

That puts a small smile on your face as she walks away. You watch as she stops here and there, straightening things out or fixing a wrinkle in a table cloth. Quickly, you snap a couple shots of her when she’s not looking. She looks effortlessly classy in her black dress and heels and slicked back black hair. You can’t help but hope you look as put together as her. But the chances are good you most definitely don’t. A word to the wise: if you’re going to live in Monaco, learn how to dress. Everything here is to the nines or not at all.

The next hour until the doors open is quick, maybe too quick. You’re in a bit of a tizzy as the guests start arriving. There are countless paparazzis and journalists waiting alongside the carpeted stairs that bring the guests to the front doors. You stand stationed inside to capture the night in candids. Your photos will be used in the next publication, so you have to do well. There’s a lot riding on your performance tonight. No pressure, right?

Glittering people slip through the doors, spilling into the event. You watch from the edges and shadows as their mouths fall open at the splendor. They lean into each other and whisper about the decor and ambiance. It makes your heart race, wondering exactly what they’re saying. It’s the nosy journalist in you that needs an answer to every question.

When the moment feels right, you snap pictures as discreetly as you can. It’s your job to be invisible amongst the party-goers. These people are here for charity and to socialize. The money that they haul in with them is far more than you could even bear to think about. It drips from them as they walk; it tumbles from their pockets, unnoticed. Celebrities and politicians and everyone in between has been invited tonight. There’s a tight feeling in your chest as you take picture after picture of the wealthy. There’s a large disconnect between you and these people. Not so long ago, it was a great day if you ended up with three meals and clean clothes to wear. Now look at you–taking pictures of men who wear watches that could finance the rest of your life.

As the time slides by and the sun settles itself into the horizon, the flow of guests has nearly stopped. A few tailenders slip in before the doors close, signifying the real beginning of the night. The music plays quietly in the background, but is nearly drowned out by the chatter that rises from each and every table. There are groups of people standing and socializing, a few people slung along the bar, and the rest are seated at their assigned spots. Sighing, you let your camera fall to your side for the first time since the first guest arrived. You’ve been working the room, snapping shots of any and everything that catches your eye.

You walk back over to the foyer, seeking out one last shot before the meal is served and toasts begin. As you walk, you adjust the settings on your camera so you’ll get the shot just right. Without checking around you, you bring the camera up to your eye to test the settings by taking a couple photos. Immediately, your eye catches on someone in the viewfinder. He’s standing along the wall, his head ducked down into a glass of champagne. His eyes are scanning over the bustling crowd of people. You can only see him in profile, but he looks nearly perfect leaned up against that wall with the icy glass pressed to his lips. His black suit glitters in the soft lighting along with his eyes. His skin is a warm tan, working blessedly well with the lighting that surrounds him. Quickly, you zoom in and frame up a better shot of just him. The shutter snaps shut a few times. As it does so, you watch in horror as the man starts to turn his face toward you, looking right down your lens. You capture it all in a line of photos. His furrowed frown melts into a sly smile as he catches you photographing him. He laughs a little while shaking his head.

When you finally take a moment to look at him, you find that you actually know him. Well, know of him. Bobbi’s son has forced you to sit down and watch Formula One reruns with him on multiple occasions. The face of one of his favorite drivers is this face in front of you. Lando Norris, Formula One driver for McLaren. And by the looks of it, a total cocky bastard. A cute bastard, but bastard nonetheless.

Needing to escape this situation, you try to remember why you were over here. You can’t believe you got so distracted so quickly. Thinking briefly, you remember the photo that you need to take. Just as you turn around to find the shot, a voice rumbles in your ear. His accent is acutely British and sends a wave of chills running down your spine. He’s unnervingly close, his breath hitting your ear and neck. It should make you terribly uncomfortable, but it doesn’t.

“Did you get my good side?” He asks smoothly, a hint of humor in his voice. As you turn to face him, there’s a cheeky smile plastered onto his young face. Seeing him this close, it strikes you now just how young he is. He can’t be much older than you, if at all. His hazel eyes are bright and glinting with humor as you stare him down.

“That depends,” You muse, folding your arms over your chest. “Which side is that?”

“You tell me, you’re the professional.” He shoots back with a wink while gesturing at your camera with his glass of champagne. You catch yourself before rolling your eyes, it’s too early to be harassing the guests. Instead, you decide to play his little game. You’re always up for a game.

Bringing your fingers to tap against your lips, you hum in faux concentration. Tentatively, you take steps to the right, examining his left side.

“No…” You say, expressing that it wasn’t his “good side.” But it’s simply not true, all of his sides are good sides. Pressing on, you take a few steps to your left to check out the right side.

“No,” You say again, a little more firmly. Instead of standing in front of him once more, you continue to walk around him.

“Ah!” Humor is clear in your voice as you stop directly behind him, staring at the back of his head. His hair is fluffy, but styled nicely for tonight. His neck is long and thick, causing his suit to bunch at the collar just slightly. His hands are tucked together behind his back, his glass dangerously close to spilling the remaining contents. You have to admit that he’s quite cute. The internal admission makes you blush to yourself.

“This is perfect.” You joke, trying to shake off your thoughts about him. You bring your camera out to take a couple shots of him. His head turns to the side just enough so you can capture a sliver of his face in your last photo. Once you’re done snapping pictures, he turns around with his tongue tracing over his front teeth. There’s a coy smile that plays on his pink lips. He takes your joke in stride, the humor most definitely not lost on him. You like a man who can take a joke.

“Jokes on you, I know I have a lovely backside.” He says quietly while leaning in to you slightly. One of his eyebrows pops up while he grins at you. You scoff a little while shaking your head. He’s nearly exactly as you’d imagined him. The way his eyes sparkle captivates you, drawing you in. In this lighting it's hard to tell exactly what the color of his irises are, but it’s a challenge you would love to take. You think about holding him close and slowly piecing together the puzzle that is Lando Norris.

Just as you’re about to make a witty comment about his backside, the feedback of a microphone turning on pulls your attention away. Suddenly, you remember that you’re not here to chat and flirt with the guests. You’re on the clock. Chiding yourself for being so easily distracted, you quickly switch the memory SD card in your camera for a new one.

“Duty calls,” You say quietly to Lando, “Excuse me.”

He blinks at you a couple of times, unsure of how to proceed. It looks as if he wasn’t expecting you to dash out on him. The thought makes you laugh. Everyone should expect you to dash out at the first chance. Though, as you look into his eyes, for the first time in a long time, maybe you don’t want to run. And that scares the shit out of you. Before you do something you’ll definitely regret, you turn on your heels to escape to anywhere but here.

“Make sure you send those to me. I love a good ass pic.” Lando calls to you as you walk away. In spite of yourself, you send him a grin over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

For the rest of the night, you try to focus on your job, but you catch your eye wandering. Whether it be of desire or compulsion, you weren’t completely sure, you look for him in the crowd of people. You search for him in the photos you take. His smile has etched itself into your long term memory, his charming demeanor dances across your mind. Savoring every time you get a half glance of him or just a piece of him in one of your photos, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever speak to him again.

The gala drags on. Party-goers get drunk and spend copious amounts on things that most of them will just hang on a wall to glance at occasionally. Staying to the edges as you’ve been told to, you watch in on these people. As you do, you feel something odd settling in your chest, a feeling that you’ll never belong here truly. It’s not a foreign feeling to you anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. However, rejection is rejection. All you are to these people is a silly girl with a camera, a wallflower, the help. A wave of emotion crests in your mind and crashes down into your heart. The overwhelming feeling of needing to run away from here, to escape these people and their frivolous lives takes over all of your senses.

Checking the time, you decide that you’ve done your part. It’s late into the night and the gala seems to be winding down. Sliding along the walls of the room, you make your way over to the corner where Bobbi has been looming all night. Her eyes scan over a paper in her binder as you sidle up next to her. She gives you a half glance before continuing to read whatever is in front of her.

“Leaving?” Bobbi says in that specific Bobbi way that makes you feel caught. You blame it on the fact that she’s a mother. Hence why you can’t help but feel like a small child caught in the act.

