#sorry i didn’t do the fancy text lol

[sakurango]

THE SECRET HIDING IN YOUR HEART ...

୨୧ happy bday @mochiinami ! no kin/me tags for kohaku ♡

like/rb if saved * credit if used

[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

[threezzyo]

໒‧₊˚ your little secret ∘︴fushiguro t.

∾you were always a good girl, as a governor's daughter, but little did anyone know... it's only natural to have a crush on your bodyguard. 6'1", the biggest muscles you've ever seen, scars begging to be licked. months of seducing him leads to something you wanted, something secret between the two of you. daddy doesn't have to know that his daughter is hooking up with her bodyguard behind the scenes.

∾older!bodyguard! toji fushiguro x fem!brat!reader. modern au. word count- 3.4k ∾NSFW! MDNI! age gap, (17 years) reader is a senior in high school (19, early birthday). dark-ish content! brat taming. no use of y/n. toji is a bit harsh... kinda 'used' as a toy. (mentions of using as a sleeve) usage of brat, slut, minx, good girl (for reader) and daddy, oldie, mister (for toji). promiscuous reader. finger sucking. car sex. smoking. oral (m recieving) riding! pussyjob kind of. slight exhibitionism (in a parking lot where literally anyone can see them......) biting. lots of teasing lorddd. just filthy, depraved, NASTYY smut.

∾indi's notes: i am sorry for being so iffy with posting and i will also stick to a theme now lol 😜 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

you were nineteen and hopelessly in love with your 36 year old bodyguard.

you had a student council meeting today, and was the last one to leave. toji fushiguro, your bodyguard (more like chauffeur) was waiting against the brick wall of your fancy pants school, cigarette in hand. he seemed to be texting someone, his mood irate.

“oh, y’er finally here.” he says in that rough voice you absolutely love. "took you long enough, brat.”

he pretends not to notice your skirt hitched up with your ass practically hanging out, or the two unbuttoned buttons on your thin white blouse that doesn’t do much to hide the lacy black bra you decided to wear.

it became a routine, before he picked you up, you’d unbutton your blouse a tiny bit and hike up your pleated skirt in the girls bathroom. maybe slather on some lip tint.

“i’m not a brat. and i told you i’d come out late.” you retort, skipping down the parking lot.

“unlock the car, oldie!” you yell, already reaching the expensive car he drives you around in. it’s yours, the porsche 911 carrera cabriolet, but why not let the handsome man drive it for you?

“tch.” he mumbles to himself, unlocking the car. "what a minx."

you were already nice and comfortable in the passenger seat when he got there, curled up on the fancy leather, your skirt riding up to your mid thighs. you were scrolling through whatever social media was popular, your headphones plugged into your ears.

what a typical high school girl.

he knows it’s wrong. he’s nearly twice your age, and you just turned nineteen, just a baby. and just because you’re the governors daughter doesn’t mean you were all prissy and proper, or sweet and innocent, you were quite the opposite.

even if your father paid a pretty penny to keep you out of trouble, a little extra cash from you was enough to keep him quiet. a man does what he has to do.

and unfortunately, your hedonistic lifestyle was gonna get your sweet father in trouble- and even worse, toji’s job at risk if he didn’t keep you under control.

“brat.” he leans over and snatches your headphones from the wire.

“toji!” you exclaim, irritated. “give them back, oldie!”

he rolls his eyes, throwing them in the backseat. “get them later. now shut y’er trap and listen to me.”

you grumble, falling back onto the seat. "i'm listening."

he takes a breath. "you know the election coming up, right?"

you furrow your brows. toji doesn't seem to be the political type. "yeah. papa's running for re-election."

his voice is low. "you need to keep a low profile. your father can't have anything tarnishing his reputation. especially his brazen brat. so, imma need you to follow my rules." his hand grips the steering wheel as he parks in an empty business lot.

"hey! i am not a brat!" you ripostes.

"oi. if your dad goes down, so do you, princess. i'd listen to me if i were you." he says, leaning in closer.

you scoff, crossing your arms. "fine. what?"

by crossing your arms, you slightly push up your lace clad bosom, easily seen through the sheer material of your white blouse.

his eyes flicker down.

like you didn't notice.

he rolls his eyes, looking back into the empty concrete lot. "y'er not going to go out for any party. y'er definitely not talking to any stranger. or any boys, for that matter. and you gonna have to start wearing something more..."

you grin. "more what?"

"more prudish." he grits, his eyes blazen. "can't have you prancin' around like that."

despite his tone, there's a hint of arousal in his voice, and he can feel the blood rushing right where he didn't want it to be. he clears his throat and tries again, "just follow those rules while i'm around, okay? it will make things easier for y'er daddy."

you roll your eyes, pulling your skirt down a bit and buttoning your blouse again. “just send me to a damn convent, then.”

toji grits his teeth at the girl's defiance. why does she have to be such a brat? and why did his dick twitch at the sight of her fixing her clothes? "don't be so stupid, girl. i'm just looking out for your safety, and if you don't cooperate, there will be consequences."

“consequences? like what?” you ask, your eyes wide and curious.

"like... being punished," he murmurs, barely audible. "if you disobey me or disrespect me in any way, i won't hesitate to discipline you."

you didn't realize how close toji had gotten to you, feeling his minty tobacco breath hit the side of your face.

there was an opening. and you took it.

"i wouldn't mind being punished.” you say with a sultry smile, giggling.

fuck.

she's right there, forbidden fruit, so very tempting.

he really shouldn’t, but he did.

"you wouldn't?" he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. "well, you better be prepared for anything then." he grins.

he swiftly unbuckled your seatbelt. "get in the backseat. you wanna act like a slut, i'll treat you like one."

you're pushed into the back of your car, toji following you. without warning, he pulls you into his lap, so that you're straddling him. "toji!" you squeal, eyes wide open as you drink in the lecherous look in his eyes.

"toji-" you're abruptly cut off by his palm.

"didn't tell you to talk, now, did i?" his shit-eating grin was so infuriating, but also so enchanting. "you gotta listen to me, sweet girl. i don't want a single word out that damn mouth."

you narrow your eyes, but comply anyways.

"good girl." he smirks, sticking two fingers in your mouth. "suck."

you looked absolutely bewildered. “to-“

“suck.”

he sticks his two fingers in your mouth, going down your throat and causing you to gag.

that look in his eyes, it was so lewd. it just made you more turned on.

your tongue swirls around his digits. you look like you’re pouting by how your bottom lip sticks out, lips latched on his fingers.

he could hear your sinfully wet sounds as you suck on his fingers, soft whines escaping your lips.

he slides his fingers out of your mouth, a little wet pop! sound.

“do the same with my cock.” he demands, pushing you to the floor of the car.

you’re on your knees, silently thanking the gods for this opportunity. a true blessing in disguise.

“gladly, toji.” you grin, your head resting on his knee. your fingers ghost over the tent in his grey sweatpants, eyes never leaving his.

he looks like a mess, his pants practically bursting at the seams.

“i don’t have all day, sweetheart.” he warns, pulling at your hair. “no time for y’er dilly dallying.”

you sigh, wanting to tease him more. he spreads his legs a bit further, and you pull down his sweatpants, before palming the bulge in his boxers.

“damn, daddy.” you giggle, tracing the wet spot. “all of this for me?”

“jesus, girl, you can’t even follow orders?” he groans, grabbing at your wrists and forcefully makes you pull down his boxers. his dick sprung up, nearly hitting your nose. angry, veiny, girthy. the others you've hooked up with pales in comparison to the older man.

you've never been nervous. it was big, too big. "toji, that.. that's not gonna fit." you mumble meekly, staring at it.

"fuck, girl, i know you've taken dick before. don't tell me you're tappin' out so early." he leers. "use your hands if it's too much." he gets comfortable in the leather seat, yanking you closer to the tower he calls his dick.

"daddy. you're so mean." you whine, your breath hitting his tip. "its so hot." he isn't having your shit. he just grips your hair tighter, forcing your mouth open with his other hand. he only pushes your head down so that your lips clamp on his tip.

"urgh- to-" the wind is nearly knocked out of you as he shoves his fat dick further down your throat. it's so messy, tears prick your eyes and your saliva mixed with his pre-cum trickles down his cock, dripping down his balls. now was the absolute worse time to have a gag reflex, stomach heaving as you struggle to open your jaw to fit all of him.

"ahf, to-.." your moans are muffled by his cock, whimpers and whines reaching his ears as you find the energy to bob your head up and down.

"fuuck. good girl." his grip on your hair loosens, allowing you to catch your breath as your mouth unlatches from his dick.

"shit, oldie, what the fuck?!" you whine, coughing into your school blazer.

"just giving ya a break." he's kinda nice at times, wiping away your smeared mascara. "but i'm not nice all the time. you're sucking me off, girl."

you shoot him a glare. "just.. don't shove it directly down my throat."

he chuckles, caressing your cheek. "hurry on, sweet girl."

you whimper, but you abide grudgingly. your sloppy mouth takes him so well, he lets out a low groan of satisfaction at the way your teary eyes make eye contact with him.

"fuck, yes, sweetheart." his calloused hands guide your head up and down as the slick collects and drips down his base. "such a good fucking girl, yes, mmh.." he's merely using you as a cocksleeve now, your tongue swirling around his tip. your nails make half moon indents on his muscular thighs, your staggered breaths hitting his trimmed pubes. your obscene sounds play like music to the older man, your teary, coy eyes glassy as he fucks your throat.

you lick the vein on underside of his cock, bobbing your head up and down, giving yourself a break by also licking the skin on his balls.

using your nimble fingers, you toy with the base of his cock.

“ah, to-ji, please…!” you croak, as his hips piston once more into your awaiting mouth, cum brimming in the back of your throat. you have no choice but to swallow.

the way your teary countenance and cum-dripping lips look to him is delectable. he laughs, throwing his head back as he comfortingly pulls your hair back.

“good girl.” he grins as he sees you wipe the cum off your lips. “you’re getting better by the second.” his expression was so pestiferous- he enjoyed seeing you cough, he enjoyed how you cleared your throat since it was so hoarse. he liked seeing you fix your messy lip gloss, liked seeing you sniffle as you rest your temple on his knee, looking up at him like a darling little kitten. begging for more.

you had never felt so needy before. blowjobs were something you just gave to get a feel for how big a guy was. and if it wasn't to your standards, you left disappointed but he at least got something out of it.

"sweet girl." his fingers toyed with your hair, as if to apologize and comfort you for the rough treatment.

"toji." you whimper, bottom lip sticking out. "please.. i want it so badly."

"ask nicely." he demands, stroking a strand away from your face.

"...please can you fuck me?" you repeat.

"again. use my name."

you groan. he's really making you work for it. "fuck. fuck me, mister, please!" you shift uncomfortably, finally sitting back up on the seat. "toji, pleasee." you whine, straddling his lap again, hovering over his semi-hard cock, while kissing his cheek. "need you so badly."

he chuckles, hands sliding to grip your hips, letting you kiss down his neck. "ah, little minx. can't say no to such a sweet request, can i now?" he drawls, calloused hands sliding down your skirt to squeeze the meat of your ass.

"ah... 'es, toji.." you murmur, kissing his lips. it was your first with him. his lips were chapped in contrast to yours. you tasted like your berry lip oil and his cum at the same time, and he tasted like cigarettes. your head was tilted, your manicure digging into his shoulder as you ravished his lips.

"you taste good, sweetheart." he purrs, guiding you as he maneuvers your thong off of your body. "i'll be taking this, by the way." he whispers, placing a kiss on your neck, stuffing your panties into the pocket of his grey sweatpants.

"t-toji!" you peep, eyes wide in bewilderment. "g-give them back-"

"nah." he sits you down on his lap completely, the base of his now rock hard cock teasing your aching, sopping slit. "ride me, girl. wanna see you try."

your face was even more flustered, if that was even possible. "whatever you say, daddy." you feign your confidence, adjusting your position.

he slides off your white blouse, unlatching your bra. "pretty little tits. wonder who else saw these, hmm?" he teases, tongue teasing your peaks.

"ah- toji! fuck! n...not so sudden!" you instinctively arch your back, nails sinking into his chest covered by his compression shirt. he simply wraps his arms around your waist even tighter, virtually feasting on your perky breasts. "toji! fuck, not there..!" you squeak, noticing the salacious string of of love bites dissipated on your neck, collarbone, and under breasts.

"mm.. nah. i like marking up my girl." he mutters, taking in your nipple in between his teeth.

"ow!" you yelp, tugging on his hair instinctively. "that hurt."

"oh, 'm sorry, baby. won't happen again." his sleazy grin says otherwise.

"toji, ah... need more." you whimper, rocking your hips against his cock, wetting the base with your arousal. "want you in me so bad."

his eyes were dark hearing your pleas, his fingers gripping the meat of your ass. "damn, nasty girl, begging for it? might just give you what you want if you promise to be good."

"please, daddy." you groan, lifting your hips up to hover over his dick.

"so impatient..." he sighs, pressing a butterfly kiss to the back of your ear. "go ahead."

you perk up at his allowance, gently swirling the tip around your dripping arousal, flicking your clit with it. "ah.. fuck!" you cry in excitement, sinking onto his cock, so fast, and you didn't even do that much foreplay to be this wet.

"shit, y’er such a slut." toji groans, feeling you engulf him, you feel amazing. "juust like that, baby, good girl." he presses a wet kiss to your nipple. "ride me, i want to find out how quickly you can cum.”

"t-toji, shit." you croak, feeling the slightly uncomfortable stretch. "wait, please, one second..."

"poor baby." he croons in your ear, stroking your hair softly as you bury your head in his chest, trying to adjust. "too big for you?"

"mhm." your sweet voice comes out muffled, relishing his scent. "can we wait?" you mumble. “let me get used to you?”

he barks. “this ain’t for your comfort, darling. you need ta be taught a lesson here.” his eyes flash with a dangerous spark. “y’er lucky i like you a lil’ bit, letting you ride me and all.”

you whimper, feeling more relaxed after slowly rocking your hips. “ngh- it’s so deep, daddy-“ you groan, finally finding the strength to bounce on his dick. “shittt.” you cry, feebly moving faster to chase your high.

“such a good little slut, hm?” toji chuckles, kneading your ass. “tight pussy for such a loose girl. doin’ daddy so well."

“fuck, fuck, yes!!” you cry. “ah.. ngh- daddy, so good, mmh..”

your mind was hazy, focused on riding him with all the determination you got. you lifted your hips and then sank down on him again, moaning his name over and over again. "t-too good, daddy...!" you whine, chasing your high with all your might, legs cramping.

you felt toji's hands twitch at the side of your hips, granting you some leeway by meeting your thrusts halfway, legs spreading a bit further apart. god, how could he have resisted your temptations for so long? he was so infatuated with the way you cried out his name, kohl smeared around your eyes. the lewd cherry on top was the way your tits bounced in his face, as he fucked you senseless.

"harder, daddy, please...!" you claw at his shoulders, nearly ripping the slutty compression shirt.

and harder he went, his hips slamming into your ass, feeling the slick from your wet cunt stain the expensive leather. you felt the car lurch forward. he made the car bounce over and over again, every time he pounded into your perfect pussy.

"you like it, baby?" he asks you, lips latched to your breasts. "dirty girl- hah- likes my cock rough?"

"yes, yes, -ahh- dont stop, please!" your back arches like cat, relieving your leg cramp by your impending orgasm. the bastard made it so much better worse by thumbing your swollen clit, your legs freezing, rendering you helpless.

"you're so sexy like this." he chuckles, seeing you're letting him throw you around like a doll. "taking me like such a good girl, seemed you learned your lesson, hm?" toji pinches your nipple with his other hand, slowing down when you spray all over his thighs with a scream of his name, soaking his grey sweatpants. "fuck, oh my god. " you cry, your orgasm lasting a lifetime, clenching onto him. he relished in the obscene squelch, toji's coil in his stomach was gonna snap soon. the sound of your moans fills the small space of the car, and toji can feel the vibrations of your pleasure echoing through the metal frame.

"daddy-" you choke, "cum in me. p-lease." you whimper, desperate for him, all of him.

"dirty, dirty girl." he sneers, roughly grabbing at your waist to hit into you deeper. "want to be a mom at 19? slut." he groans, when you pick up the slack, slamming your ass down.

"mhh- 'm on the pill, just- ah! please..!" you gasp, when you feel him thrust once more, a harsh smack on your ass ringing.

"take- it." he grunts, feeling his vision blur as he empties his load into your awaiting, perfect pussy. you feel so much of it, so much it's trailing down your thighs.

"ah..! toji." you whisper, eyes wide.

"don't give me that look, you wanted it." he snaps, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. "good girl." he adds, his tone slightly softer.

you don't say anything in return, opting to melt in his arms, feeling his cock soften inside you. "mmm."

he presses a kiss to your temple, "clean yourself up, brat."

you whine. "why am i back to brat?"

he rolls his eyes. "jesus fucking christ. clean up, princess. i need a smoke." he pulls out reluctantly, shamelessly grinning when he sees his cum drip down your thighs. you let him go, lending him a jacket to hide the wet spot you made on his pants.

he's standing outside, leaning on the dashboard as he's texting someone- your father, probably- taking a puff of his cigarette.

you dress again, fixing your skirt and retrieving your bra. you get out of the car, quiet footsteps approaching him, hugging him.

toji is startled when you suddenly appear beside him, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him with that sickly sweet pout. he can feel her breath tickling his neck, and he takes another drag from his cigarette before looking down at you with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "princess," he says dryly, "what are you doing?"

he takes your silence as a hint to return your affection.

he puts an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and sharing some of his warmth as you two stand together under the setting sun. "we gotta go home soon, princess."

"don't wanna." you murmur.

"aw. c'mon, princess. y'er daddy's asking where we are." he shuts off his phone, putting it in his pocket.

"mm. okay. lets go home." you sigh.

toji takes one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it away and putting it out with his foot. Then he wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer to him and kissing you deeply on the lips. "parting gift?" he smirks.

you laugh. "whatever, daddy."

"let's go home now, sweet girl." he rolls his eyes, laughing as you pepper kisses over his face. "and remember..." he adds on, his voice a smooth murmur. "our little secret." he holds out his pinky.

"your little secret." you whisper, twisting pinkies into a small promise, unfolding for better or worse?

hii i was so lazy writing this (took me a whole damn month) (more like two) but i had to get this out i lobe bodyguard!toji so so so muchhhhh 🙁🙁 (not enough to not be lazy)

reminder that fiction is not reality and don't base off sexual relations w/ smut or p-rn. things are exaggerated and they are fantasies. just an fyi because i gen feel so icky when i write darker content (smut) and how it could impact people who read it... just make sure that there's always consent, you're vocal about boundaries, and you feel safe.

reblogs appreciated i love u guys 🤩

༝༚༝༚ indy

- cross posted on ao3- miniminari (linked if i actually posted it LMAO)

[lethalchiralium]

Can you please do more Taylor Swift?? 🥰🫡

You Belong With Me | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: THIS IS LITERALLY ONLY FOR MY FRIENDS LOL 🫶 ( @peachesofteal @as-is-above-so-below ) i love him i love him i love him

warnings: hnng bad boyfriend!

summary: It’s your 21st birthday, yet you sit in a nice restaurant in a beautiful dress and tears in your eyes - until someone comes to your rescue, like a knight on a white horse.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

The clinking of dinner plates was mocking you.

Sat in a pretty light purple dress, the one you had saved for a special birthday you were supposed to be spending at home with your friends - your 21st. But here you were, waiting in a Manchester restaurant with your phone against your ear.

It’s an hour after you had sat down for your reservations and your boyfriend hadn’t even bothered to answer your calls. It seemed it was becoming a common occurrence, the brown haired lawyer named Calvin would call in reservations, you would arrive, sit down, order a water, wait, then he wouldn’t show. It was embarrassing, humiliating - sitting alone at a fancy restaurant in a dress you were now rethinking, your fingers drummed against the side of the wine glass stem with distress.

YOU: Calvin

YOU: Please just call me

YOU: This is the last time. I mean it this time.

YOU: Calvin answer me

Ten calls down the drain, and at this point, you were ready to pay the small bill for the wine and a small plate of bread you barely ate. Your silverware sat out on the nice table cloth, the cloth napkin discarded on the table as you sent one last message.

YOU: I’m going home. Don’t text me that you’re sorry, since you’re apparently not.

How did it all go wrong so fast? You really liked Calvin, he was the right amount of quirky that made you laugh, he was a little standoffish but easy to warm up to. He was incredibly intelligent, just not emotionally connected to himself. It really felt like you were babysitting him sometimes, but other moments made you feel like you were always sitting under starlight. Always the man to bring your favorite candy but forgets to open the door for you, almost always had you cover the bill but he would pay you back by buying you little trinkets. Most were cheap little things like necklaces that broke within a week, rings that would lose their color immediately. Now it really made sense - he didn’t really care.

It seemed every romantic relationship you tried to make work ended up with you, crying alone in a room full of people. Your first boyfriend broke up with you at homecoming, your second had broken up with you two weeks before prom, your third was about ten years too old for you and always made you cry by the end of the day. Was it so bad to just talk things out? To answer phone calls, texts, to let you know that it wasn’t working out and that why it wasn’t. Not because you wanted to keep them, it was to learn how to be better for the next one.

Always the people pleaser, yet no one ever took the time to please you.

A couple tears found their new home on the tablecloth, you were quick to dab at the inner corner of your eyes with your napkin. You turned off your phone, eyes still full of tears as you raised your head to look for your waiter when someone familiar came into view.

“Hope I’m not too late.”

Shock settled into your body, eyes gazing at the beautiful bouquet of red roses, peonies, red tulips, and pink dahlias - all flowers your mother grew in her garden your whole life, but you had only told a few people that. Your eyes trailed up to a nice black three piece tux, the tie a little wonky but you knew he tried his best, then you saw his balaclava in all its glory - meeting his eyes with tears in your own.

“Mr. Riley?” You sniffled, putting your napkin down on the table. “Wh-What are you doing here? Where’s Winnie?”

He sat himself down, settling the bouquet of flowers down on the side of the table. He gently pulled out the silverware from their hold in the cloth napkin, placing the napkin on his lap and he spoke calmly, “With her uncles.” His eyes looked up from the table to meet yours. “I’m sorry it took me so long, I had saw you sitting here when I was driving earlier and I went home to get changed.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking out of the window you were sat next to. Of course he could’ve seen you, everyone could see you in this dress that you loved so much, ready to cry all the way home. You felt foolish, waiting for a man who made it clear that he wouldn’t play his games with a twenty year old, a girl who loved him so.

“We’re past formalities, Y/N.” Simon’s voice pulled you out of your head, tears fell down your face as you looked back at your employer - no, friend. Would it be wrong to say friend? You live in his house and take care of his daughter, it would be weird to say ‘employer’.

He had taken off his suit jacket, settled it on the back of his chair while you had stared out the window, he was now fixing his… very nice cufflinks. You looked back to his face, muttering a soft, “Huh?”

“It’s Simon.” His hands settled on the table, you noticed the bruises on his knuckles and felt a pang of sadness. He had just gotten home from deployment and came to see how miserable you were. More tears welled in your eyes, your hands grabbed your napkin and you dabbed them away.

“Well thank you, Simon, but I don’t need you to pity me. I’m just a damn fool.” You muttered, your hands settled in your lap. “A lovesick little fool who always ends up with the broken heart.”

He scoffed. Your eyes flicked upwards immediately, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes were narrowed, staring at you as he stated, “You’re everything but foolish.” He gently moved the cuff around his wrist forwards without even looking at it, he kept his gaze with you. “Kindness is taken for granted more often than not. He’s a daft cunt for standing up a kind woman like you.”

It honestly scared you just how much you began to appreciate Simon Riley in that moment. A man who you assumed always overlooked everyone else’s emotions and needs that weren’t his daughter’s, a man who you thought wouldn’t give you a second look - yet, here he is. Sitting across from you in a suit you haven’t seen, expensive cufflinks fixed and tie sort-of crooked. He took the time to get dressed in a fancy suit and sit down with you.

“Thank you, Simon.” You whispered, the shakiness of your hands on your lap almost made you want to stand. You wanted to leave, you wanted to go home and sleep away your birthday that was supposed to be fun.

Your eyes turned down to your lap, your hands pressed against each other to try and stop the shaking, you could hear Simon settle in his seat.

“We don’t have to stay here, ya know.”

Your fingers fiddled with the ring on your middle finger, twirling the little gem around as you spoke quietly, “What?” Your eyes met Simon’s again, his hands on the table.

“We don’t have to stay here. We can leave whenever.” He pulled out his wallet but your hand moved towards him.

“No no, it was just a couple glasses of wine. I’ll get it.” Your fingertips grazed the side of his wallet, but his hand plucked your touch from it. He pulled out fifty quid and placed it on the nice tablecloth.

His hand then turned upwards, a gentle glint in his eye as he whispered, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Simon hadn’t driven to the restaurant, he had taken the tram like you. Sure, it was only seven stops from his home, but heels are a nuisance. Night had fallen, the street lights casted a warm glow on the sidewalk you walked on with Simon. The river was beside the walkway, a large concrete wall separated you and the flowing water but you wanted to see it. You had come to walk this road almost every day with Winnie in her little stroller, the almost two year old hated walking as much as you hated the England rain.

You were only a couple feet apart from him, his suit jacket back on his shoulders as you tried to not shiver. It was stupid not to bring a jacket, but you were expecting to have been home by now - boyfriend sent home after a nice dinner, but everything had flipped on his head. Instead of Calvin walking you home, it was Simon Riley - the Lieutenant who seemed to not know how to handle emotions, yet he still held the bouquet of flowers for you.

“Cold?”

You came to a stop and Simon followed suit. You shrugged. “I’ll be fine.” His eyes narrowed before he held out the bouquet of flowers for you, you took them in his hand before he began to peel off his suit jacket. “Simon, it’s okay-“

He moved his arms around your front to drape the jacket over your shoulders, you were suddenly enveloped with the scent of him. It smelled like bourbon, sandalwood, and the faint musk of cigarette smoke. He took the flowers from your hands so you could put your arms through the sleeves. It (fit snug / was barely oversized / was larger) on your frame compared to Simon, since it seemed tailored to fit him perfectly. His eyes were focused on the jacket, helping you tug it forwards as your eyes gazed up at his masked face. “Warm now?”

You nodded just a little, mesmerized by how beautiful his eyelashes were. His gaze met yours and you looked away to the river, hands coming to pull the jacket closed over your body. “Thank you.”

He didn’t answer, he only looked out to where he hoped you were looking too. Beautiful trees lined the cold river, warm lights hung from the branches - a brick wall he used to walk by alone, but not at that moment. You cleared your throat, causing Simon to be launched back into reality where you began to slow down.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, only taking another step forward to come stand in front of you. You had stopped between two street lamps, the smaller lights hung from the trees illuminated you like you were made of magic. Simon noted how your hair was straightened and curled, some pieces tucked into pins near your ears and the effort you must have gone through to make yourself more presentable to a man who didn’t seem to care. You had turned to the river, taking the few steps and hopping onto the wall to sit. Simon instantly darted towards you, hands out in case you toppled back into the river, but you were fine - you flashed him a smile. He let out a nervous sigh but it wouldn’t have been noticeable to you.

“Sit with me.” Patting the wall beside you, Simon merely shook his head. “Why not?”

He moved to stand a couple feet from you, close. “Easier to protect you if I’m already up.”

“Ah.” A mumble from your lipstick painted lips, head turning to look out onto the river. “It’s really beautiful here.”

“Sure.”

You laughed in response. “I like the city more than home. It got lonely in the mountains.” Tugging a neat curl behind your ear, your hands moved to settle around your middle, pulling his suit jacket tight to conserve warmth. That’s when your hand tapped against something leather - you looked into the suit, and digging out a leather flask. You laughed a little bit as you held it up for Simon to see. “Always prepared?”

Simon flushed underneath his balaclava, completely forgetting that his only suit still had the flask he had tucked in it. He goes to a few funerals every few years, the flask was either half-full or empty, but knowing that there was a formal event a few months ago he had to attend, that meant it was at least half-empty. “Uh- Yeah. Events get boring. But I wouldn’t-“

You unscrewed the flask and quickly taking a swig, only to make a sour face as you then held it out to Simon. He laughed a little, taking the flash as you sputtered, “Jesus, this shit is- God. Ew.”