“Uh, if that’s alright with you, bos–Bobbi.” You stammer, feeling a little out of sorts. You usually aren’t the stumbling and bumbling type. Bobbi doesn’t miss it. She side-eyes you carefully, analyzing you from head to toe. After a couple of seconds of feeling like a circus spectacle, she sighs and closes the black binder in her hands.

“Go,” Bobbi says as her hands drop to her sides. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Relief floods through you as the words come out of her mouth. You’re so pleased you think you could actually kiss her on the mouth. But that would be highly unprofessional while on the job. Instead, you thank her verbally.

Dashing off, you collect your bag and coat from the room in the front. You carefully tuck away your camera into your bag and pull out your wallet. The party continues behind you as you pull your jacket on, sling your backpack over your shoulders, and all but run out the front doors.

December air crashes into your lungs as you slip into the night. You savor the fresh way it fills your lungs, replacing the stifling heat of the party. Taking the stairs in twos, you bound towards the street to hail a taxi. You don’t have a car and biking here in a dress didn’t seem like a great move, so a taxi was the best you could do.

A few people line the street, standing scattered along the sidewalk in front of the event. The valet kiosk is busy with a few people who seem to be fleeing the party early as well. Smiling to yourself, you can’t help but wonder what is driving each of these poor souls home so soon. What are all of these people running from?

Your eye is caught by a flash of yellow. Raising your hand and reaching out onto the street, you attempt to wave down the taxi. You watch as it slows down and pulls in right behind a car that’s just been pulled up into the valet area. The sleek sports car hums with power that you’ve only recently become acquainted with. Monaco’s collection of cars seems to be endlessly vast and magnificently sexy. In the low lighting, the black car nearly fades into the night. Only the gleaming highlights of the reflective carbon fiber exterior and the glow of the headlights and taillights give away its shape. Your eyes are glued to it, wondering if the rattle in your chest is from the rumbling engine or just your stuttering heart. It’s no surprise when you didn’t notice him stride up next to you.

“Wicked, huh?” Lando says, standing just off to your right. For a few moments in your mesmerized state, you don’t recognize him. His eyes are on you, but you still haven’t peeled your eyes away from the car.

“Yeah,” You agree absentmindedly as you drag your eyes over the vehicle. Everything has faded into a blur, even your waiting taxi a thought of the past.

“Wanna ride?” Lando offers, the words tumbling out of his mouth. With that, your mind snaps back into focus. A frown falls over your face as you turn to the man standing next to you. There’s a warning poised on your lips, ready to tell off some stupid man that just because he has a fancy car, it doesn’t mean that he can just get whatever or whoever he wants. The second your eyes lock with Lando’s, the venom you were ready to spit is gone and lost. His eyes are wide and his bottom lip is pulled into his mouth as he looks at you. Your jaw goes slightly slack and for the first time in a long time, you’re speechless. You really aren’t on your game tonight. Chiding yourself, you shake off your inhibitions and try to fall back into your normal self.

“I mean,” Lando says while shifting from foot to foot and clearing his throat. “Would you like a ride home?”

Pink has started to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. A pinched and slightly embarrassed expression covers his face. It surprises you slightly. You thought that he was all bravado and classic arrogance. This display of sheepishness has caught you by surprise. Once more, you recognize just how young he is–how young both of you are. Teenage blushing and awkwardness haven’t completely left you yet. Something about it warms you in a way that you desperately need.

Glancing over at your taxi, you weigh your options. But there really isn’t a choice here, is there? Not taking Lando’s offer would be a slap in your own face and a shame to all of your core truths. There’s something deeper at play as well. It feels as though you’re looking into the eyes of fate, your destiny being drawn out before you. Plus, it kinda helps that he’s cute.

“Take me away,” You say, a genuine smile coming to your face. He blinks at you once before returning your smile in full force.

“Come on then,” He says while beckoning you to follow him. In a few brief steps, he stops in front of the passenger door and pulls it open. The butterfly doors lift up, exposing the luxurious interior. You think you might combust.

“I’m Lando, by the way.” He says, one hand holding the door and the other extending toward you. There’s a slightly smug look on his face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you slide your hand into his. It’s the first time you’ve ever touched. His skin feels warm against yours, his fingertips branding prints into the back of your hand. Sparks fly out from where you’re joined together, goosebumps cascading over your skin. Never have you had a physical connection make you feel this way, let alone a handshake. Something flickers to life deep inside of you. Lando’s touch has just awoken something that you didn’t know was there, but now cannot deny the existence of.

With your hand still in his, you tell him your name. To your delight, he repeats it back to you. The way it rolls off his tongue, painted in his accent, makes you want to drop to your knees. Sweet like honey is the way it feels to be in his presence.

“Pleasure,” He says. It doesn’t sound like a casual remark, though. It sounds more like a promise. The thought makes your stomach do a flip.

“Likewise,” You say, your voice coming out soft as velvet. The way his eyes are watching you makes you feel alive. Every nerve ending in your body is standing at attention, ready for whatever comes next. You might call yourself a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and this adventure with Lando has you buzzing.

“Hop in, love.” Lando says before finally dropping your hand. Butterflies flap in your stomach at the casual endearment. Sending him a small, crooked smile, you slide into the seat in front of you. After closing the door with careful hands, he rounds the car and joins you inside behind the wheel. The hum of the engine fills your ears as you allow yourself to analyze the interior. Black surrounds you, lit up by red LED lights placed around the console and dash. You tuck your bag by your feet before strapping yourself in with the seat belt.

“Where to?” Lando asks, his hand reaching out. For a split second, your heart starts to race, thinking he’s reaching out to take your hand. It would be a bold move, but not one you’d be opposed to. But he stops short, his long fingers resting over the gear stick. Flicking your eyes from his hand to his face, you tell him your address. He nods and then pushes the car into gear, leading the two of you off into the night.

Now, you should probably have thought twice about sharing your address with a total stranger, but the truth is, you don’t know how long you’ll actually be living here. In your mind, everything is temporary. Permanence has never been a rule in your game. So, sharing your home address with someone you just met and somewhat have started to trust doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. Plus, you don’t think Lando has the stomach to be a serial killer, so he has that going for him.

“How long have you been in Monaco?” Lando asks, his eyes not leaving the road. Taking the opportunity to stare at his side profile, you contemplate how to answer.

“A few months. I started a job here with the company that hosted the event tonight.” You say, shrugging and turning your head to watch the buildings fly by. Lights dance across your eyes, streaks of it blurring into the cityscape around you. You’ve never been in a car like this before. It’s mesmerizing, the way the sound and feel of it mixes with the visual, causing a sensory explosion. Powerful is the only way you can describe it. You wonder how it feels to harness such power. The man next to you does it so frequently, it’s no wonder he is the way he is. This understanding makes you feel warm, like without asking or him telling you, you’ve started to see him. It’s a brand new experience for you to feel this way in a personal matter.

“What exactly do you do there?” He asks, pulling you from your thoughts. You can feel his eyes on you now. The thought of him stealing glances at you while his eyes should be locked on the road makes little fireworks go off in your chest.

“I’m supposed to be a journalist.” You sigh, falling back into the deep cushion of your seat. “But right now, I’m just working my way up.”

Lando hums in acknowledgement of your struggle. Something tells you that he knows exactly what you mean. It feels so odd to be so comfortable with him, to know that you're being understood too. It scares you a little. Getting close is dangerous, you might end up getting burned.

“Wait!” You say as your eyes catch on a familiar sight. “Pull over here.”

The 24 hour grocery shop near your apartment has become your closest friend. On late nights, you sneak over and peruse the ice cream section. Tonight seems like the perfect occasion to stop by and grab a sweet treat. There’s nothing quite like an impromptu casual ice cream date.

Casual, right?

Casual.

Lando laughs to himself a little, but does what you ask, pulling into a parking space in front of the shop. You send him the sweetest smile you can muster up. He looks up and down your face, his lips slightly parted. The image of kissing those lips flashes across your mind but is gone in an instant. You can’t do that. You barely know him and would hate to give the wrong impression. Of course you’re attracted to him, but nothing can come of this. All this can be is a little bit of fun.

“Come on,” You urge, your hand falling on the door handle. You both exit the car and hurry inside the shop. Mindlessly, you grab Lando’s hand to lead him over to the aisle you’re desperately needing. But, in your hurry, you don’t miss the way he swallows hard when your fingers wrap around his. Having your hand again feels completely natural, as if the two of you had known each other for years.

Instead of dwelling on the deeper meanings of things or contemplating the intense energy between the two of you, you scour the ice cream shelves.

“Ice cream tells you a lot about someone.” You whisper to the man next to you, exaggerating your reverence to the frozen food section. Eyes flickering up to his, you’re pleased to find him looking at you. There’s a smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth.

“Really?” He coos sarcastically.

“Yeah, so just know I am judging you on what you choose.” You fire back. He smiles now, the apple of his cheeks and the slightest of dimples popping out. Shaking his head at you, he carefully approaches the freezer. He doesn’t drop your hand, however. Your interlocked fingers hang between the two of you while he contemplates his decision. Casting one last glance at you, he yanks the door open and snatched his choice.

Without being asked, he presents you with his selection. It’s peanut butter pecan. Bringing your free hand to your mouth, you try to stifle your laugh. He furrows his brow, looking terribly offended.

“This is objectively a great flavor.” He defends weakly.

“If you’re geriatric, then definitely.” You shoot back, your voice weak with suppressed laughter. He shakes his head at you, tucking his tongue into his cheek.

“Go on then.” He says while gesturing wildly with his ice cream in hand. Smiling widely, you take all but two seconds to pluck your favorite from the shelf. With no little amount of flair, you show him your far superior pick.

“Cookie dough? So basic.” He says incredulously, looking completely underwhelmed.

“I think you mean ‘classic.’” You correct, tilting your head to the side. Even when he’s perturbed, you can’t help but admire him. Somewhere along the way, he lost his tie and undid the top button of his dress shirt. His hair is messy now, unlike when you first saw him. He must have been running his hands through it. You wonder what it feels like to run your hands through his hair.

“I think not.” He scoffs, mimicking your head tilt. Rolling your eyes, you drop his hand to shove his shoulder playfully. You breeze past him towards the checkout. But before you turn the corner around the aisle you glance back at him.

“Come on, mister. We have to get you back to the retirement center before anyone notices.” You tease before finally slipping away. Laughing to yourself, you make your way to the only open checkout counter. The older gentlemen standing behind the counter watches you approach with kind eyes.

“Bonsoir, Anton,” You greet him with a smile before handing him your pint of ice cream. Anton works the night shift frequently, meaning you and him have become very well acquainted.

“Bonsoir, mon cher.” He says back in a soft voice. He scans your ice cream into the system just as Lando comes up right behind you. His chest presses into your shoulder as he leans forward to hand his ice cream to Anton. It occurs to you like a tidal wave that you never want him to move. Having him pressed against you feels like heaven on earth. It’s so right, so warm…

And then it’s gone. He backs up off of you and slides around to pay. Anton hands him the ice creams along with a couple of plastic spoons. Swallowing hard, you glance from Lando to Anton. From the corner of his eye, Anton watches you. You pop an eyebrow at him. He gives you a look that says not bad. Shaking your head at your friend, you can’t help but smile. Anton is right. Not bad, not bad at all.

“Au revoir,” You say with a wink.

“Se comporter,” Anton whispers. “Au revoir.”

Behave. Smiling wildly, you catch up with Lando who’s waiting at the end of the counter. He hands you your ice cream and spoon, which you take gratefully.

Exiting the shop together, you stand basking in the glow of the shop’s lights that stream through the windows. You peel the lid from your ice cream and open up the package to the plastic spoon before shoving a bite into your mouth. When the cold snack hits your tongue, it sends a chill through you along with a fabulous wave of flavor. Ice cream at night in December might not have been your most practical idea, but damn was it delicious.

“So, Lando,” You say once you’ve swallowed, bumping your shoulder against his. “What is it that you do?”

He’s in the middle of spooning a bite into his mouth when his eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. The spoon hangs in his mouth for a second while he tries to formulate his answer. You can see the ‘you don’t know who I am’ look on his face and hope desperately that he doesn’t voice those thoughts aloud. Of course you do know who he is, but you still want to hear him tell you.

“I’m a driver.” He says vaguely, his eyes falling back to his ice cream. Pressing your lips into a line to refrain from smiling, you loop your arm into his. You begin walking down the street, lugging him after you. He doesn’t complain, but simply follows your actions, striding alongside you.

“What does a driver do?” You pry, wanting to get a real answer out of him.

“Drives,” He smirks. Rolling your eyes, you have to admit you walked into that one.

“If you continue to be so vague with your answers, I’ll have to assume you’re a getaway driver. Are we talking full ‘Baby Driver’ here? Or more ‘Fast and the Furious?’ Just so you know, I’m not really a fan of career criminals–” You ramble and badger him verbally to get him to open up a little. Sometimes all you need to do to get answers is just annoy someone.

“I’m not a criminal!” He interjects, a little dumbfounded at your verbose display.

“Would a free criminal admit to being a criminal?” You ponder aloud before shoving another bite into your mouth. His eyes are on you. You pin him with a quizzical look to further your point. He shakes his head and pops another bite of ice cream into his mouth while you continue to stroll down the street together.

“You’re–” He starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“Still waiting for an answer. Yes I am.” You say, finally looking up at him with serious eyes.

He gazes down at you softly, his lips drawn to the side as he bites the inside corner of his mouth. You can tell he’s slightly giddy about what he’s going to say to you. He’s gauging your reaction carefully. You flash him a small smile and wide eyes.

“I’m a Formula One driver for McLaren.” He says casually then waits for your response. Honestly, you’re sort of surprised that he didn’t lead with this the entire night. His cockiness is clear, but that’s sort of to be expected when you are one of only 20 people that do what you do. It’s not an excuse or a free pass for arrogance, but it makes sense. You’ve entered the part of the night where you’re going to expose his true colors.

“Oh, that’s cool.” You say equally as casually, downplaying the massive deal that he is. It’s not like you aren’t impressed with him, because you are. But there’s a game to play here and rules to follow. He blinks rapidly as his plan starts to fall to pieces in front of him. It’s borderline hilarious to watch his bravado splinter. He flounders slightly, scrambling to pick up the pieces of his failed move.

“That usually works, right? Telling girls that you’re this international racing star?” You say, putting his failure in the limelight. Red flushes into his cheeks, only slightly noticeable as you pass under the warm glow of a streetlight. He catches on then, his nervousness and embarrassment fading slightly.

“Yeah,” He says, shame being conveyed in his monosyllabic answer. Slyly, you glance up at him, a smirk playing across your lips. It’s fun to make people squirm a little. It makes them realer, more human. A guy like this who spends his time in the public eye deserves to be unleashed into pure, unadulterated humanity every once in a while. Your incessant teasing allows him that freedom.

“Did you know?” He asks after a quick pause, his face pinched into a frown. Instead of answering, you look away and take another bite of ice cream. Scoffing, he stops walking. Slipping your arm out of his, you swing around to stand in front of him. He’s glowering at you. It makes you laugh.

“I knew,” You admit while popping the lid back onto your ice cream. “My friend’s son is obsessed with you.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. You opt out of telling him that you’ve seen all of his races and post-race interviews from this past season. Maybe that’s why you feel like you know him so well. No other reason makes sense.

“Why did you harass me into telling you?” He asks while plucking your plastic spoon from your hand to dispose of in a nearby trash can.

“I don’t think I harassed you into anything. But, habit, I suppose.” You say while shrugging. It’s the best answer you can give him. You really did want to see the way he acted and get the real answers that you were searching for. There’s a lot to learn about someone in the way they talk about themselves. When he comes to stand in front of you, he has a crooked smile on his face. Relief washes over you when you see that he’s not actually upset.

“Journalists,” He huffs dramatically before flashing you a show-stopping grin. You bite your bottom lip as you gaze into his eyes. They’re bright and glittering in the night, a beacon of light in the darkness. You blink up at the man in front of you, feeling slightly dazed. He’s stepping closer, invading your space. It makes you go completely still. For all of his thinly veiled arrogance and annoying charm, you can’t help but feel drawn in by him. There’s a man inside of those defenses that you’re desperate to see.

But he isn’t a story to be hunted down and peeled apart, he’s a person.