“Sorry,” Pulling up his balaclava to above his lips, he took a swig himself, feeling the bitter burn of a whiskey that’s sat too long. “it’s not my best whiskey.” He tugged the balaclava back down, giving the flask a good look.

A laugh escaped your lips. “You’ll have to let me try your good stuff then.”

His eyes flickered up to you, and it was that moment where he could’ve sworn Heaven had brought you. He cleared his throat, handing it back to you. “I will, it won’t be from a flask in a suit that’s never used.” He nodded to the suit jacket before looking down the street to his right, watching the traffic pass by with a watchful eye.

The smile on your lips faded a little, seeing how easily Simon could return to Ghost. It wasn’t often you saw the façade, but it still made your heart grow cold. How could such a loving father become something so heartless?

You shook the thought away. Winnie was a wonderful girl with a father who showed no end to his love for her, making sure she had everything she needed and more. It wasn’t right to judge him because of what he does. You looked back out to waving river, feeling the inky sludge of abandonment claw its way through your chest. He shouldn’t have to be here, you should be silently crying on the tram - walking home barefoot since your feet hurt in those stupid heels. He should be at home with his daughter, the little girl who loved him so much and always waited for him to come home. “Sorry you have to babysit me.”

He gave you a bewildered look before answering, “I’m not babysitting you. It’s your birthday, yeah?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Babysitting makes it sound like I’m a creepy old man. I’m not that much older.” He shrugged, looking back to you.

“Oh? How old are you?”

“25.”

A noise of surprise left your lips, followed by a fit of giggles. “And I thought you were 29.”

“Ah.” He laughed a little to himself, looking up to the sky to see the small tremor of lightning in the sky. “It might start raining soon.”

Your eyes followed, seeing the darkening sky and feeling the breeze grow colder. “Yeah.”

“Sorry you have to spend your birthday with me, I’m not fun company.”

Shaking your head, you spoke softly, “Sure you are. There’s no one I’d want more to walk me home.”

He looked back down the road, but you didn’t miss the movement in his cheeks. An invisible string in your chest was plucked, humming a sweet note in your head as you looked at him - really looked at him.

“Simon.”

And even without seeing his face, you knew he was beautiful.

“Mmhmm.” He looked back to you.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say a word, only held out his hands - helping you down from the wall. He then held out his arm, and with a smile on your face, you curled your arm around his. With the sleeves of his suit jacket hanging off your hands, you clutched to his arm as you continued the walk home.

Simon could keep his eyes on a target for hours at a time, keep his focus forward and stay on task with a clear mind - yet, while he slowly walked home in comfortable silence, all his mind was full of was how warm you were, and with every bump of your arm made electricity run through his body like he had been struck by lightning.

It had started to rain by the time you two reached the porch of his home, but before he could unlock the door, you gripped his arm. Looking down at you again, he watched you wobble as you peeled off your heels. A groan of relief left your lips as you chucked them beside the door, letting them flop onto their sides. You, now a few inches shorter, glanced at Simon.

“What?”

He didn’t even respond, seeing your pretty eyes and lips close to his face made him feel that electricity again, flowing through his chest in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Thank you again.” With a tug on his sleeve, he moved down and before he knew it, your lips pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. Leaning back and letting him stand again, you gave him a smile before turning to the door - letting go of his arm before you entered his home, closing the door behind yourself.

Simon’s hand reached up to touch his cheek, the chill of the rain did nothing to change how warm he felt then. Something in his heart clenched, and he wanted to go inside and have you kiss his cheek again, but without the mask. Was it bad he wanted to feel your lips against his skin?

Thunder clapped, his hand still settled on his cheek as he felt the blossom of feelings he had nipped at the bud a year ago. But you were young, he was four years older than you and he was a fucked up mess. Yet, he had seen how other men had destroyed your sweet heart, something you always seemed to glue together for his daughter.

I would treat you right.

I wouldn’t ever leave you sitting in a restaurant alone.

I would never let you walk home alone.

You don’t belong with someone who wouldn’t treat you right.

You belong with me.

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[rinstrumental]

ellie gf headcanons

# modern au. im in luv with her. this is so long oh my god its an illness

did karate from 1st grade all the way up to high school and basically considers herself your bodyguard

immediately offers you her hoodie without a second thought when you show the slightest signs of being cold. she lets you keep it too, of course. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn’t ???!!!!

she needs either your hands on her or her hands on you at all times. sosososo touchy and BIG on pda her kisses are inescapable. constantly has an arm around you or resting on your waist… the whole world needs to know. she’s actually insufferable i’m sorry but in the most endearing way ever how can you resist

“would you still love me if i was a ____???” she wants a serious answer too

genuinely thinks ur the prettiest person alive. which is kind of the bare minimum but she worships you truly

happy with any sort of date as long as it’s with you. fancy dinner? this is the only reason she keeps a suit and tie. staying in? what movie do you want, babe? running errands? she’s already waiting for you in the car!!!

speaking of cars she drives an old station wagon which used to be joel’s. ellie used to moan about how lame it was until you said that the back was perfect for sitting together during camping or stargazing…. and other activities too ;) wink wonk

gets flustered when she makes you flustered because you’re telling her that SHE did that?? she made u nervous??? shit man now shes blushing too

her love language is gifts she loves to spoil you with your favourite snacks and soft toys and even homemade gifts. she just wants you to see her in your room and have her on your mind as much as you’re in hers!!

it’s no secret that she’s an artist and it’s also no secret that her favourite subject to draw is youuu!!! her favourite thing to do is just have you sit across from her and draw what she sees

of course naturally that means she takes tons of pictures of you… to study for her drawings… and keep in her special photo album of you… and to look at when she misses you. Ofc

makes fun of you/teases you sometimes. she can be a mean bitch to other people but she would never actually hurt your feelings and you know that

ellie hates goodbyes. even if it’s after spending a full day together and you’re going to see her soon anyways… i just know she’s the kind of person who feels empty after hanging out with someone.

calls and texts about everything… and it’s always so cute :( she definitely has autocaps on

ellie: I drew you again!!

ellie: Hey babe I saw this funny bird it reminded me of u

ellie: I miss you so much. When can I see you again?

ellie: These cats r like us lol

keeps a pet gecko or something like that for sure. it’s you guys’ baby

her top two movie genres are horror and romance after that. the only reason romance is that high up is because it reminds her of you

does stupid romcom shit like hold a boombox outside your window. makes you mixtapes even though CDs are basically extinct (joel has a player thank god). corny pickup lines. asks you to be her valentine publicly. runs to your house in the rain. dances with you in said rain.

when she gets sick it’s like the end of the world omg… she needs u to be at her side 24/7 and hold her and keep her company and give her get well soon kisses, it’s essential to her recovery. doctors orders. he said it not her!

gets along so well with your friends and family. she does her research and takes this shit seriously! whatever it takes to make you happy because what’s better than watching your girlfriend get along with the people you love

she also takes her own family seriously - family time is important to her and she spends a lot of time with joel. it’s even better when you can join, some of her best memories are with the two of you

“i’m happy as long as you’re happy”

pet names galore. her personal favourite is just babe (classic) but when she likes others too (sweetheart, honey, darling etc she’s so cheesy it’s awful)

in conclusion she’s just a clingy sappy lesbian who’s absolutely head over heels for you. and you wouldn’t have it any other way <33

bonus: (these tweets that are so ellie)

[rojacatmisa]

Starting over In Madrid

Chapter 6 : Paris est magique

tw : may content explicit sex, +18 This chapter is quite long ! Hope you guys still like to read it as much as I loved writing it, and I had so much fun doing photoshop visuals I did several for this one.

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

Chapter 1 ➤ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➤ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➤ Calmly panicking Chapter 4 ➤ Hell Clasico Chapter 5 ➤ Valleys and peaks

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

The rain was pouring down when we landed in Paris, drops splashing hard against the windscreen of the bus, driving at an unbelievably low speed. I was sitting beside Ana at the front row, slowly drowsing, swung by the steady movements of the vehicle. My mind wandered, taking me back with Misa and Hayley waving happily to me again at the start and end of trainings. I was so glad to have them back. My vibrating phone took me out of the memory. I pulled it out of my pocket and broke a smile when I saw Angela had texted me. 

A: Hey Nicky! How are you it’s been years !

N: Hey Angela! Yeah so long sorry I didn’t call. Work has been mad but I’m good and you ?

A: I’m fine! What did I miss ? Can we call ?

N: Sorry I’m on the bus in Paris right now can’t call you. I do have a lot to tell you!

A: Tell meeee Wait I know It’s Misa???

N: Well spot-on lol

A: Tell me everything!!

N: Well we kissed… more than once and that’s it for now.

A: Oh that’s all …?! What are you waiting!! But you’re in Paris with the team ?

N: Yes

A: And you’ll be in the same hotel ?

N: Yep

A: And you’ll have a room for yourself ? 

N: Yes……..

A: This is looking good or bad it depends

N: Stop it Angela! Right now Misa is focusing on her match and won’t let anything happened. 

A: How many nights are you staying ?

N: 3 but only one after the game

A: Leaves 1 night still…

N: Girl!!! you’re not supposed to encouraged me !! The close still exists…….

A: Right yeah fuck the close! She’s a friend with benefits no big deal ! Just keep it secret... anyway you and I both know it's bound to happen

N: Pfff I can’t bye Angela

A: I’ll call you when you’ll be back in Madrid ! Can’t wait to know the all Paris story, especially the end !

I rolled my eyes and put my phone back in my pocket, a part of my body itching now my brain was imagining the things that could occurred in two days. I shook the thought, peering at the blurry shapes of the fancy buildings of Paris through the heavy rain.

***

We arrived at the hotel at the end of the afternoon, everybody back on the bus at once for a late practice session. Misa didn’t break her self-promise to work hard and we didn’t interacted much during the first hours in the French capital. We quickly ate and went to bed after training. Everybody was very concentrate. 

Next day, the players trained all morning in the stadium of the Parc des Princes where the match would take place. However, the club permitted a free period on the afternoon and Naomie, who was born in Paris, organized an improvised visit of Montmartre with some of us. 

I was the only non-footballer member of the tourist groupe. Hayley had forced Misa to join. She originally wanted to study in her room, watching videos of goalkeepers playing as a last minute homework, but had had to let go under the insistence of her friend for well deserved break. 

Even if most of us had been to Paris before, we were charmed by the tortuous and hilly streets near the Basilica. I was dragging myself behind the sporty women,  getting distanced more and more, as I climbed laboriously the endless stairs to the Sacré Coeur. Misa glanced behind her, saw me, nudge Hayley and the two of them lowered her pace to let me catch up. 

"¿ Qué pasa Nicky ? Tired after the morning training ? It was a hard one I must admit…" She teased as I leveled with them. 

"I didn’t signed for this ! Don’t have your stamina !" I panted. 

"Come on let’s go that way ! We’ll do a detour but maybe that mean less stairs" Hayley indicated a pedestrian curvy path on the left. 

We chatted happily on the way. It was so nice to hang together again. We shortly arrived to the front but below, a huge amount of stairs still separated us from the basilica. I snorted. 

"Come on Nicky !" Hayley pushed me forward but I eyed an empty bench aside the path. 

"I just need a break !" I said heading to sit down. As I passed in front of her, Misa hold me back, grabbing my arm. "We leave you on that bench and we’ll see you at the Sacré Coeur in two hours !" she joked. 

"Carry me then !" I said. I felt free in Paris, far away from the Ciudad Real Madrid, it was making me flirty and I played at being dramatically on the edge of fainting. 

Misa was already grasping my arm to pull me closer, ready to catch me. "Don’t temped me, Princesa !"

"Ok girls ! I’m still here remember ?" Hayley waved at us, amused. Misa and I parted, embarrassed. "We’ll do Nicky a favor and rest a bit." she added already sitting down on the bench. 

We joined her, silent for once, calmly enjoying the beautiful view at the roofs of Paris while tourists and locals flocked toward the Basilica. A big kind of pigeon walked to us, eager to find some food at our feet. 

"Esta paloma ha comido demasiado, French pigeon are fat !" the goalkeeper said, curious. 

I peered at the oversized bird. "I don’t think it’s a common pigeon…" 

Hayley put out her brand new camera  "I think it’s cute"  she said fondly and took a photo "It will be our souvenir of Paris". The Australian footballer jumped up and position herself in front of us but scared the bird away. "oh no I wanted a family portrait ! Anyway… say cheese !" she shouted at us. 

I shoved my arm on Misa’s shoulders, she grabbed my waist as we put on our best smiles. "You’re too cute girls" Hayley dropped. I felt my face blushing and I tried to hide it in the crook of Misa's neck. However, the embarrassment was almost pleasant as it felt so good to be allowed that little bit of freedom with Misa. Hayley knew the truth and was keeping it safely to herself.

A little breeze swept some fallen leaves on the path. I was so at peace in the foreign city I rested my head on the goalkeeper’s shoulder, smothered by the warm presence of her hand at my side. Hayley took another shoot. "You can tell me if you want a photo of you two kissing in Paris at this level…" she threw at us. We chuckled and I went back at hiding in Misa’s neck. But Hayley was just teasing and had the delicacy to turned around to photograph the city stretching in front of us, allowing the little break only for ourselves. 

I straitened up and peered at the goalkeeper. Her half-closed eyes were looking at her lap, a bashful grin making her so cute. I glanced around us to see if any of our teammates had followed us. It was clear. "I think I’d like a kiss in Paris" I said, my hand, still on her shoulder, caressed the side of her neck. Misa shyly smiled and raised her head. A worry flashed in her eyes and like me, she checked if we weren’t observed. When she was sure we wouldn’t take any risk, she leaned over and timidly kissed me. Felling she was pulling back, I hold her face, not ready to let her go, having not enough of her lips against mine, and I felt her grin through the kiss. "You can’t devour me in public like you almost did in your office" she muttered. I retreated and flash back at her. Her warm and soft gaze made my stomach flutter. I felt an urge to hold her close but didn’t dare, somehow finding it more intimate than a kiss. Instead I took her hand and got up, pulling her behind me. 

"Let’s go to that damned basilica !" 