It occurs to you then that this is highly dangerous. The feelings that have been stirring in you all night because of the man standing in front of you are the type that you always avoid. Growing connections and reaching out to people puts them at risk. There’s never a moment where you’re not thinking about leaving or what’s coming next. You can’t allow yourself to put people in the line of fire. It’s not that you don’t care about people; it’s about not allowing people to care for you. Once you run out of their lives, never to return, you’re the one responsible for their broken hearts if it goes too deep.

This situation with Lando is a prime example of the thing you’ve always feared. You can tell that Lando is starting to care. He cares about how you see him; he cares about the way your hand fits in his; he cares about the way you smile at him. It crushes you. In a world where this should make you over the moon, you feel six feet under. Tonight is a one night thing. It has to be. It’s the only way to keep you both safe.

So, you do what you do best. You run.

“It’s getting pretty late,” You say, taking a step back for safety. It physically pains you to say the words out loud, knowing they’re a prerequisite to an unavoidable goodbye. You have to remind yourself that a little bit of pain now is worth it to spare everyone from a heartbreak.

Lando is taken aback by your sudden shift in mood. It’s understandable. Just seconds ago, he was moving in after spending a lovely time with you. Now he’s being rejected. When a small flash of hurt paints his features, you want to wrap him up in your arms and explain to him why you’re doing this. But you know that he’ll just question and fight you. So you don’t explain yourself, you just let him work through his emotions alone.

Alone.

The word echoes through your mind as Lando just nods. Without another word, you both turn back the way you came to return to his car. Suddenly, the chill of the winter night that you had avoided with banter and affection, seeps in. It reaches its icy hands around your heart and squeezes. Even though you’re standing right next to Lando, you feel utterly alone. It hurts for now, but you know you’ll find comfort in the familiar feeling once again. You always do.

Lando drives you the rest of the way home. There are few words that pass between you and not one smile. You have to fight yourself not to crack a joke or tell him that you don’t really want to go home. You wish that you could stay out with him all night, talking and laughing and smiling. But you can’t. Some dreams are meant to stay dreams, wishes meant to stay wishes.

When he pulls up to your building, he tosses the car into park. It surprises you a little when he turns to you fully. His eyes are narrowed and searching. You know exactly what’s coming.

“So this is it?” He asks firmly, demanding an answer. Everything inside of you rebels against the end. You struggle to confirm the worst, the words choking you. It’s been a long time since a goodbye was this hard. You’d let it get too far this time and there’s no one to blame but yourself.

“This is it.” You say, nodding your head and dropping his gaze. Nervously, your fingers fidget with the lip of your ice cream lid. There’s a few moments of silence that solidify your point. It’s not a choice; it’s a necessity. He’ll understand that in time and so will you.

Not being able to take another second of sitting in his presence for fear you might go back on your own decision, you grab your bag and push the door open. As you stand and sling your bag over your shoulders, you watch as he watches you.

“Goodbye, Lando Norris.” You find yourself saying. Goodbyes are your specialty, so why does this one feel so unnatural? You can’t help but feel like you’re a fate from the ancient Greek myths, cutting off your own thread of destiny.

“Goodbye,” He says, the shears of fate coming to a close along the tie that connected the two of you.

You shut the door and turn your back on the car. Every single step away feels like a hike up a mountain. A personal sort of gravity tries to yank you back towards him. It would be so easy to fall into his arms, into a kiss that you’ve been dreaming about since you first laid eyes on him.

Instead of giving into ease, you cast one last look over your shoulder before hiking the rest of the way to your apartment.

The eternal feeling of never again settles into your bones.

—

Sitting at your desk, you lean your cheek against your fist. It’s Monday and you’re, unfortunately, sitting in your office at work. Today’s agenda consists of going through the thousands of photos you took at the charity gala. The part you aren’t so in love with about being a photographer is having to go through the tedious work of selecting the best few photos out of a massive sum. It’s monotonous and tiresome after a few hours and you still have a few hundred more to just look through before you even start editing.

Sighing loudly, you toss yourself back in your chair. You’ve been sitting here for too long and you’re starting to get antsy. You need a change of pace.

With your laptop in hand, you waltz into the break room to grab a snack before walking yourself to the stairs. Swift steps carry you all the way up to the roof. Some fresh air sounds like exactly what you need. You wedge the door stop between the frame and the door before carefully propping it open just a crack. Getting locked out would be highly embarrassing.

It’s an unusually nice day for late December, the sun poking out through the clouds and the wind nothing but a small breeze. You beeline for the spot on the edge of the roof that connects to the stairway building. It blocks the wind and gives you a great view of the city.

You sit on the edge of the roof, leaning back against the brick wall that encloses the stairway. Your legs dangle freely over the side of the building while your eyes slip over the Monaco skyline. It’s late in the day and the streets are starting to fill with post-work day traffic. Closing your eyes, you listen to the loud hum of city life.

After a few moments of indulging yourself, you crack open your eyes to begin working again. Firing up your laptop, you resume searching through your photos. But, something in the top corner of your screen makes you stop your scrolling. It’s a little blue folder that you’d made earlier today. On a whim, you collected all the photos that you took of Lando and put them into a folder. A few were actually really great shots that might end up being used in the gala piece. Others that you took weren’t anything special to an outsider.

But, to you, they meant more.

Your heart still carries the dull ache of your night spent together. His smile and laugh still float across your memory. Frequently, you think of him, of his touch. Every part of it was so slight, but it felt perfect. Small moments coalesce into a memory that won’t be soon forgotten. It’s not let you stop thinking about him, constantly opening up the “LN” folder you now have saved on your laptop just to relive it. You find yourself again daring to wonder if this would be the first and last time you would see him. It’s completely out of character for you. Everything about him and this situation is unnerving.

Part of you is unable to let go of him as you have done with everything else in your life. Staring at the photos of Lando, your mind starts to formulate a plan. Jokingly, he asked you to send him that photo that you took from behind him. There are several photos, but your personal favorite is when he started to turn towards you. His profile was captured, exhibiting his nose and lips perfectly. His neck is strained, causing his muscles to pop. And his hands, his gorgeous hands are tucked so neatly behind his back and clutching that champagne glass so perfectly that you can’t not admire them.

Tossing your other work to the back burner for a minute, you open up your editing application and go to work fixing up a couple of things on the photo. When you’re finished, it’s a glorious black and white picture that makes him glow like a sunspot. Appreciating your own handiwork, you save the photo under a new name into the same folder.

Without a second thought, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts before finding the right one. Your call to the PR department is answered within seconds. One of the girls you know who works answers and introduces herself. You greet her warmly before getting down to business.

“I need the address of one of our PR recipients.” You say into the receiver.

“Sure,” She says happily, the small noise of a clicking keyboard can be faintly heard in the background. “What’s this for?”

“I had a request for a print to be mailed to him.” You tell her a half truth, not wanting to get in trouble with anyone. “I told him that I’d take care of it myself. You know how these guys can be.”

You hear her mumble in agreement. People who personally request specific prints from us can be quite picky about how things are handled. You know this little bluff will help you streamline the process of getting Lando’s address.

“What’s the name?” She says.

“Lando Norris,” You hum to her sweetly, not wanting to jeopardize your mission. The other end falls silent while she goes about looking him up. Your breathing is uneven and slightly nervous. It’s not your first time toeing the line, but bending the rules never fails to get your blood pumping. You love it.

“Found him! Emailing his info to you now.” She says in her sing-song voice. You fist bump the air in success.

“Thank you!” You say before ending the call. The email pops up on your laptop screen immediately. Wasting no time, you open up the application and favorite the email so it won’t get lost. Then you start to compose an email of your own. Scribbling down a few things and uploading the photo, you send it off into cyberspace.

Once more, you scroll your contacts until you find the name of a friend who works in printing. You ring him while chewing on your nails.

“Hello?” He answers, the whir of machines is loud enough to make you strain to hear him properly.

“Michael! Could you do me a favor? I have a guy I need to get a print to ASAP.” You chirp into your phone.

“What do you need?” He sighs, sounding far away and distracted.

Smiling to yourself, you give him the specs. You wanted a large canvas, matte print. Nothing too crazy, definitely doable on a tight schedule. He confirms what you need by repeating it back to you and then lets you know that he got your email.

“Pick it up tomorrow.” He says shortly before hanging the phone up. You make a mental note to pick up an extra coffee for Michael tomorrow as a thank you.