***

The teams entered the stadium in two neat row under the cheering crowd, the Ultras Paris tribune loudly chanting "Paris est magique !". Tension and concentration gripped the Real Madrid girls as the traditional greeting took place. Shortly, everyone taking their place in the pitch, ready for the kick-off. Misa’s knees had been warped up entirely since her injury during the previous game but she was jumping and stretching energetically in front of her cage. 

The game started, PSG had the ball, led by Grace Geyoro quickly advancing, passing the ball to Tabitha Chawinga. The forward ran faster and faster, closing the gap between her and the penalty area in less than minute. Ivana, Rocio and Oihane surrounded her and she passed the ball back to Sandy Baltimore who send it in the feet of Marie-Antoinette Katoto. The French players dribbled past Ivana and was block by Olga but managed to keep the ball. She send it to Sakina Karchaoui, and recovered the ball behind Olga’s back, heading straight into the penalty area. 

Misa readied herself to jump, shouting restlessly at her defenders. Katoto crossed the ball, Chawinga waiting, and she controlled it, aimed and shot. The ball rolled between Rocio’s feet at full speed. Misa dived and crashed onto the grass, her outstretched arms missed the ball by centimeters and she saw it entered the cage, almost brushing the right goalpost. The crowd burst in joy as PSG scored at the 6th minute. Real Madrid were having a hard game start. The goalkeeper got up, furious at her defenders and probably more with herself. She kicked the ball back in the game, her brows furrowed, her mouth nervously chewing a gum.

First haft-time past with no further remarkable action, apart from a miss aim kick from Karchaoui at the 40th minute. The second half however was punctuated by the many attacks on both side. Unfortunately, all the attempts of Madrid were stopped by the impassable feet of the French defense. 

Madrid was falling back as fast as they could as Sakina rushed on the left side, knowing how dangerous she could be. She crossed the ball again, aiming for Grace Geyoro. The ball buried itself in the groupe of players lost in confusion. The whistle blew and the gesture of the referee was pretty clear. She mimed a square with her hands, her arm pointing the center of it to finish. The ball had found the arm of Oihane leading to a penalty in favor of the French team. 

At first sight, Misa’s face was unreadable, but I was beginning to know her well enough to decipher her extreme tension. What she dread and wanted the most was happening, a chance to prove herself when all was resting on her again. She settled on the goal line, stretching arms and legs to prepare herself. Katoto would do the shoot. The entire stadium was holding its breath. Katoto waited a few seconds. She jogged to the ball and kicked it to the left. Misa jumped on the good side and kick the ball with her fist, sending it out of the pitch. She leaped back to her feet, screaming in triumph as her teammates hugged and slapped her in congratulation.   

The match resumed. Like before the penalty, both teams worked hard at scoring without succeeding during the entire time. Finally, the whistle blew again to signal the end of the encounter. It meant Madrid had lost again. We were all disappointed by the outcome but less battered than after the Clasico. We all knew we had put an honorable performance regarding our opponent. 

***

On the road back, the team was quiet for everyone was brooding the defeat. It was still early when we arrived at the hotel and groups of teammates formed in front of the building, sharing ideas to change their minds. I overheard Sofie and Kathellen taking about a club houseboat. Haley joined them at planning the evening, grabbing a passing moody Misa that surely wanted nothing more than to bury herself in her bed. 

"Don’t even think about escaping Misa Rodriguez. You’re coming with us, willing or not !"

"Estoy cansada y no quiero bailar ! Leave me, Aussie !" she moaned and struggled to set her arm free. Hayley gestured me to approach. "Nicky’s coming too ! You don’t want to miss a night with the best girls, do you ?"

"Vamos Misa, it’s our last night in Paris !" I insisted and sized her other arm to prevent her from fleeing again. She stopped struggling but began to silently sulk.

"We going to a péniche sur la Seine" announced Kathleen with glittering eyes. Misa sent her a questioning look. "It’s a boat on la Seine, you know, the river of Paris" she mocked her.

"I know the river of Paris, thank you." Misa snapped back but I couldn’t tell if it was true. Anyway, the prospect of it didn’t seem particularly appealing to her.  

"Misa stop being so grumpy, just let go for once !" Like she would have with a child, Hayley took the goalkeeper’s chin between her fingers, and mirror her own putting expression, having Misa finally break a smile. "Thanks Jesus, we have Misa back ! Let’s go change. We meet in one hour max at the hotel reception !" 

After hesitating over and over about what to wear, I had finally put on a knee length dark gray T shirt, a jean jacket and a pair of black derbies from where my Real Madrid socks were sticking out. I didn’t like to look too classy, even in Paris. When I arrived in the lobby forty minutes later, Misa, Hayley and Kathellen were already there, chatting casually together. Hayley was the first to notice me. "Girl you’re looking good ! Come seat with us. We’re waiting for Sofie and God knows she can take forever to get ready". 

I took a place on the sofa besides the midfielder, facing Misa who discreetly looked at me from head to toes and put a thumb up to silently show her approbation of my outfit. My voiceless lips formed the words "you too" in return. The goalkeeper was wearing simple gray pants and a sleeveless top witch nicely brand out her muscular shoulders. 

We waited for Sofie an entire hour and ordered a taxi. The danish girl had barely apologized, quickly gathering us for a selfie as we got out of the car at our destination. The surroundings were charming, large bare lawns stretching in front of the Palace of the Invalides on a side, a sumptuous bridge crossing the Seine on the other. The streetlights and granite paving stones perfected the lovely decor. 

We walked to the bridge, climbed down a few stairs and arrived on the docks where a few barges were mooring. As the cliché says, the banks was indeed giving a very romantic vibe and I suddenly wished Misa and I were alone. The tall brunette was photographing the place, finding it at her taste finally. 

A few minutes later, we entered the barge-club and came to the dance floor on the lower level. The place was bombed-out and suffocating, colorful spots of light splattering on the sea of heads. After getting some drinks, we spotted a less crowded space and formed a small dancing circle. It was good to see the footballers having fun whole-hearted, relieved of any kind of pressure at the moment. Kathellen and Sofie spend many time dancing together, pausing now and then to take selfies and to chat on their phone. Misa was getting loose as she drank more and more Pina Coladas while Hayley kept making fun of her wild dancing. As for me, I was sweating hard and feeling slightly tipsy after two and a half pint of beer. 

The partying pretty footballers were drawing attention. A few girls approached them more than once. Kathellen and Misa had the most pretenders with respectively six and five woman coming to chat or dance with them. Of course, it annoyed me beyond reason for I was forcing myself to stay distant with the goalkeeper. When the sixth girl, moreover not an ugly one, tapped Misa’s shoulder with insurance, I escaped from the crowd to cool down near the wall of the room, not bearing to witness another flirt.  

I took a long sip of my beer, wiped the sweat off my forehead, while peering at the girl chatting Misa with dark eyes.

"C’est toujours étouffant ici ! T’as bien raison de faire une pause si tu veux tenir toute la nuit !" a women just came leaning against the wall besides me. 

I glanced at her, perplexed. She was tall, black, her face bearing many piercings and wearing her hair in long small braids. I actually found her very pretty. "Sorry, I don’t speak French !" I apologized.  

She came closer to avoid shouting over the music "Oh, I couldn’t guess ! You look very Frenchy. I’m Sonia." she pointed at herself. "Nicky" I mirrored her. 

"You dance Nicky ?" she led out an inviting hand and smile to me. I glanced at the place where I had left Misa but didn’t caught sight of her. Felling still annoyed by the goalkeeper power to attract girls like butterflies on a lamp, I nodded, dropped my empty glass, and followed Sonia back into the crowd. 

I could tell the woman was a confirmed dancer at the first contact. Her hands on my waist and scapula guided my body along her moves. She spoke in my ear without breaking our dance  "you’re living in Paris ?". Her smile was really charming and I felt exhausted all of sudden. Why couldn’t I crush on girl like her ? Why couldn’t things be simple and flowing ? Why was I liking one in the handful of people on earth I wasn’t allowed to ?

"No, I live Madrid actually, I’m just here for a couple of days " I answered. She made us turn around in a few quick dancing step and I caught a glimpse of Misa’s face glancing at us from across the the room, scowling, lips pinched. I couldn’t help feeling a bit satisfied jealously had changed side. 

"When are you leaving ?" Sonia asked. 

"Tomorrow" I said sadly as I was really enjoying your trip in Paris. 

The pretty women strengthened her grip, her mouth back to my ear "too bad… we can still spend the night…". I led out a soft chuckle. The prospect was tempting but I couldn’t go with Sonia like that. We weren’t even together, but I felt a jolt as I realized I would feel like cheating on Misa. My heart tightened as the thought of the footballer’s upset features. 

I pulled back from Sonia, my eyes already excusing "I’m sorry Sonia but I can’t. Thanks for the dance though, it was nice. You made me feel I danced well too". Sonia grind, obviously not vexed "De rien ! Good night to you Nicky." and she left, disappearing in the compact mass of people. 

The room had filled even more, blocking the view I had on the goalkeeper and barely allowing me to find my way back to the wall. I leant against the relatively fresher surface and began to text Misa to know where they were. The familiar silhouette of a brunette with broad shoulders extricate herself from the packed dancers. Misa scowl disappeared the moment she saw me and I was so happy to find her I flung myself in her arms, alcohol allowing me to be so reckless.  

Misa raised her eyebrows, surprised by this outrush of affection, especially after having see me dance with another women but shortly her body relaxed and she hold me against her. Not leaving her embrace, I slowly began to moved along the song’s rhythm. The goalie followed me, our hips pressed and moved in sync. Somehow feeling like sheltered by the dense crowned, we danced like we were alone, eyes closed and bodies stuck against each other. 

The music went slower, I turned around and put my back to her. My butt pressed on her hips, she wrapped her arms around me, shoved my hair to one side and planted a kiss on my neck. I shivered, led a blind hand grasp her hair for her to kiss more. Her hands on my stomach pushed my bottom harder against her while her lips worked their way up to my jawline. My face oriented itself toward them. She found the corner of my mouth, I growled in frustration and I turned to her again to fully receive her kiss. The close, the risks, the consequences, were swallowed by those luscious lips pushing me back to the wall, my arms around her neck ensnaring her body to mine as she had me cornered. 

The slow melody faded to a groovy one but we weren’t dancing anymore, lost in our heated kiss against the wall. I was so worked up it was painful. Snogging her wasn’t even barely enough, it was becoming excruciating. I was dying for more, for the all party, for a release that had never came yet. So I quitted her mouth and went to pant in her ear "Let’s go back to the hotel, to my room… por favor!". Hearing her gasp finished to convince me we shouldn’t last here anymore. 

As I began to drag her toward the exist, Misa held me back "We can’t go together on our own, it will look suspicious. We have to get the others to go or wait for them !". She had stay more sensible tonight and I had to admit she was right if we didn’t want Sofie and Kathellen spreading the juicy story of two girls coming back earlier to the all team in the morning. 

We found the three other footballers and I spotted Sofie muttering something to Kathleen while looking at us. I realized we were already suspected. Misa went next to the danish girl who nudge her with her elbow and exchanged a suggestive glance. The goalkeeper shook her head, bitterly adding "I queued to the bathroom and I found Nicky having a good time with a pretty French women". 

Sofie bought her partial lie, hitting my shoulder in collusion. "Why didn’t you go with her ? Enjoy your last hours in Paris baby !". 

"Nah, I’m far too tired ! Honestly I’d like to go, you can’t breath in here!". 

"Oh ! So soon ?" Sofie probed with a look the rest of our groupe. I caught eyes with Hayley and passed her a silent plea to help us. I saw the Australian midfielder glanced at Misa, the goalkeeper imperceptibly nodded, her face reddening with embarrassment. 

"I’m ok to go, I’m too hot too and I don’t want to end up looking like Misa’s lobster face." Hayley jibed while backing us up, having Misa shrinking on herself with shame. 

To avoid any further suspicions, the goalkeeper and I didn’t take the same cab to return to the hotel. I paired up with Hayley, leaving Misa with Sofie and Kathellen. In the taxis, I thanked my friend for having us covered. 

"I got you girls, but be more careful, you two are getting so obvious it’s a miracle nobody else hasn’t figured something out" . The Aussie winked. "And please go to your room, I’m next to Misa’s and I would like to sleep well". 

"God sake, Hayley…" 

*** 

I closed the door of my hotel room, tension of my expecting body reaching new heights. All I had to do was wait for Misa but it was already too much for me to handle. My brain was running wild. What if she couldn’t come ? What if she finally didn’t want to ? I had to busy myself to keep my sanity. 

I took off my jacket, shoes and socks and glanced at the room. The bed had been done, white sheets and pillows neatly smothered and ready for us. I found the room too bright and I turned on the night lights near the bed headboard before turning off the ceiling one. The dim glow shrouded the place with a quiet warm ambiance. 

Going in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked tired and messy. I  brushed my teeth and my hair, took a bit of conditioner to freshen it. Then, I checked my make up, put back deodorant and a spray of perfume… Once, twice, thrice… all of that to help me regain some confidence in vain. 

I went back in the bedroom, more nervous than ever. The waiting seemed to last forever, having me wonder if she was going to come at all. Maybe she found it was too risky in the hotel we shared with the team and staff…

…a soft knock on the door made my heart lift. 

I rushed at it, opening to a very agitated Misa, the goalkeeper checking several times she wasn’t followed before she stepped inside. 

"Perdon Nicky !"  Misa sighted once she had closed the door. "Sofie wouldn’t let me go. She insisted we chatted and drink more in her room for she wasn’t feeling tired ! I told her I’d to go to bed but she wanted to come in my room and busy herself on her phone while I’d sleep !" 

I giggled "Sofie is one of a kind…"

"Si, she is ! But I got rid of her ! Uf !" she leant back to the door, relieved. 

"Phew ! Here you are at last !" I smiled to her, my nervousness surging again. 

We face each other in the small room, jittery and shy, unable to move, now we were finally at it. Silence settle between as we watched each other expectantly. Misa looked down, pressing her lips in an embarrassed smile and nervously massaged her neck. In spite of her charismatic appearance, she could be rather timid in those circumstances. I shook off some of my own diffidence and I walked to her, caught her face in my hands, looking at her tenderly, and my desire for her took over me again. 

I embraced her, kissed her softly, my impatience giving place to a will not to rush as the night still lay ahead. I wanted us to fully experience everything, each kiss and touch, equally moved and aroused by the fact that tonight would always be the first with her. 

Misa sunk in our slow motion, her arms around my neck. Her fingers gently crept in my hair and she pulled my face to deepen our kiss. I ran my hands under her t-shirt, stroking, caressing her skin, before I grabbed and pulled the cloth off the women’s head. Our kiss broken, my gaze wandered over her body and she sized the moment to take off my dress, her fingers folding the fabric up slowly, and finally shoving it off my head as well. We resumed our kissing, skin brushing, hands and fingers running along each other spine, to the point of giving us goosebump. 

Misa advanced, walking me backward to the bed, and taking her shoes off on the way. Our already fast breathing quickened. My heels hit the bed framed, I gasped, turned over at the last moment, having Misa loosing balance and falling onto the mattress. She smiled in surprise and settled herself in the middle of it, her half bare body an irresistible invitation to join her as soon as possible. 

I went over her, instantly back at full-mouthed kissing, a needy fire surged and spread as she caressed my bare skin. Misa straightened up and I wrapped my legs around her hips. Her powerful hands secured me against her while she looked up to me, silently asking for us to resume our kissing. I leaned toward her mouth and softy bit her lower lips, hearing the woman rasping breath in return. I released her, she send her tongue between my lips, reaching for mine, as her fingers found my bra and worked at unhooking it. I imitated her and we both sent our underwear to the floor. Quickly, we pressed our chest against each other, back at stroking our now entire naked upper bodies, the feel of Misa’a soft and bare breast on me stirring waves of heat in my stomach. 

I couldn’t bear to take our time anymore, I put my weight against the goalie to bring her to lie down again. Misa grinned and resisted. I unwrapped my legs, straddling her tights and unceremoniously pushed her back onto the mattress. Her eyes fed on the view of my almost naked figure. I, myself, could barely stand the sight of her lying body, topless, with her arms and long hair spread out on the pillow, her shaped abs and tanned smooth skin showing in the half-light. She looked up with hooded eyes, mouth half opened, surrendering to me taking the lead and allowing me to simply contemplate her for a moment.  

I came to lay a little aside over the goalkeeper, Misa’s arms enclosed me, pushing our breasts to gently squash, sending us both gasping at the sensation. A hand cupped the nap my neck, making my mouth fall back on her lips as I felt her rise her tight between my legs. I led out a wail, fingers gripping the pillow as she began to apply a light pressure there. Slowly I grinded on her, sending rush of pleasure in my body at each slide on her leg. But shorty, the fabric of her jeans bothered me. I broke the contact and I heaved my upper body onto one arm, leading down my other hand to unbutton her pant. 

I reset my position above the goalkeeper, began with a light kiss on her mouth and moved down to her neck. Misa’s hands ran down my back to my bottom as I nipped and licked my way to her breast, her long moans filling the room as I started to kiss her there. One of her hand found mine, the other resting on her own hair, her furrowed brows was giving away her longing. I paused, inhaling the smell of her skin, before I continued my road down. 

I stopped when I reached her jeans, witch I grasped firmly to took it off. Misa chest was rising up and down deeply, looking avidly at me as she had very well guessed were I was planning to go next. I took the time to dispose of my panties, more turned on to see her head jerked back on the pillow as she regained some of her breath. Fuck she was so hot ! Her perfect awaiting body menaced to finish me only at the sight. I tried to cool myself down, pushing back my own arousal as I swiftly pulled off the brunette’s own panties, having both of us bare and trembling with want. 

Slowly, I lowered my head between the goalkeeper’s spread legs, taking a glance at her blushed face, her brown eyes and half-opened quivering lips almost begging. My tongue ran through her and Misa's head fell back again, closing her eyes, as a hight pitch whimper escaped her mouth. Her sweet voice filled the room and covered my own whining. Her hands desperately clung at my hair to have me go on and on, her sounds louder with the increasing rhythm. 

At a moment, she set her arms upward, and messed with her hair, witch fell over her face beautifully. The vision of the brunette lost in pleasure almost had me go over the edge again. One of her hands hided her face, the other gripping the bed sheets as my fingers found their way inside. She was so loud now I was sure we had awakened all the occupants of the floor. I lifted my head to check is she was close, barely able to hold on myself, but Misa, wanting more, pressed my face between her legs again. Fuck ! I was so close, my own cries muffled by my business on her core, when her legs went rigid and pressed on each side of my head. The goalkeeper’s body shuddered, accompanied by deep whiny sights, as she sunk into the bliss. 

I exhaled and rested aigainst her leg a moment, regaining my breath. After the short break, I went next to Misa, facing the goalkeeper laying on her back, her face lost and beautiful. She turned on her side, sent a weak arm over my waist for me to took her in and she nested on my collar bone, peaceful and exhausted. I watched her yearningly, I kissed her forehead and a discreet smile stretched her mouth. 

A couple of minute had passed, with us staying cuddling, when Misa lifted her head an put a soft kiss on my lips. She pulled my face to give me a more heated one, and another. Then she grabbed my leg, heaved it onto her hip and my breathing quickened again at once. Her hand grasped my neck, she sent it traveling to my breast, caressing and pinching my nipples a moment, turning me into a moaning mess, before she led it down, and downer. 

She touched me at last, gasped and smiled at finding me all drenched and I hugged her tight, feverish wimpers leaving my mouth as her fingers easily sled between my legs. I had been already so close I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold much more. Misa’s fingers sunk inside, I whined so loudly I’d have been ashamed, excepted I didn’t gave a fuck. Warmth grew, choking and pleasant each time she went in and out, filling me more and more when I was already so full. 

My half-closed eyes wandered on Misa, and it was the sight of her far too pretty blushed face focussing hard on making love to me that made me came. The deep waves of pure pleasure radiate through my entire body, my arms tightening around her neck, eyes shut, entirely surrendering to the overwhelming feel. 

As bliss took me in, both of us went limp against each other. Exhausted by her match earlier, the footballer as given her last strength to it. I flipped onto the other side, still recovering, while she managed to turn off the light and come to lie close. She pulled the cover onto us both, wrapped me with her arm, I sized her hand falling over, hearing her letting out an approving noise in response. Her slowing and deepening breathing told me she had felt asleep at once, against me, in Paris, the magic French capital.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

[avocado-writing]

notes: this turned into a much longer, story-based fic lol. cw for depression. not mentioned: you & aziraphale building a little sandcastle while crowley drinks a margarita. also crowley switches to fem presenting in this fic

pairing: crowley x gn!reader x aziraphale

words: 2.1k

rating: E (smut at the end, minors dni)

Crowley, there’s a problem. Come over as soon as you can. - Aziraphale

Angel, you don’t need to sign your texts off. I know it’s you. 

Usually when he gets these messages it’s because Aziraphale has run out of milk, or there’s a spider in the bookshop. So Crowley doesn’t worry. That’s until he actually turns up and finds Aziraphale staring at the CD rack you put up in the back room, arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

“The Tracy Chapman album is gone,” Aziraphale sighs. Crowley glances over to the calendar hung up on the wall. It’s got pictures of kittens on it. But that’s not what makes him groan, no; it’s when he realises the date. 

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t realise that had sneaked up on us.”

It happens once a year, inevitably. Even when you try to forget it the bloody thing is seared in your mind. It’s almost the anniversary of the day you didn’t die. 

You insist you aren’t sad about it. You insist. But, once when you were very drunk, they got it out of you that for a little while you always feel like you’re mourning. You’re happy with your life how it is now, overjoyed even; and you wouldn’t trade your marriage for anything… but you’re still reminded of the human you couldn’t be. The natural life you never got to live. The children you never had. The family you had to abandon when your death didn’t take. 

Because when it boils down to it you’re not quite human. You’re different. And though Crowley and Aziraphale may not be aligned with their sides any more there are other angels and demons. But there is only one of you. 

And it can get very lonely to think that way. 

So every year you sequester yourself off in your bedroom at your house — since 1988 it’s been with that bloody Chapman CD — and the person they love disappears into a little mist of sadness until you’re ready to be with the world again. 

Crowley slams his hand onto the table, making his husband jump. No. Not this time. They won’t stand to see you like this for another year. 

“I have an idea,” he says, and Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. 

Your house is in quite a nice area of London, plenty of room for three people, but right now you’re sitting in the bedroom all alone. (Of course you have a house. You love your other halves dearly but personal space is a requirement, not a request. Besides you’ve picked up a load of tat over the years you’ve been alive and it’s not fair to make one of them keep it for you). You’ve not seen them for a few days, and that’s fine. You like to marinate in your own misery. Crowley once said people must enjoy feeling sad or bands like the Smiths wouldn’t exist. You couldn’t fault him. 

There’s a knock at your door. Figuring it’s the postie, you drag yourself from your spot in the middle of the bed and wipe the tears from your eyes with your sleeve. You’re a little surprised to find Crowley and Aziraphale standing there, but open the door for them anyway. 

“I’ll stick the kettle on,” you mutter as a greeting. They exchange a look as you shuffle into the kitchen. Before you can even begin to get the mugs out, you’re manoeuvred into a chair and your husbands plonk down in front of you. 

“What—”

“Nightingale, we know you’ve been struggling.”

You deflate under their dual looks of concern, and bury your face in your hands. 

“Sorry.”

You suddenly feel very, very small; but you realise they’re taking your arms and pulling your hands away. 

“There’s nothing to apologise for, my dear. We understand. It’s just that we were thinking, we should all go on a little holiday.”

Cautiously you look up. 

“A little holiday?”

Aziraphale doesn’t do ‘little’. That word simply disguises self-indulgence. “Do you fancy a little treat?” (I saw a whole wedding cake in a bakery shop window and immediately bought it, fancy going halves with me?) or “I’m going to take a little nap…” (time to curl up on the sofa in front of Bake-Off reruns and fall asleep for four days straight) are the examples that spring to mind. 

So a ‘little’ holiday might not be so little at all. 

“Look, we wrote down all of your favourite places and put them into a hat. You just reach in, pick one, and we’ll go.”

They’d spent a solid two hours deciding what made the cut. Edinburgh, obviously. Stockholm. Verona. (You might have had a problem with the Roman Empire, but you can appreciate that nowadays Italy has some of the best food in the world). 

Aziraphale holds out a reporter’s trilby full of tiny white strips of paper, shaking it enthusiastically. Their eyes are wide and full of love. Gingerly you reach out, rustle around in the hat, and pull a single slip. They watch you intently as you unfold it, read it, and widen your eyes. 

You hold it up, and excitement crosses your face for the first time that day. 

“Isle of Wight.”

“Isle of Wight?” Crowley repeats. He doesn’t remember putting that one in there and, from the look on his face, neither does Aziraphale. But no, of course - you love that place. The three of you had spent a summer there back in the nineteen-twenties, when you had gone through your fossil phase. You’d spent hours on the beach searching through rocks for ammonites and genuinely enjoying every moment. 

Plus, with that look on your face, they can hardly say no.

“Isle of Wight then,” Aziraphale says, smiling. 

They help you pack and book the ferry that evening, Crowley making short work of the drive down to the docks. On the journey you’re still a little bit quiet, but when you ask, “can I put on Tracy Ch—” Crowley shouts “No!”, reaches into the glove box to pull out the CD the Bentley manifested to try and please you, and flings it out of the window on the motorway. 

It’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh. As a compromise Crowley stuffs Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours into the system so roughly he threatens to break it in half. 

Apart from that the drive is filled with happy chatter. And so is the whole holiday, really. They’ve booked a little seaside cottage to stay in, very sheltered and alone so there are no prying eyes on the three of you. That first night you’re too knackered to do much but curl up and fall asleep, but the next day you go into full tourist mode. Shorts, shirt, big hat and glasses. Aziraphale rubs sunblock on your back in the areas you can’t reach — as luckily the three of you have planned your excursion for the four and a half days that constitute British summertime — and you set out. 

And, really, it’s lovely. You go to the little attractions, play mini golf, pretend not to be annoyed when they miracle their shots to hit better (though you still win, their divine magic isn’t a patch on talent). You get a huge ice cream which drips down your hand in the heat. You watch Crowley spend twenty-seven pounds on a claw machine trying to win you and Aziraphale a teddy each “the old fashioned way”, but finally get irritated enough to click his fingers to make it malfunction. Soft toys are spat out of it like bullets to the glee of the gathered children.  

When you arrive back at the cottage they insist they cook, and even though you offer to help you’re told to go and spend the time looking for fossils. It’s quite miraculous that the beach laid out before your front door is suddenly full of them. It’s equal parts sandy and stony and you busy yourself for the next hour, every now and then a cry of “look what I’ve found!” being shouted over the sound of the waves. 

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look and silently agree what they’ve never worded: they’ve married a history nerd. 

It’s still hot as the sun sets and they lay out a little picnic on the soft part of the beach. You’ve changed into swimwear and so have they, and it’s one of those moments when you realise just how different your spouses are. Crowley has her long and hair down, slim body feminine so she can wear a tiny black bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. Aziraphale is wearing a full striped bathing suit that you last saw popularised when Queen Victoria was still on the throne. 

You love them both so much. 

Crowley pours the wine and you spend the evening getting a rosy sort of tipsy. You eat the little smorgasbord they’ve laid out in front of you, and as midnight turns to one in the morning, you totally forget the fact that it’s your would-be-death day at all. 

You stand up on unsteady legs and look at the ocean. It’s still unbearably warm. 

“Nightingale?” Crowley asks. You turn to your spouses and make a show of stripping off, leaving your swimsuit on the sand. 

“I’m going for a swim. Are you coming?”

Crowley needs no convincing, her tiny bikini quickly joining the pile of clothes. You take her hand and rush into the waves, laughing wildly as the water sprays your skin. 

“Angel!” Crowley shouts over her shoulder. Aziraphale hesitates for the tiniest moment. 

“Come on angel, nobody can see us.”

Aziraphale loses a battle against himself, finishes his slice of cake and starts to undress too. Soon he’s joined you and your wife in the water. The two of you pull him close. 

“See? Isn’t it nice?” you hum into his ear. His hand skips your bare waist, his breath hitches. You giggle and float backwards on the water, skyclad to the stars above. Crowley keeps a hold of your hand to make sure you don’t drift away, and you listen to the sound of the ocean in your ears while your spouses kiss behind you. You link your fingers through theirs and close your eyes, warm from the wine, and happy. 