Happily, you go about finishing your work for the day. You can hardly wait to return to work tomorrow to get your gift sent off to Lando. He’s an international address, so the sooner the better.

You’re a little unsure if this is a good idea. Reaching out to him this way is dangerous. It opens doors that you’ve already shut tight. There’s no closure to be had because everything is already done. There’s no point in exploring this any further because there’s no future here. The only future you have interest in is where you’re going next.

But, there’s still this pull to make contact again, even in just a small way. It doesn’t mean anything. At least you have to keep telling yourself that until you believe it.

When you finally feel like you’ve hit a good place to pause for the night, the sun has already set and the cool winter night has wrapped up the city in front of you. Sighing, you take a minute to enjoy the brisk chill of the season. Part of you wishes for snow, but the more rational part of you is glad for clear roads.

The trip down the stairs and to your desk is quiet. The office has been all but deserted, leaving only you and a couple night-owls waiting to call it a night. You make your way to your cubicle, ready to get out of this place for today. Slipping your laptop into your bag, you check over your desk to make sure you have everything. Right before you leave, you scribble on a sticky note to remind yourself to pick up Lando’s print in the morning. It seems useless though because you don’t think that you would ever forget. Once you have it pasted on the corner of your monitor, you turn tail and leave the office in the dust.

Bursting out into the cool Monaco night, you can’t help but feel a little more alive when you escape the office. A deep breath fills your lungs as you make your way over to your bike. It’s the last one in the stand. You unlock it swiftly, mount it, and head off towards your apartment.

The streets of your city are starting to fill once more. Nightlife in Monaco is stretching its arms and blinking its tired eyes. From afar, you watch the expensive cars and people line the streets. There’s no better place to people watch. As you fly by on your bike, you catch only the sped up version. It reminds you of your night with Lando. At this point, everything reminds you of the short time you spent together. Your heart aches to return to that night, to feel the warmth you’ve been missing since you left him in his car in front of your apartment.

It pains you to stop at the grocery store that you and Lando visited, but you need something to eat. This has become somewhat of a nightly ritual, grabbing food on your way home from work. It’s like a tiny adventure to end your day. But since this place is now tainted with the memory of Lando, it feels less joyful and a lot more melancholy.

Grabbing some supplies for a sandwich and your favorite drink, you decide that’s sufficient for tonight’s meal. Just as you’re about to pay the cashier, which you’re infinitely glad isn’t Anton, something across the shop catches your eye. It’s a small kiosk of brightly colored cards. They’re postcards. They must have just put them out because you haven’t seen them yet. A small smile breaks across your face as you ask the cashier to give you another minute.

Postcards have always been a little obsession of yours. When you bounced around from place to place as a kid, you would always grab a postcard from wherever you ended up. There’s something comforting about carrying a little piece of everywhere you’ve been with you. You left lingering pieces of yourself in those places, so it seems only right for you to return the favor. The symbolism is painfully applicable to you and Lando. There’s a piece of you that will always live for him.

Carefully, you select two postcards before rushing back to pay for all of your things.

With revitalized fervor, you bike the rest of the way home. You tie up your bike and bound into your apartment building. Once you enter your apartment, you carelessly sling your backpack onto a chair while plopping the grocery bag onto the counter. You snag a pen from the side pocket of your bag and fish out the postcard you specifically chose for Lando from the grocery sack.

With a small smile on your face in spite of yourself, you write him a brief note on the back of the card. As your pen glides across the surface, your plan lurches into action.

Little do you know just how far this game will go.

—

Lando leans against the door of his apartment with his eyes closed. He’s finally returned to Woking after a much needed holiday to some remote island in the middle of nowhere. As much as he loves to vacation (and trust that he really loves vacation, all the girls and parties and days laid out on the beach), he’s glad to be home. He was distracted the entire time he was away, and not in the way he intended. His thoughts were focused on something that was gone and lost: you. No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t shake the memory of you. There was something there, something worth pursuing. But you had said goodbye in a way that made it clear he would never see you again.

His head throbs as a tension headache spreads through his temples.

Plopping his bag down in the foyer, he promises himself to take care of it later. Right now, he just needs to find his lovely bed. His eyes search around his apartment in awe, wondering if it has ever felt this good to be home again. Maybe he can find real solace here.

He stops looking around when his eyes land on an oddly shaped package. The logo on it is familiar. Remembering suddenly that it’s the publication that hosted the gala a few weeks ago, he grows hopeful. Maybe it’s from you.

Memories from that night flash into his mind for the thousandth time. The first time he saw you, drawing your camera down from your face after sneaking pictures of him, he knew that he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. He was even more impressed by the fact that you weren’t mortified that he’d caught and teased you about photographing him. Instead, you teased him right back. It made his heart race. You made his heart race. Every part of you was perfect to him–the way you laughed and smiled, the way you looked in that dress that hugged your body just right. He loved the way you spoke. You were unafraid in a way that he’d never seen. Attractive doesn’t even begin to describe you. You were all encompassing, a force of nature that he was in awe of. Meeting you was one of the best and worst moments of his life.

Embarrassment crashes down over him. After spending time together, you had said goodbye in a way that was so final. There would be no reason for you to reach out to him by sending a package. His hope extinguishes.

Striding over to the package anyway, he scoops it up to bring it into the kitchen. He cuts through the packing tape carefully before prying the cardboard open. When it falls away, he’s met with something large and wrapped in protective paper. There’s a card taped to the wrapping, his name etched onto the front. With gentle fingers, he peels it off and tears open the envelope. The postcard that he pulls out is a photo of large white ships on stunning blue water with “Monaco” written in orange. The orange is a near perfect match to the papaya of McLaren. Flipping the postcard over, he takes in the minimal writing scribed onto the card.

Heard you’re a big fan of an ass pic. Hope you enjoy.

Your name is written next to the short message with a couple of decorative little hearts. Lando’s face lights up as he reads over the words again and again. You sent him this. His thumb traces over your name before he whispers it aloud to only himself. Desperately, he wishes to see you again. There’s a deep ache in his chest that hasn’t left since you said goodbye.

Setting the card down with care, he then begins to unwrap the gift. When he sees a stellar black and white photo of himself at the gala, he can’t help but grin. He’s turned away from the camera, his slender back on display. It must be one of the photos you took when you were joking with him about his ‘good side.’ The memory makes a flame flare up in his chest. He really hopes that you were checking him out when you snapped this particular shot. This is better than he could have ever hoped for. For a minute, he just admires the photo of himself. He looked good. You were one hell of a photographer. He didn’t realize something so simple could be so cool or done so well.

Setting the canvas down, he looks back and forth between the postcard and the photo. You’d set aside time to do this for him. The hope that he’d been trying to kill since he saw you glance over your shoulder at him before disappearing into your apartment building flares to life with fortified strength.

He’d been too afraid that night to make his feelings known and he’s been kicking himself for it ever since. A million and one ways of running after you have crossed his mind since that night. For all of his thinking and wishing, he hasn’t done anything about it. But you have. Maybe the goodbyes that passed between you weren’t as final as they once seemed. In this new light, he sees your shared farewells deteriorating. Doors once closed are starting to crack open. He’s determined to make the most of it.

He’s determined to get you.

[postcard #1]

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reverieblondie · 1 year

Text

Clumsy Kitty

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Blackcat Fem!!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Some Plot, Blowjob, Slight hair pulling, Teasing, Unprotected Penetrative Sex.

Summary: You became a thief to help you get over your mundane life. Turns out being a big time thief is not so easy…especially when you have a grumpy spider-man always throwing you off your game, if only there was a way to get back at him.

Part 2

A/N: I really love the idea of a clumsy Black Cat interacting with Miguel. The thought plagues my brain! I hope you all enjoy it! I have a lot more fics in the works so please look out for them!

Word count: 5,637 (edited to the best of my ability, if you have any tips on editing please share with me!)

“You have gotta be kidding me…”

Groaning as you hang from the ceiling you try to break out of the cords you are tangled in. Well, this is embarrassing, Black Cat tangled in cords suspended in the air in one of the many labs in Alchemax. Yep, this is just the cherry on top of your little escapades.

Stealing things and breaking into places became a recent hobby of yours. Tired of your mundane life, you wanted excitement, you wanted the rush of doing something bad, So what do you do? You become a thief of course! Was this the most rational way to solve your boredom? No, but it's not like you were hurting anyone with stealing, you were just scratching that bad girl itch by taking things that didn't belong to you and breaking into places that seemed impossible to enter, you loved the rush and high your actions would give you, it was downright addicting.

Though there's only one thing wrong with your new life of thieving, it turns out you are really, not the best at it. Sure, there were a few times you were able to make it out with the goods you wanted. But you were usually not successful in your adventures in Nueva York, and it was all thanks to one blue and red-clad hero, Spider-man.

Spider-man always seemed to show up and it would cause you to spiral out of control. Whether it was his intimidating figure or that gruff voice, his presence always turned your brain fuzzy and caused your thighs to clench. It couldn't be helped, he was a magnet and you were helpless to his pull.

Your first ever encounter with the hero you would remember forever. It was one of the first high-profile places you had decided to break into. It was a museum that was housing a very famous jewel for an exhibit, and you just knew you needed to get your hands on it. So dawning your iconic catsuit you made your way to the museum. Breaking in and grabbing the jewel seemed to go off without a hitch, however, you must have hit an alarm somewhere because the Public Eye could be heard in the distance.

Scrambling to the roof you stopped dead in your tracks, there he stood. Having seen pictures before you instantly recognized the icon in front of you, a dark cobalt blue suit with glowing red accents. Impossibly broad shoulders, towering height, and muscles that bulged from his suit leaving little to the imagination. Your mind felt like it blue screened, as you stared at him. How did he get here so quickly? Why is he so massive? Is he going to spank you? Wait what? Scratch that!

You two just stood and studied each other for a moment, the tension high, your nerves going haywire being in his presence, you couldn't help the rush of heat dropping to your lower stomach. Does he realize how imposing he is? And why was he turning you on so much? Is it the thrill of stealing or is it just him? Your mind was racing, and he just stared at you. It seemed like he was studying you. Though you couldn't read any expression from that damn mask of his you suddenly had the urge to rip off his face to reveal what you could only assume was a dreamy man. Wait, why are you acting so thirsty? He's here to stop you, not to ravish you! You're a bad girl, he's a good guy, take a mental image of him for a later daydream and get out of here! Then a commanding voice grips you and makes you snap to the present.

“Hand that over, Now!”

The simple demand rolled from his tongue making your brain fuzzy and limbs turning to jelly. The familiar rush of heat dropping to your stomach turning into a coil. The mix in your stomach, a storm of nerves and arousal. Feeling your breath hitch you just stared blankly at the hero.

He just spoke to you! Say something, do something!

Standing dumbfounded for a moment you begin to walk to him slowly. He teased from your approach getting ready to defend himself, however he didn't need to. Before he could even comprehend what was happening you placed the jewel in his hand. Staring at him with stars in your eyes as you just backed away. You tried to speak, but it only came out a subtle whine as you turned to run off. A tilt of his head said it all to show his confusion about your silent surrender, he didn't even chase you down when you escaped, most villains put up a fight and you just gave in to his demand? That was a change of pace.

Getting back home you were pacing around your room kicking yourself. That was so lame! You could have said something! Gave him a fight! Flirted a little! Made an impression! Oh wait you did, as the worst thief ever! Handing over the loot as soon as he demands! What kind of thief does that?

Plopping down on your bed you throw your head into your hands feeling the embarrassment still aching within you. Hopefully, next time if you run into the hero you will handle yourself like a proper theif and not whatever the hell that was!

----

Finally, your second chance has come! And things were going much better than the first encounter. What did you steal this time? Some important-looking technology from some important-looking building, honestly, you didn't think that what you were taking would be all that missed, but here you are getting chased by your new favorite hero. After your first meeting, you had done some research into Spiderman and you came out of it with a bit of a crush. Was it taboo to have a crush on a hero when you were participating in bad behavior? Yes, but he was just too amazing to ignore.

Jumping rooftop to rooftop using your grappling claws to help you swing and climb. It had taken you days of practice to make it look effortless. He on the other hand climbed and swung using his sharp talons and neon red webs that glowed oh so gorgeous in the night, you just assumed that the actions must have always come so easy to him.

“Get back here now cat!”

That same rough voice yelling out towards you just makes you want to purr, maybe your persona was getting to you but you didn't care. You just wanted him to yell and bully you and you were not going to apologize for that. Have you been fantasizing a bit about the spider hero? Yes, but all the fanfiction you had stumbled on and read during your research did not help your case. Some of these writers come up with the tastiest scenarios.

“No can do spidy! you have to catch me first!”

Finally getting the flirty banter down you were turning to give him a cheeky wink, an action you were sure would make his head spin but, devastation accords. Right in the middle of your turn, that you had rehearsed in your mind, you clumsily tripped over your own feet and landed straight to the ground, right in front of Spider-Man. You're supposed to be agile like a cat, not fumbling like a fool!

Spider-man slows his pursuit from a sprint to a jog to a walk then standing above you looking down at you. He studies you for a moment placing his large hands on his tapered waist, you feel like you could cry, you just wish a portal to another dimension would swallow you up but you were not so lucky. He crotches down, not seeing you as a threat at all, scooping up the tech then swings away back to where you stole them. Great, he didn't even speak to you or try to apprehend you after you fell. This is truly the worst moment of your life. You gathered yourself off the floor and sulked away back home, trying to put your pride back together.

----

Now you are hanging from the ceiling in some dingy lab, helplessly tangled. This was not helping your confidence whatsoever. The goal was to steal some stuff to improve your tools and suit, but no, you get tangled in some random cords! Unbelievable, This can't get worse. Then you spot him climbing through the side window and walking towards you, you stand corrected, this did get worse. Can't catch a break with this guy!

Stopping right in front of you, face to face with him you could better see the subtle pixelating glow of his suit and the intoxicating smell of his natural musk.

“What are you doing?” he spoke slight confusion in his serious voice

“Oh you know, hanging around” You chuckle at your cheesy joke but he just remains stoic.

“You're really bad at this” he speaks frankly before quickly popping out his talons and swiftly cutting you free.

You crash to the floor before you quickly spring back up facing him dusting yourself off.

“What do you mean?” you quickly quip back

“I mean you're really bad at the whole stealing thing” he motions his finger in a circle in the air.

“I think I'm just inexperienced, give me a few more chances and you will see” You start following him as he starts moving to leave, forgetting about even sealing anything, you're just excited to have a dialog with him.

“You're lucky I don't throw your clumsy ass in jail.”

“Why don't you then?”

“Because you're not a threat to anyone but yourself” he whips around and pokes his finger out to you. This sudden confession takes you aback for a moment.

“What? I am a threat! Look at these claws!” you pop out your mechanical claws trying to show him how dangerous you are, he turns and looks at your hand unimpressed you assume before sighing and turning away.

Making his way out of the window you clumsily follow behind him. The hero makes his way to the roof of the building, scaling the sides with little effort. It takes you a bit more effort to complete the climb following him. Note to self-practice climbing to build endurance.

Thoughts swirling in your mind, it's odd to be speaking to him so casually, you're a villain, albeit a not-very-good one but you still are one. You two should be fighting or chasing each other. Though you should probably be thankful you are not fighting the guy who was way more skilled and massive. You were not a good fighter, but it was irritating that he didn't even see you as a threat, you could be a threat! Not that you wanted to be but who the hell does he think he is to undermine you to your face?

Reaching the rooftop he stands walking away from you as you fumble behind him trying to catch up. He looks back at you as you try to catch your breath, though you can't see his face you can feel a scowling glare piercing through you.

“Go home kitty, I have more important matters to deal with than play with you”

With that, he shoots his blazing red web in the air and swings away. Fantastic, he sees you as nothing more than just some fool to not take seriously.

Standing there an ache fills your chest, every time he was around you looked like an idiot, clumsy and brain-fuzzed with inappropriate thoughts of things he could do to you but you didn't expect him to undermine you so bluntly. It was a major blow to your bad girl ego.

Clenching your fist into tight balls you feel your frustration hitting its peak. Yelling out to him in desperation you shout to his fading figure.

“You know what spiderman? You better watch out! I might just surprise you!”