Then you splash them childishly. The noise of surprise they make is fantastic. You cackle like mad and begin to run through the water - albeit very slowly - poking your tongue out. 

“Can’t catch me!” you giggle, which is a silly taunt really because Crowley is able to do so immediately with her long legs, and then she sweeps you up in a kiss. 

The three of you find yourselves laying on the beach, Crowley kissing your chest and neck, Aziraphale the soft area of your upper thighs. You melt against their mouths and drag them each to your lips to kiss them properly in turn. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, voice strung out on happiness and a little desperate. They don’t need telling twice. Crowley puts one of her beautiful legs either side of your face and you reach to taste her cunt, a heady mix of salt from the water and her own slick. She throws her head back and lets her flaming hair cascade down her back, moaning in pleasure. 

“Fuck, nightingale, your mouth…”

As your tongue presses firmly against her clit you feel Aziraphale manoeuvre you into his lap, spreading your legs to find your entrance. His hands press against you as his fingers slide inside, getting you ready for his impressive girth. You moan against Crowley’s pussy as he sheathes himself slowly inside you and then giggle as the waves lap up against your body. 

“Ahh,” Aziraphale breathes in pleasure, gripping your hips tightly as he begins to move. With every thrust he gives you mimic the motion onto your wife. 

You know their bodies intimately. You have done for centuries. But each time you make love it still feels like your senses are being lit on fire, the best kind of fire, passion burning hot. 

You love them. You love them so much it hurts, and you let this tumble from your lips as you feel them come, and topple over the edge with them. 

That night they hold you close, sandwiched, one of your favourite ways to sleep. Aziraphale tucks his face into your shoulder and Crowley buries his mouth into your hair, giving you a permanent kiss while you drift off. 

You’ve not felt so light in ages. 

When you get home, you decide, you’re smashing that CD with a hammer. You’ve got everything you need to feel better right here in your arms. 

-

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul  @foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie

[momotonescreaming]

Trying my hand at something different based off of a silly text post I made about a 90s/00s chatfic au. Not 100% sure if I'll continue it yet, so please let me know what you think! 💜❤️

Eddie couldn’t lie to himself that his heart skipped a beat when he got the notification. When he saw who the notification was for. The familiar bloop noise and the little pop up at the corner of the screen.

KingSteve85 is Online

Finally. Steve had moved away for college almost two weeks ago now, and Eddie had barely heard from him. Logically he knows that he and Robin needed the time to drive up, and set up in their cramped little dorms, and do other fancy college orientation things. But he missed them. Now that he had them, people who weren’t scared of him, people who weren’t afraid to call him out on his shit, people who got it. They talked almost every day after… everything.

Eddie would log on to the shitty old computer he and Wayne had fixed up and wedged in the corner of the trailer, scroll the internet, listen to music — and chat with Steve. He was a good fucking guy. And funny. And hot. And now it felt weird not chatting to him every day. Not logging on after a shift at Thatcher Tyre to find the little green Online dot next to his username. Not logging on at 2am after a nightmare to find Steve also online.

But Steve’s at college now, and his PC is currently boxed up in Robin’s childhood bedroom. Didn’t trust his new roommate, he said. Or his parents, after he moved out.

Without hesitating, ignoring the flip of his stomach and beat of his heart — he sends Steve a message.

c0rr0d3d_3dd13: soooooo how was ur 1st wk of college? :D

Steve replies immediately.

KingSteve85: so crazy haha KingSteve85: sorry i haven’t been online haha c0rr0d3d_3dd13: lol allgud. i know ur a big college boy now C0rr0d3d_3dd13: don’t have time 4 me anymor lol ;_;

Eddie cringes as soon as he says it, as soon as he hears the click of the enter key sending the message. Recoiling into a ball, hands over his face, curling up on the wheeled office chair, he lets himself spin as he watches the screen. Waits for the KingSteve85 is typing… message to pop up. God, Steve’s barely left and Eddie’s already a needy, self deprecating, mess.

Fuck his life. Crushes are stupid.

Because that’s what that is. He can admit that to himself now. Now that Steve’s left. He’s got a big, fat, gay crush on Steve Harrington. Him and all the other repressed queer kids at Hawkins High. What a cliché.

The computer pings with a new message, and his gaze is ripped towards the screen.

KingSteve85: never! there was just a lot of events and stuff this first week KingSteve85: did not have time to go to the library and log on lol KingSteve85: haven’t even called Dustin yet c0rr0d3d_3dd13: ur messaging me b4 dusty? Ur gonna make a girl blush harrington

Hunched over on the office chair with the broken wheel, at the computer he helped fix, with the shoddy speakers him and Wayne haven’t gotten around to yet — Eddie felt special. Dustin was Steve’s brother, one of his best friends. And yet Steve chose to message him first.

He tries to humble himself, hold back the blush with the knowledge that if Robin went to a different college than Steve (which was highly unlikely), he would have messaged her first. But Robin isn’t at a different college. And Eddie got the message first.

c0rr0d3d_3dd13: wot sort of events were there? music and drinking? Rotfl KingSteve85: literally yes haha KingSteve85: during the day there were like,,, tours and stalls advertising clubs and stuff KingSteve85: but as soon as it was night it all popped off haha c0rr0d3d_3dd13: u go 2 any? KingSteve85: some! not a lot haha. Robs wasn’t super excited and i didn’t want to leave her alone

It warmed his cynical heart, how much Steve cared for Robin. And how much she cared for him in return. They cared, and they love each other so much. Eddie thinks they’d still be close, even without all the debilitating trauma that glued them together. Robin had mentioned wanting to merge her and Steve into one being before, so they could always be close and balance each other out. Steve had immediately agreed.

Eddie had friends in the Corroded Coffin boys, but he wasn’t sure if they were at the ‘merge into one mega being’ stage of their friendship yet. Maybe Jeff. Jeff had gone off to college this year with Frank — to a different place than Steve and Robin — and Eddie had already received a postcard from him. It was nice to not be forgotten. A part of him wondered if he would be, when everyone went off to college.

But Jeff didn’t. Steve didn’t.

c0rr0d3d_3dd13: wot a gentleman lol c0rr0d3d_3dd13: wots ur timetable lik now? KingSteve85: fucking crazy dude KingSteve85: got lectures & tutorials & work & been thinking about doing a sport again c0rr0d3d_3dd13: which sport lol? u’ve got like… 3 to pick from c0rr0d3d_3dd13: ALSO DAMN DUDE THATS BUSY KingSteve85: i guess haha KingSteve85: been thinking either basketball or swimming. maybe baseball lol KingSteve85: which’ll add practices and meets and games and stuff haha

Before he left, Steve had quietly admitted that he wasn’t sure if he’d try out for a sport or not. During his senior year Billy Hargrove gave him a concussion so bad it benched him for months, and he’d spent ages trying to work back up to it again. So he could play without wanting to puke. And then he didn’t get into college when he applied to the fancy schools his dad made him apply for, and he missed out on any possible scholarships he would’ve gotten.

And he would’ve gotten them. Eddie’s not much of a sports guy, but he knows Steve was good. Great. One of the best.

Eddie quietly believed in Steve. He wouldn’t be himself unless he was exercising or playing a sport. You could see it in his face when he watched a game with Robin, when he played pick-up basketball with Lucas. It made him happy. So Eddie wanted Steve to try out. He was at the sappy stage where the thought of Steve being happy made his heart swell. He was happy he was happy.

(A part of Eddie just wondered if maybe Steve could be happy with him.)

c0rr0d3d_3dd13: do it!! i’ll cheer 4 u from here c0rr0d3d_3dd13: but leave som time free lol or u’ll go mad KingSteve85: enough free time i can chat w you? Haha

His hear clenches at the fact that it was Steve who bought it up. Their chatting. Maybe he thinks of it as often as Eddie does.

c0rr0d3d_3dd13: obvs??? c0rr0d3d_3dd13: if u 4get ab me im gonna cry dude KingSteve85: of course i won’t haha KingSteve85: gotta chat w you so you won’t go crazy back in Hawkins c0rr0d3d_3dd13: and i’ll make sure u don’t go crazy over there with your full ass schedule KingSteve85: its not that bad haha KingSteve85: but thank u c0rr0d3d_3dd13: i’d argue it *is* that bad c0rr0d3d_3dd13: i hav a full time job and the thought of ur schedule makes me cry

Wayne had managed to get him a job at Thatcher Tyre, through a few mutual acquaintances and a favour he had yet to cash in. It made him feel like one of those rich shit kids who go to college on daddy’s money and get a job in his company without having to work for it. The type of kid Steve was.

But Eddie can’t be picky now, and he and Wayne need the money. He’s good at cars, doesn’t completely hate it, and it pays. So he bit his lip, and now he has a full time job with a schedule of his own.

It is not as busy as Steve’s. He knows if he asks Robin, hers will be the same. Filled with band practices and sports games. Birds of a feather.

KingSteve85: i’m used to it haha KingSteve85: at least i’m only planning on one sport and not two lol c0rr0d3d_3dd13: u better stick to that harrington c0rr0d3d_3dd13: or i’ll drive up there and kick ur ass until you take care of urself

There’s a pause. The KingSteve85 is typing… message flickered on the screen, loading whatever message Steve was typing.

It eventually came through.

KingSteve85: i promise. but maybe i should break that rule so you can come visit c0rr0d3d_3dd13: u dont have 2 con me into visiting stevie. just say the word

Another pause.

KingSteve85: i will

[silverbladexyz]

Hi<3 May I request Dazai Tecchou and Jouno coming home to their fem/gn s/o asleep on the couch cuz she was waiting for them but they forgot to tell her they’d be coming home late and they felt bad for it?<3

Hiii <333 this request is so cute!!! Sorry if this was a bit short!

The images do not belong to me. They belong to their original owners.

TW: Mentions of death

Dazai, Tecchou and Jouno coming home to their S/O asleep on the couch

Dazai:

-Dazai was going to take you out on a date later that night, but an emergency mission arose and it kept the whole Agency working their butts off trying to solve the case

-Everyone was so busy that your boyfriend unfortunately forgot to text you that he would be late. It was nearly midnight when he and Ranpo finally managed to solve the case and rescue everybody from the mission, and Dazai didn't waste another second hurrying home

-Apologies were spewing from his lips as he entered your shared house with him, but they quickly died down when he saw how deeply asleep you were on the couch. He then remembered how he was meant to take you out on a date that night, and guilt seized his chest when he also remembered that he forgot to text you about the case

-Dazai pushes his guilt away for the moment, and slowly lifts you up and carries you towards the bedroom. You involuntarily nuzzled deeper into his warmth, and his heart gave a flutter at that action. A small smile even slips onto his face watching your peaceful sleeping form

-He puts you in the bed and after changing into his pajamas, he slides in next to you and wraps his arms around you. Tomorrow, he’s definitely taking you out on that date, and he will make it extra fancy to apologise

-Writes into his notes to always text you if he had to stay back for something, because Dazai hates it when he lets you down

-The next morning, Dazai would apologise to you for not letting you know about the case, but then he’s going to tease you about how cute you looked that night. It’s the only time you’re allowed to full-on punch him (make it hurt please)

Tecchou:

-Being a Hunting Dog meant that missions popped up at unexpected times. And being the strongest Hunting Dog also meant being assigned on the most missions

-Tecchou isn’t really the type to forget to tell his s/o anything. Even when he might be in the middle of a fight, he would still whip out his phone and text you saying that he would return home late

-But let’s say that he was super duper busy on that day, with new missions popping up everywhere and loads of criminals to arrest and apprehend. In fact, he was so busy Jouno even commented that he barely heard Tecchou’s heartbeat that day

-After nearly getting burned, slashed to pieces, and crushed by a car, Tecchou was finally done for the day. He immediately hurried home because of how late it was, and when he entered the house, he saw you asleep on the couch

-He is confused on why you were sleeping on the couch, but he didn’t want to wake you. So Tecchou slowly lifted you into his arms and carried you bridal style to the bedroom, while pondering why you hadn’t just gone to bed already. After putting the blanket over you, he washed and changed, then slowly climbed into the bed

-The next morning, he asks you why you were sleeping on the couch and didn’t go to bed. When you reply with ‘because I was waiting for you!’, Tecchou blinks and ponders even more on why you were waiting for him. Educate him on why you would wait for him please 💗

-Tecchou definitely remembers to text you if he was coming home late, even if he was late by one second. Jouno is going crazy hearing Tecchou’s consistent typing on the phone lol

Jouno:

-I feel like Jouno would have to use voice messages and a lot of complicated stuff if he had to tell you that he would be late because being blind is quite tricky sometimes

-So when he was assigned a very big mission, Jouno internally hopes that you wouldn’t stay up waiting for him because even the authorities didn’t know how long this mission would take

-The mission was quite a tough one, with him having to question interrogate a lot of people, as well as searching out and fighting criminals. Jouno was exhausted and frankly just wanted to go home

-But no. There was something called paperwork, and he had to fill out sheet after sheet of it because of how large-scale the mission was. After filling in and completing a lot of paperwork, his hand was cramping and he was in a slightly bad mood

-Jouno was already going to rush out of the door when another last-minute misison came up. Luckily it was nothing he couldn’t handle, and he did overstay his welcome by taking his bad mood out on the criminals... they’re traumatised for life now

-It was past midnight when he arrived home, and he immediately hears your heartbeat close by. Jouno deduces that you did in fact stayed up waiting for him, and by your slow and steady breathing, he could tell that you were fast asleep for a few hours

-He actually smiles a little and carries you to the bedroom. Jouno doesn’t even bother with dinner and stuff (well he does wash and change at least) because he just wants to sleep with you in his arms. Your slow breathing and calm heartbeat immediately makes him fall asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow

-You bet that he’s going to be full-on teasing you tomorrow morning. Get back at him by teasing him about how late he was last night and how he didn’t tell you he shuts you up with a kiss later

@pixyys @pianotross @the-mourning-stars @nekokinax @i-just-like-goats @xxelfmamaxx @lakeside-paradise @yukitomybeloved @irethepotato @arisu-chan4646 @voyagewiththesatan @catzlivedforbsd

[mynameismckenziemae]

She’s a Fire-Chapter XV

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

Hotter than Hell

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

Warnings: mutual masturbation, pretending to be into your BFF to tease your men…so queerbaiting I guess? Sending dirty pictures, unintentional orgasm denial, etc.

Three days pass in radio silence and it’s killing you. Sunny does her best to keep you distracted but she works 12-hour shifts with virtually no phone access.

10 PM on Thursday, you finally get a text.

Bradley: Hey, sweetheart. Sorry to text instead of call, but I’m sharing a room with Bobby and it’s lights out, so we’re both stuck in here. How’re you?

You laugh, knowing what he’s hinting…Please don’t turn me on right now.

Rowan: It’s okay, I understand. I’ll send you my dirty pictures next time. I’m good, just missing you. How are you?

Bradley: Can’t fucking wait. I haven’t gotten off since we left. They’ve been running us ragged. I’m so tired. Bob doesn’t cuddle like you. He’s all ‘Get off me…’ Why are you hard?’

Rowan: LOL, why do I feel like you’re not kidding though?

Bradley: …

Bradley: Kidding. Seriously, Sunny would kill me if I touched Bob (and didn’t let her watch).

Rowan: Wow…same though.

Bradley: Oh yeah?

Rowan: Definitely. I’d be ticked if I missed you getting dicked down by Bob. 😏

Bradley: No, it’d be the other way around. I’d be doing the dicking-downing or whatever.

Rowan: Not a chance. 😂

Bradley: Wow.

Bradley: Damn it, times up. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before we talk again. Love you, see you soon.

Rowan: I love you too, get some sleep.😘

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Even though Bradley keeps a tidy home, you spend Saturday doing a deep clean. You find some photo albums in the attic when you bring a box of your things up, not sure yet if you want to donate it yet or not.

Tears fill your eyes as you flip through the photos. There’s one of Carole holding teeny-tiny Bradley in the hospital, tired but glowing. The next one has the tears spilling over—Nick’s holding him, terrified but excited. You laugh at the one of Bradley on his first birthday, frosting all over his face and curly hair, grinning at the camera.

Your smile falls a few pages later when you see Bradley alone in front of his dad’s coffin, saluting. You turn the page, a wave of nausea hitting you imaging your own child in the same position. The next photo is at least a year or two later and you swallow your sob, knowing Carole was probably so devastated and overwhelmed trying to take care of herself and Bradley that capturing memories with pictures wasn’t even a thought in her mind.

You decide that’s enough for now and put everything back where it was and head back downstairs to finish cleaning.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sunny picks you up on Sunday for brunch and wedding discussions. She and Bob picked a date next fall back in Minnesota when the leaves should be at their peak color.

Sunny snorts as you show her your conversation from the other night with Bradley about her and Bob. “Agreed. Bradley would definitely be the one bottoming.”

After eating and a few drinks, you both decide to shop off your slight buzz (in truth, neither of you wants to go back to an empty house).

“Ooo, let’s stop here, I want to pick something pretty up for under my bridesmaid dress for Jake and Nat’s wedding,” Sunny says, opening the door to a fancy lingerie boutique.

You laugh, but follow her in. Never should’ve let Sunny have that second tequila sunrise.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Maybe shopping wasn’t a good idea, you think as Sunny tosses items at you to try on.

There are only two fitting rooms and one is occupied so you share the vacant one as it’s roomy enough for two, and the girl at the counter barely looked up from her phone when you walked in.

It’s pretty in the dressing room; walls painted a dark burgundy, accented with a baroque chair and flattering lighting.

“You know what would be fun? To send the boys some sexy pictures of us together in here. I’ll put this little robe on for the ones we sent to Bradley and you can for the ones I send to Bob…?” Sunny asks in a whisper, checking her reflection in the mirror.

Apparently, tequila does more to Sunny than make her clothes fall off. But…it’s not a bad idea. Bradley would lose his mind.

“I like the way you think” you whisper back with a wink.

Sunny wears white, while you’re in black

You take a few photos of her alone; your favorite is her kneeling, eyes closed and your manicured thumb is pressing on her bottom lip. She then does the same for you.

“Go bend over that chair, arch your back, look over your shoulder at me….yeah like that, bite your lip now. Perfect! Bradley is going to die. Look at that butt!” She whispers excitedly, showing you what she snapped.

Next, you set your phone on the shelf and hit the timer for the ones of you together.

You put on your robe and then start behind her, one hand on her lower stomach, the other skimming her cleavage, eyes half-lidded on each other. You step around to her side, hands still on her body as you press your lips to her neck. A few more positions and then you switch; you drop your robe as she dons hers.

You start off the same way, her hands skimming over your body, she takes it a hair further and puts her fingertips in the tops of the lacy underwear, “Hey, buy my dinner first.” She snorts, causing you to laugh.

You take a few more, lips almost brushing in a near kiss before turning to her side and rotating you around, so your ass is to the camera. You bite your lip to not laugh as she squeezes a handful of your ass. “I’m straight but your ass is making me question things.” She whispers before delivering a hard open hand smack to your cheek.

“Jesus, Sun,” you whisper, trying not to laugh too loud, “You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

“Nah we’re fine. Wait, don’t move. I’m gonna take a picture of my handprint.”

You can’t help but laugh, and let her, knowing Bradley will like it.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You both end up buying what you had on for your impromptu photo shoot and a few things more. The girl at the counter didn’t comment on the fact that you were both in the same fitting room for 45 minutes; you weren’t sure she even noticed.

You two sit in the car and go through the pics, giggling as you send them to her.

“I’m not sure I should even send these…” Sunny laughs as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“What?! Why not? It was your idea!”

“I’m kidding. I’m so sending them. I may regret it though when I can’t walk the day after Bob gets home.”

You laugh. “Same.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Later, you smile as you hit send, hoping you don’t have to wait too long before you can talk again.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Your 2 hours start now!” Cyclone yells.

Bradley heads to the common room, giving Bob privacy in their bunk room for the first hour. His phone is vibrating nonstop, incoming messages all coming in at once as it powers on.

Sitting on a chair, he pulls out his phone and scans the room—nearly empty save for a few others scattered around.

Rowan: Dirty pictures as requested, featuring a special guest.

What the…oh my fucking God, Rowan, he thinks as he clicks on the first picture of you, his cock hardening in an instant.

He slowly flips through them, looking you over in pretty lingerie, nearly swallowing his tongue as he sees one of you bent over the chair, looking at him so innocently over your shoulder, worrying your lip between your teeth.

He discreetly adjusts (palms) himself as he finds the first one with your “special guest”.

It’s his oldest friend clad in a silky robe. Sunny’s a beautiful woman, but he’s never been attracted to her.

There is definitely something attractive about the way she’s touching you though, skimming her fingers over your breasts. Holy shit, her fingers are almost in your panties.

He groans at the next one but covers it (poorly) with a cough. Sunny’s got a handful of your perfect ass. You’re looking at each other’s lips like you’re about to kiss.

His cock twitches and precum leaks as he swipes to the final one. A close-up of Sunny Girl’s handprint on your butt, the red a stark contrast to the pale skin.

40 minutes later he realizes he could’ve been talking to you this whole time.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You reach for your phone as a text comes through.

Bradley: Your pictures had me so distracted I forgot I could text you for the last 40 minutes.

You laugh as you type a response.

Rowan: Sorry?

Bradley: Don’t be. You are the most breathtakingly beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, hot, woman I’ve ever seen.

Bradley: Sorry, that wasn’t even remotely smooth, lol. I don’t even know what to say. All the blood from my head is in my dick, which is gonna fall off soon if I don’t get to jerk off.

Rowan: Lol, thank you. You’re always smooth. 😉Wait, you still haven’t been able to? It’s been almost a week.

Bradley: No. Shared bunk rooms, shared showers, shared fucking everything. There’s always someone around. We have phones until 9 so Bob’s in there now, we’re gonna switch at 8.

Rowan: 11 minutes and you’ll be able to. I’ll even let you watch me.

Bradley: I can’t fucking wait. Is the vibrator charged? I want to see you use it.

Rowan: Yep, charged it after I used it last night.

Bradley: Oh, don’t even say that. I’m gonna end up jizzing in my pants.

Rowan: Again? 😬

Bradley: Ha. Ha. So fucking funny. 🙄

Rowan: I thought so. ☺️

Bradley: I’m heading back, I’ll call you in a few.

Rowan: Can’t wait.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A red-faced Bob is coming out just as Bradley approaches the door.

“Sunny send you pictures too I take it?” Bradley asks.

“Yeah. Never thought I’d be okay seeing someone else touch her but…Jesus Christ,” Bob says, running his fingers through his hair. Bradley’s never seen him flustered like this.

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Bradley says, slapping him on the shoulder as he walks into their room, locking the door behind him.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You answer on the first ring, grinning when you see his handsome face and bare chest.

“Poor Bob looked like he was put through the wringer” is the first thing Bradley says, smiling when he sees you.

“Hey, it was Sunny’s idea…after we had tequila sunrises with brunch” you laugh, “I wore a robe for the ones she sent to him, just like one she wore” you assure him.

“Eh, I wasn’t worried. We share everything else nowadays.” He jokes, winking at you.

“Oh yeah, Sunny and I talked about it and she agrees, by the way. You’d definitely bottom if you two were to get together.”

He scoffs, offended. “Whatever.”

“Sorry babe, you just give off that submissive vibe” you tease.

“I’ll show you submissive.” He says, changing his tune, “Get naked. Now.”

“Yes sir,” you reply sarcastically but oblige.

You set your phone on the nightstand and strip quickly before flipping back on the bed.

“Good girl,” he says lowly, and a shiver crawls up your spine. “Now tease those pretty nipples for me. Yeah, like that. Pinch ‘em too…good.” He tells you, his voice rough. You can hear he’s starting to touch himself too.

“I wanna see all of you, baby, please?” You ask, still playing with your nipples.

“Yeah, hang on,” he says, setting this phone above him so you can see more of his stomach and his hand stroking his erection.

You sigh as you watch him. Out of all the things you’ve done together, this is the first time you’ve watched each other masturbate.

“Your body is incredible Bradley,” you say, fingers now circling your clit. You pick up the vibrator from the nightstand, turn it on, and replace your fingers with it. “God, just look at you.”

He groans, hating and loving your words. He’s so worked up from not cumming in a week, especially after getting off at least twice daily in the 10 days before deploying.

“Row, fuck, I’m sorry but I’m close already. I want you to get there first. Can you do that?” He pants, cheeks ruddy as he fists himself.

“Yeah, I’ll try,” you say, pushing two fingers in and pushing the vibrator setting higher. “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” you whine, curling your fingers and finding your G-spot.

“I’m almost there-almost…I-I…” you can’t finish your sentence as your orgasm hits you, whimpering as you do. It feels so good but it’s not the same without him here.

You notice he’s quiet you catch your breath, not yet able to open your eyes. “Bradley, did you cum?”

No response. You open your eyes and your phone is black. You pick it up and turn the screen on.

The call was disconnected.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Row? Can you hear me?” Bradley pants, so so so close as the screen going black.

“Are you still there? Fuck!” He growls, picking up his phone to call you back. But it’s no use. ‘No service’ is all that comes up when he tries.

He hears frustrated voices in the hall, so he’s not the only one affected. He looks down at his throbbing erection and sighs before pulling his pants back on, hoping to find out what’s going on so he can call you back.

Bob is about to knock as he opens the door.

“Something was detected on sonar, so they cut the phones early. I got a text out to Sun before mine went, I’m sure she’ll let Row know.”

“Thanks, man”, he says flopping back on his bunk, reciting the flight manual in his head to get his cock back under control.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A/N: I hope the queerbaiting doesn’t offend anyone—if you read Sunny’s story, you’ll see that she (like Rowan) gets off on teasing her man and loves turning him on at inappropriate times (can you tell I like it too?) I am pro-LGBTQI.

Tagging:

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd

@charmedkim

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

@ingoaliesitrust

@hookslove1592

@amiets2

@nero4te

@eli2447

[mountsies]

Hey! I love your fics❤️ Would you be able to do one where the reader doesn’t come from much money and has financial issues but mason doesn’t know about it and eventually finds out accidentally. The rest can be up to you and your wonderful imagination 😊

hii lovey thank you so much it means a lot to me!!💙💙 i'm really really sorry for the late reply, i've been really busy these past days and got a write blocking that took a toll on me. but i managed to finish your request today and i hope you like it!! <3 (again it turned out a lot more angsty than i intended it to be lol)

always there for you

mason mount x reader

summary: you have been through a though moment but mason is there to help you.

word count: 2,6k

disclaimer: english is not my first language, angst, family issues, a bit fluffy at the end

The song playing on the radio wasn't enough to distract you from your nerves, your fingers tapping nervously against your knee. You turned your face and looked over to your boyfriend, who gladly was paying enough attention on the road to not notice your anxious attics.

Mason took a last turn and parked in front of the restaurant where you both had agreed to meet his friends for brunch. He turned to face you and gave you his beautiful smile that made your heart warm, but soon his brow furrowed when he noticed how your leg was shaking now.

"Are you feeling okay, baby?" He asked, worry noticeable in his voice.

"Yes babe, I'm fine." You tried your best to fake a smile, nodding your head.

“You sure?” His head tipped to the side, his body leaning closer just for him to interlock his fingers on yours.

Mason’s palm was warm against yours, your heart calming down from your worries for a moment. You could say you weren’t feeling okay, that you’d prefer to stay home that afternoon, you knew Mason wasn’t going to force you to go out with him. He’d probably cancel his plans to stay with you. But you already had so much going on in your head and you didn’t want to cause a fuss, Mason already had his own problems and you felt that you had no need to bring your problems to him.

“I’m okay really,” You squeezed his hand, leaning to peck his lips. “Shall we go?”

His gaze still had remnants of worry, his eyes scanning your features to be sure of your words, his lips pecking yours in another soft kiss when he nodded his head after a moment. He undid his seatbelt and you did the same, as always Mason got out first then opened the door for you, something that always made your heart swell in affection. You thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, his hand intertwined with yours again after he locked his car and you both walked into the restaurant entrance.