----

Okay yes, what you were doing could be classified as stalking, but you were burning to get back at Spider-Man. He had seen you look like a fool three times too many, so it was now time to make him eat his words. But how do you get back at a superhero? Well, your idea is: You find his secret hideaway, steal his stuff and leave him a note telling him how he shouldn’t be so cocky. Who could see you as some clumsy thief after that?

The plan was in full effect: you had found him cleaning up the streets of Nueva York, beating up a gang blue and bloody. Watching him work was pretty thrilling, he moved with such force and skill. He was something to reckon with, for a moment you find yourself thinking you might rethink your plan, but you quickly shake the idea away. Spider-man was going to be knocked down a peg by you, this was definitely going to change how he sees you.

What he had said had stirred something in you that you just couldn't ignore, it was almost like you wanted to impress him. To get his attention and see you more than just some clumsy thief, who knows maybe he would be into it? Good girls like bad boys apparently, do good guys like bad girls? Well, you hope so.

After he finished his fight with the gang he started swinging through the city. You made sure to keep your distance so he wouldn't catch you as you kept a watchful eye out for those iconic glowing webs. After a while, you lost him in the cleaner division of the city. You looked around at the pristine buildings. Most of them were brand new, they were always developing and getting rid of buildings so everything looked unfamiliar to you even though you have lived in Nueva York all your life.

Looking around one building caught your eye, it was tall but wasn't the tallest in the city and didn't seem to have any windows besides some at the very top. There was something about this building that you couldn't shake. Call it a hunch or just natural intuition but you knew this building was hiding something, hopefully, it was hiding Spider-Man's secret hideout. Approaching the building you looked to see if it housed a company of some sort but you didn't see anything. -suspicious.

Needing to find a way inside, you scope out the buildings outside. The only possible opening you saw for yourself was a window and it was quite the climb to reach it. It would be worth it though, if this was really where Spider-Man was hiding, he would for sure be surprised by this sudden intrusion to his private space. The ultimate fantasy was you breaking in stealing some stuff then leaving him a cheeky note, he would be so impressed by your skill he would hunt you down and beg you to join him to fight crime. Then he would make sweet love to you, twisting you and bending around in many positions making you cum over and over again with him.

Squealing in excitement as you climb you almost fall having to adjust your grip. Maybe it would be better if you kept the fantasies at bay for now. The climb felt like it lasted forever, huffing and pushing through your exhaustion, your fantasy driving you to your goal. Popping your head up to look through the window, you are met with your reflection, dammit. Well, time for the tried and true method, breaking and entering!

Unsheathing one of your sharp claws you start cutting through the glass. You struggle to cut a hole large enough for you to crawl through, it's rigged and wavy on the sides, truly unprofessional looking for a thief but whatever. Pushing the glass slightly it doesn't budge. Applying more force and using your body weight you finally get through the glass with a crash. Wincing you hope the sound wasn't too loud to make anyone notice, as you stand, brushing yourself off, you finally look around and are frozen by what you see.

People in costumes all over the place have their eyes glued to you, some wear masks and some do not but there seems to be a theme to all of them, a spider theme. Your brows furrow, a costume party?

It's not until you see some of them swinging from webs and walking on the ceiling does it dawn on you that this isn't a party of normal people.

During your state of confusion, you spot him, your Spider-Man. He’s staring at you, his eye lenses raised in surprise. He seemed to have been talking to people before staring at your sudden intrusion. This wasn't your plan at all, but just go with it! Quickly finding your bearings you point to your Spider-Man face flushed but still determined.

“You have underestimated me Spider-Man! I found your little…Clubhouse?”

As you shout out to him he walks over to you staring intently, eye lenses furrowed. His approach makes your breath shake and speech clutter into a rambling mess.

“I'm…I'm not so clum-clumsy now huh…”

You finally stumble out as he now stands inches from you. Then your breathing stops as the mask that has been hiding his face disappears revealing his crimson eyes, perfectly high cheekbones and full lips. His ravenous hair slicked back, the rich color brown beautifully complemented his tanned skin. Shit, he’s even more gorgeous than in any kind of fantasy you could imagine.

He stares at you for a moment before he quickly grabs your arm and starts dragging you behind him. As you are tugged through you look at the spider people staring at you. Some would avert their gaze from you, while others just stared, you swore you could even hear some snickering and laughing at the scene.

“Poor thing, he's probably going to kill her”

“How did she find us?”

“Looks like Miguel has a pet cat now”

Listening to the muttering of the people your ears perk at the name, Miguel? Looking back up to Spider-Man dragging you along, his name must be Miguel then. You didn’t expect to find out his name and see his face so suddenly. But now you knew more about him, and it was exciting you.

Miguel continues to drag you through the massive building, not meeting your eye of course, you pass by many things in the building looking around in awe as your arm is held in his strong grip, almost certain that you will have bruises tomorrow.

Finally, after the walking and a quiet elevator ride you are in a dark cluttered room, a holo agent appears to welcome Miguel back, but he only responds with a gruff command of Do not disturb.

Releasing his death grip on you he turns to face you once more. His face alone sends butterflies in your stomach no high alert as he looks down at you. Scrunching his face before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath before he starts pacing.

You watch as he paces around for a moment, muttering to himself as you just stare patiently. Your eyes take him in as you watch him move left and right left and right your head swiveling in tandem with his movements. Muscles under his tight suit seeming to get tighter as he paces. It was almost mouth watering.

“Miguel?” You say in a sweet question.

Turning his head to you instinctively from hearing his name, he winces when he realizes that you now know his identity, "What" he barks in your direction.

Trying to come across as unfazed by his annoyance you just chirp a “nothing” to the seething man. His eyes scan you for a moment up and down before returning to his pacing.

You go to say something else but he quickly holds his large hand up to you, effectively causing you to bite your bottom lip to silence yourself. Opening his crimson eyes again he stares at you, this must be the look he always gives you. Furrowed brows, one slightly raised. His full flips in a furrowed pout. Any moment he could either yell at you, grab your throat and slam you into a wall, or grab your face and kiss you passionately. The intensity of his stare has you fidgeting slightly picking at your figures, a bad habit that only occurs when you're nervous.

Full lips opening you hear him breathe out a question to you

“Why are you here gata?”

Skin tingling from his simple question it takes all the nerve you might have still had straight out of you.

“I wanted to surprise…”

“Surprise me? I am surprised actually, it's shocking you didn't break your neck climbing up the building?” he cuts you off irritatedly

“Well, I almost fell a few times…” you nervously laugh.

Staring at you he doesn't laugh at your quip. This was not your plan at all.

“Do you get off on being a shocking pain in my ass?”

Eyes widen at his question, you look to your feet, shit. This isn't how this is supposed to go. Sure you know you're a pain but you just wanted his attention. And yes, that sounds kinda of pathetic but, he is your crush as odd as it is.

Your breaking in and entering places started the rush for you, but getting to interact with Spider-Man made it all the more tantalizing. There is no way you can admit this to him though, especially now. He's irritated enough by you, plus he would most certainly reject you. Snapping his fingers at you causes you to look up at him.

“Tell me Cat”

Moving your eyes away from him, you feel less like a thief and more like an employee getting reprimanded by a supervisor. Miguel leans to meet your eyes. Noting your flushed features and rapid heartbeat, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

The feeling of fingers on your chin snaps you back from your inner spiraling. As you are now forced to look at Miguel, his breath fanning on your face from his proximity those crimson eyes boring into you.

“Are you trying to get my attention, kitty? Because you have it, now what?”

His smooth voice has your body flushing with a warm heat, ruining your panties in the process. Is this happening? Is he flirting? Is he into this? Into you?

“Whatever you want” You speak too quickly, wanting to punch yourself for sounding so desperate.

His thumb brushes against your lips making your knees weak and breathing to spot “Then get on your knees” his smooth voice commands.

Being all to eager you drop to your knees in an instant looking up meeting his red eyes pooling with hunger. He slowly slips his thumb in your mouth feeling your tongue and pressing down to release your drool.

“You know, you're not like others. They are not so eager for my attention,” he says with hooded eyes as you roll your tongue over his digit. You just nod, leaning in to grab his firm thighs running your hands up to palm his stranded cock you can feel as it grows and twitches in his suit.

“Just to warn you, once we start I won't be able to stop”

You just suck on him looking up at him to convey your response.

“Don't say I didn't warn you''

With that, he removes his thumb soaked from your drool, and his suit dissolves away. Watching his tanned skin be revealed to you from the dissolving light. His cock springing out towards your face.

crouching down towards you and grabs the back of your neck pulling you in for a rough kiss. keeping his intense eyes on you as you kiss him back in a fever. Pushing his tongue in your mouth he feels as you eagerly meet him with yours, desperate to taste him. Grabbing and pressing your hands to his solid chest to support yourself, slowly getting drunk from his kiss.

Miguel breaks the kiss standing up from you, pumping his massive cock, almost teasing you with its girth and length, taunting you to take all of him in.

Grasping onto him you feel the silkiness of his cock and the ridge of each vein. The slit of his cock pebbles with glistening precum as you keep pumping him with your hands, licking and tip to take in his tangy taste you are sure to get addicted to.

His large hand drifts to your cheek rubbing his thumb on your face.

“Look at you being a good girl, you ready to take it kitty?”

He takes his cock back into his other hand and slaps his tip to your lips. You instantly parted your lips, eyes completely glazed over in lust for him. He slowly slips his cock through your parted lips. The heat and girth make your mouth water as he pushes inch by inch into your wet walls. Whining at the intrusion in your mouth you use your tongue to rub against the thick bottom of his heavy member, enticing him to push in deeper. His cock twinges at your eager licking and he grabs a fist full of your hair as a warning.

“Breath through your nose” he demands

Before you know it you feel his hips buckling into you more, slipping himself deeper down your throat. Miguel was a big guy so of course he was down your throat causing you to gag and whine on him, he went to pull out to give you relief but you clung to his thighs not allowing him to leave you. Throwing his head back, a moan escapes him from your needy hold.

Lolling his head to the side as he starts to steadily pump his cock into your drooling mouth, he can't remember the last time he's seen such a beautiful sight. Doe eyes glazed over looking up at him, face flushed, tears streaming down from the constant gagging, cheeks sucked in, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth as your saliva drops from your chin to your clothed thighs in that black skin tight suit that he just wants to rip off you. Continuing his rutting into you he just smirks.

Swiftly he shethes himself fully in your mouth down your throat, your nose pressed to his trimmed hairs. Petting your head keeping himself in as you adjust to accommodate him he breathlessly gives you a command.

“Purr for me kitty, I want to feel how much you like it”

Without hesitation start to purr, the vibrations sending him over the edge as he starts thrusting in your eager mouth, bottoming out each time. Feeling you rocking, he looks down to see you rubbing your clothed cunt desperately on your hand.

“So needy gata”

cooing to you, as you just continue your pursuit on your hand, shame and embarrassment hit you for acting so desperate. But the pleasure of the sensation of your fucked throat and pressure on your clit has you rolling your eyes back in bliss. Sure, he can call you needy all he wants, but you don't care as you get close to your high.

Thrust becoming more sloppy and his moans starting to slip out in a consistent hum you know he's approaching his release. Swiping your tongue in a fever around him to bring him closer you tighten your grip on his thighs to continue your grinding. A throbbing of his cock and the quickening of his breath is your warning before he is releasing his thick cum down your throat, that you can't help but swallow down with an urgent fever. Quickly he slips out of you, making you cough at the sudden emptiness of your throat.

Coughing you didn't realize how much you were desperate for air during his throat fucking. Crawling away from him, not to run away but to get a break to catch your breath, you feel a quick swipe on your clothed pussy, then sudden cold air hitting it as all your arousal starts dripping down your puffy folds to the ground under you. You whine at the sudden exposure and before you can turn your head to see what's happening you feel Miguel's large hands on your hips pulling you close to him.

“Don't tell me you're done gata? We haven't even started” he taunts while swiping two of his long fingers around your folds.

Looking back at him you press your cunt to him whining for him to keep touching you, he hums in response.

“Good kitty”

He continues to brush your folds, teasing your swollen clit every so often with a rub or a flick to make sure you were soaked enough to take him. Pushing on your back to lower your chest to the ground keeping your hips raised in the air. He watches as your needy hole grips around nothing begging to be stuffed. Slapping the head of his cock to your slick folds, he makes you whine you jump forward and hum at the abuse.

“Oh? You're a sensitive one huh?”

One last slap echoes through the room with your moaning before slipping into your velvet walls causing your fingers to spread out and grip the floor as he pushes himself in keeping his large hand on your hips. Slowly rolling his hips into you, his massive cock splitting you open deliciously, the stretch making you moan out and arch further into him as he keeps his slow pace pushing himself deeper and deeper.

You're instantly coming undone on him, clamping down on him as you gasp from your release. The tightness causes him to bully into you harder still keeping his torturous slow pace. not even all the way in and your already creaming on his cock.

Your breath is completely knocked from you once he's bottomed out, he places his hand on your lower stomach, and he feels his hard cock bulging through you. He moans at the feeling, pressing harder and rubbing the tip through your soft skin, causing you to cry in pleasure and shudder at his rolling hand.

“Oh, you feel that don't you? Filling up that tight little pussy.” he leans over to your ear “Don't forget to breath kitty cat, I don't want you passing out”

Before you can quip back or ask what he means, he's slipping out of you to the tip then slamming back into you in and out in rapid succession, the air in your lungs getting banged out of you. Leaning over you again, he holds your head up by your chin. His chin rests comfortably on your shoulder and he breathes in your ear.

“Breath kitty, come on”

taking in deep breaths as your told he treats you by fucking you harder, completely rocking your body past what you though was your limits.

“That's my girl”

He continues his pace, sweat rolling down his tense muscles as he continues to fuck you relentlessly. You can't help but feel like he's trying to break you. Grabbing one of your outstretched arms he curls it so you're able to rub your clit.

“Touch yourself, I want to feel you cum on my cock again.” he pants in your ear.

Giving into his demands you rub quick circles on your spent clit, the coil in your stomach being rammed into by Miguel's brutal length. Your pussy starts to grip him harder, making him fuck into you faster than you thought you could even handle.

Knocking all air from you, your lungs are burning. It feels like you're running a marathon, sweat rolling down your body, the heat being trapped in your catsuit. Almost Like he can sense your body overheating Miguel rips your cat suit like it's made of paper. You moan at the sudden cooling of your wet skin. Kissing all over your bare back, Miguel's large hands grab onto your bouncing breast, causing your nipples to suddenly peak from his pinching and tugging.

“Come on kitty, cum for me,” he says breathlessly, gripping harder onto you.

“Miguel…” You start to moan, your cunt clenched around him, the echoing of wet squelching and skin slapping together egging you both on. Before you know it you're squirting on his hard length, screaming in pleasure then quickly in overstimulation as he doesn't let up, only pushing harder and harder. Your third orgasm hits you too fast and leaves you crying out as your brain completely shuts down to a white fog. The pain mixes into unbelievable pleasure.

Finally, you feel your insides heat up. Feeling Miguel's cold sweat dropping onto your back as he finally came again with a loud moan and shuddering of his muscular body. The heat of his hot seed paints your insides white, as his cool sweat drips down on you. The mix of hot and cold has you twitching underneath him as he slows his thrusting to a snail's pace. Your eager pussy milks him of all his hot load.

He finally pulls out of you after he is thoroughly drained. You feel the sticky mix of both your arousal leaking out to your thighs. Rolling to your back you press your fingers to your fucked hole in a vain attempt to keep the warmth in.

Miguel stands up and examines you, he chuckles to himself as he watches you try to keep his seed inside. Scooping you up in his arms he walks you to his office bathroom to clean you up. Exhausted, you rest your head on his warm chest, slowly catching your breath. Sure this wasn't your plan but you have a feeling that you have been successful in surprising him. As he carries you can't help yourself falling asleep in his arms.

----

“Miguel! What is everyone talking about saying you have a pet cat now?”

Peter walks into Miguel's office but promptly freezes when he sees you asleep on a couch wrapped up in a large blanket. Miguel turns from his screens to meet Peter's confused gaze. Miguel looks towards you with affection watching you blissfully sleep.

“Yeah, a stray followed me home. I think I’m going to keep her”

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