Although you had calmed down for a moment, as soon as you entered the restaurant you felt sick to your stomach. You already had been to some fancy places with Mason, he liked to take you out to the best places in town, and as much as you knew he did it because he liked to spoil you, deep down you felt uncomfortable and even sad. Your financial situation wasn’t a problem to Mason, he knew since the beginning that your lives and way of living were totally opposites, but he never worried about it as much as you did.

Mason was an incredible man, his amazing personality with his funny sense of humour and his caring and gentle actions was what drew you to him. He never cared about that kinda stuff, and you knew you shouldn’t too, but that wasn’t so easy for you to do. And it became a lot harder when you started having problems in your bank account after you lent money to your stupid brother who never cared to pay back. 

It all started a few months ago, when your brother asked you to help him with his business and played your role of good sister, you decided to help him after talking with your parents. He was supposed to pay you back some weeks ago but he never did, even stopped replying to your calls and texts. 

You carried a huge burden on your back trying to figure out how to solve your problem, feeling embarrassed to ask for help from anyone around you even if you knew they’d help you out with anything you needed.

Your thoughts were running wild again but then your attention was brought to the world when you saw Sophia waving and smiling excitedly at you, making you smile a little. When you both finally got to the table where your friends were sitting you greeted all of them with a hug and a small smile, Sophia pulling you to sit by her side immediately. 

“It’s been so long since we saw each other!” She exclaimed, a warm smile on her face. “We should do something together sometime.”

“Yes, we totally should!” You chuckled a little, “How have you been?”

You both engaged in a conversation about your lives, you trying to distract your thoughts from your issues for a moment. You felt Mason’s arm sneaking around your shoulder and that made you calm yourself a little, he knew something was off but didn’t want to push it and you were grateful for that. He was too involved in his conversation with Kai and Reece but you saw him smile from the corner of your eye when you stroke his thigh gently.

✦

The brunch was filled with parallel conversations and laughter, some of the guys always making a joke and that for sure lifted your spirit a bit, but when Mason paid yours and his bill after eating dessert the feeling of guilt washed over you completely. You both said your goodbyes before leaving, you promising Sophia you would call her anytime so you too could hang out together.

“Did you enjoy today?” Mason’s voice was soft when he broke the silence in the car, his eyes alternating between you and the street.

“Yeah, it was really fun,” You turned to look at him. “Thank you Mase.”

“No need for thanking me babe,” He intertwined his fingers on yours again, kissing the back of your hand and giving you a warm smile.

His sweet words and loving actions almost made you cry, the lump in your throat starting to feel too hard to hold. But you just smiled at him, trying to hold your tears until you got to his house. And when he finally parked in front of his gate you let out a sigh of relief, wanting nothing more than to just get rid of your make up and take the longest nap of your life.

You entered his house leaving your heels by his hall of entrance, following directly to his room upstairs. Mason furrowed his brows when he saw you almost run upstairs, normally you both would stay at his living room to watch some film but this time you just skipped without even saying anything, and he knew you enough to know that something was definitely wrong and he didn’t know how to approach you. 

He entered his room, finding you sneaking into one of hoodies after changing your clothes. He smiled at the sight, his arms wrapping around you from behind. You turned around in his embrace, your head hiding in the crook of his neck and sighing in comfort. “I don’t feel very good, I think I’m gonna take a nap.” Your voice was almost a whisper and he pulled away to look at you with worry in his eyes.

“Are you feeling sick? Did something happen?” His hands came to stroke your cheeks and you closed your eyes to the feeling.

“It’s just a headache, I’m gonna take some painkillers and just rest a bit.” Mason still had his brow furrowed, his eyes not leaving yours.

“Are you sure that’s all?” You felt the knots in your stomach again when he asked you, and this time you looked away from his eyes because you knew he was worried and you couldn’t handle that at the moment.

“Yes, don’t worry.” That's all you said before pulling away from his arms and walking to the en-suite.

You heard him sigh but was glad he didn’t say anything, deciding to focus on getting rid of your make up. You washed your face and started your skincare routine, but you were soon interrupted when you heard a cell phone ring followed by your boyfriend’s voice.

“Babe it’s yours.” His voice was muffled when he yelled from his room.

“Can you answer for me?” You yelled back and went back to what you were doing after he shouted back an okay.

Mason didn’t said anything more and you went back to what you were doing, finishing your routine and following back to his room. But as soon as you entered his bedroom and saw him blinking at your phone you knew something happened. Your heart started to race and a million scenarios went through your head.

“Who was it?” You managed to ask, your hands trembling with nervousness.

He looked at you with an indecipherable expression, but when he answered your question you already felt the tears in your eyes. “It was the bank.” 

All you wanted was to curse yourself and run away from his look, but all you did was stay in place with the tears running down your face. You were unable to form a sentence and didn’t have the strength to walk away, feeling ashamed by how things went down so suddenly. Mason stood from his spot immediately when he saw you crying, his hands cupping your cheeks trying to give you the comfort you needed.

“Y/n, hey…” He tried to make you look at him but you just kept looking down, his own heart breaking when you let out a painful sob. “Baby look at me, please.”

Mason sighed when you shook your head, his arms wrapping around you and bringing you closer to him. Your tears started to wet his shirt and you felt even more ashamed, the feeling of embarrassment washing over you along with guilt for not having the courage to bring your issues to your relationship. He guided both of you to the bed, where he seated and brought you to sit by his side, his hand gently stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry.” You managed to say between sobs, and Mason felt his heart clench.

“Why are you apologising? There's nothing to be sorry about.” He said softly, his hand lifting your chin so he could look at you. He wiped the tears from your face and kissed your cheek, his eyes filled with worry and pain because he hated to see you crying. “How did that happen?” His fingers gently caressed your face.

When you locked your eyes in his you felt another wave of tears, another sob leaving your lips and Mason didn’t say anything more, just wrapped you in a tight hug. His hands stroked your back and he kept kissing your face and your forehead trying to calm you down, his voice whispering sweet nothings to you and as time passed you could already breath calmly and your chest didn’t hurt as much as it did minutes before. You two kept in silence for another moment, you fighting with yourself to find the right words to finally talk about everything with him.

“Do you remember when my brother asked for my help a couple of months ago?” You mumbled, your voice cracking in the middle of the sentence but Mason just nodded and waited for you to continue. “He asked me to lend him some money so he could start his business. At first I was taken aback but he managed to convince me. I called my parents and they convinced me to help him too, they said he had changed so I lent him the money.” 

You took a deep breath and pulled away from him slightly, your eyes now focused on the hem of his shirt where you fidgeted with your fingers. “He was supposed to pay me back weeks ago, but he started to ignore my phone calls and my messages.” You let out a chuckle in disbelief, shaking your head. “I was trying to be a good sister and support him after everything but that only got me in the red on my bank account.” You could feel the tears in the corner of your eyes, not having the urge to fight them.

Mason stayed in silence trying to sink in what you just had told him, his blood boiling at the thought of your brother doing something like that to you. Everybody knew he had a bad background, you had told that to Mason since the beginning of your relationship and he always supported your decisions when it came to your brother besides not trusting him at all. 

“Your brother is an fucking asshole,” He started and his heart warmed when you chuckled at his words. “Baby I’m so sorry you have to go through something like that.”

“He is for sure.” You mumbled, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You know I’d help you in a blink of an eye.” 

This time you looked away again, already shooking your head to what he was about to say. “Mason we already-”

“Y/n look at me,” He lifted your chin again and your teary eyes met his again. “I know you like to be independent and deal with your stuff on your own, but you can’t think that you’re gonna solve your problems by yourself for the rest of your life.” He wiped the stubborn tear that ran down your cheek.

“It’s just… it’s embarrassing.” You whispered and closed your eyes, not knowing how to handle his look at you.

“But it doesn’t have to be. You can’t deal with everything on your own, it’s okay if you ask for help when you need it.” You feel his lips on your cheek in a sweet kiss, a sigh leaving your lips as you rested your forehead against his shoulder.

You didn’t say anything back, just stayed there in his arms seeking the comfort you needed. Although the feeling of embarrassment kept itching inside you, on the other hand you knew Mason was more than right. You needed help, more than anything at the moment, and he was more than happy to help you out even if you didn’t like it. It was at that same moment you realised how much he really cared about you and that made your heart swell in your chest.

“Look at me,” He said gently after some time, lifting your head so he could look into his eyes. “I love you, okay? More than everything and we’re gonna get through this together.” His words made your eyes teary again, but this time not with sadness and worry but with gratitude and relief. 

“I love you too.” You whispered back at him, pulling him closer and brushing your lips against his. It was just a peck, a soft and gentle kiss that made your heart jump with so much love. “I just don’t wanna feel like a burden to you.”

“Stop with that, you’re never gonna be a burden to me. I’m your boyfriend, I’m always gonna be here for you whenever you need me. And you don’t have to be ashamed to seek help.” You were feeling a lot calmer, his words making you open your eyes to your situation and accepting that he was indeed right. You still had the feeling of worry, but knowing Mason was willing to help you with that fucked up stituation made you gather your thoughts to the right direction. “You’re gonna let me help you?” He asked, his eyes searching for an answer.

“Yes.” You nodded at him and he gave you a warm smile that you reciprocated.

He pulled you into a tight hug, your eyes closing as you let yourself give into his touch, his kisses making you feel better for a moment. 

“Everything will be fine, I promise.” He whispered and you just hummed.

That wasn’t how you planned things to turn out, but fortunately it turned out better than you thought it would be. You trusted in Mason’s words and now your heart was at ease after a long time in weeks.

[jarofstyles]

Sugar, Sugar 3

Besties… the date 🫡

Hehehehe

Bold = y/n

Italics = h

——-

H: what does one wear to a farmers market

H: is it a flannel exclusive event? Farmer dungarees? Or ‘over alls’? I’m assuming denim?

Sugar: I mean… anything. Lol. It isn’t a dress coded thing. I’m wearing jeans, nothing too fancy.

Sugar: though… I would enjoy seeing you in overalls.

H: har har. Very funny.

H: I didn’t want to show up with trousers and supposed to be in cowboy boots or something!

Sugar: I know. It would have been very cute though.

H: yeehaw, and all that. Xx

———-

H: do I need to bring anything to the farmers market?

H: and are there flowers there? I’m researching a little bit.

Sugar: researching???

Sugar: H… you’re very cute. But it’s okay. Relax :)

Sugar: ps yes there are many many flowers

H: sorry… I’m just excited. I want it to be a good time for you. X

Sugar: do not apologize!!! Please.. this is the most effort anyone’s made to know the situation before a date. So… I’m just finding it endearing.

H: oh… :) well good. I’m sad no one else has made the effort but I’m happy I’m a step above. Xx

Sugar: trust me, so far? You’re miles above, Baker Boy. Xx

-

H: I just wanted to let you know I’m very excited for our date. And I’m happy you said yes. Sorry if this is too early. Xx

Sugar: is it part of your baker agenda to be this sweet all the time? Gonna give me a cavity.

Sugar: but… I’m very happy you asked. It was a good text to wake up to. Don’t worry. I’m very excited to see you today.

H: good. I’ll see you in a bit. :) xx

-

Harry was, quite frankly, shitting himself. He hadn’t been to the farmers market before, and while it didn’t seem like a big deal from what he researched, he hadn’t realized the entire downtown was such an ordeal this early in the morning on a Sunday. Tents lined the grass covered middle of their town center, dogs walking peacefully next to their owners on their leashes, soft tinkling music playing… it wasn’t something he’d been to before. And it was something Sugar loved.

He had stressed for hours in his closet on finding a good outfit. It took multiple try ons, a few curses, irritated huffs and an embarrassing amount of Pinterest inspo searches before settling on black trousers and a sage green linen top with some greenery embroidered on the pocket. The sleeves rolled up and the first 3 buttons undone, his hair was swooped back and he wore the necklace she had gotten him. He rarely took it off, actually. The man had to park a bit further than anticipated, which did end up stressing him out a little bit. He hadn’t realized how busy it would actually be down here. It had just been a worry that she wouldn’t be able to find him and think he was late- a personal pet peeve of his- but he heard his name being called just as his phone had been slipped out of his pocket.

Fucks sake.

Harry swallowed thickly as he watched her approach. Y/N hadn’t dressed like this before, and it had his mouth a bit dry as he got a first real, good look at her.

Bell bottom jeans- real ones with the wide bottom - in a darker wash denim. Clung to her in all the right places. The curve of her hips, the thick of her fucking thighs, molded to each dip in her body before beginning to flare out at the knee. The top.. was again, off shoulder, but a soft green to match his own. Chiffon puff sleeve covered the top of her arm and down to the middle of her forearm. It was… almost corset like. Tight enough to have her breasts out more than before was used to. It wasn’t too much, not at all. It was just… fucking stunning.

Her signature necklaces were added plus a longer chain that was covered in simple, little star charms. Her hair down, so fucking pretty and soft looking he wanted to run his hands into it. A cream colored silk hair scarf kept most of it out of her face besides two tendrils that framed her face, the rest running down.

The beautiful girl’s lips looked so pretty and soft, slightly glossy this time. He noticed in the light there was a bit of a sparkle to them. Was there glitter in the gloss? Her eyelashes seemed to be a bit longer… she had put a bit more makeup on than normal. She looked amazing every day, but knowing she put so much effort in for their date… it had his head swimming.

“Jesus.” He whispered as he approached her, not realizing he said it out loud until she replied.

“Mm, not my name, Baker boy.” She teased, tucking her phone into her pocket and adjusting the simple brown faux leather mini bag. Her two tote bags hung at her side. Harry was scanning her body with a newfound intensity but for once, she didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was abundantly clear that he liked it, especially with his little comment. Then the blush.

“Sorry.” He said sheepishly. “You just look… fucks sake, Sugar.” His hands went to her hips, the warm palms heating the fabric of the denim. “Amazing. Look so pretty. I, for some reason, didn’t compute you said you were wearing jeans.” He murmured, gently tucking his finger into her belt loop and pulling on it playfully. “They look incredible on you.”

She fell into his chest for a hug, laughing quietly at his astonishment. It wasn’t like she ever hid her body, but she got it. He had a much better idea of her now. Seems like he liked it, though. “Thank you.” She chirped, pulling out of his hug. “Why don’t we get started, hm? You can stare as we go.” He agreed. If they didn’t get a move on he was definitely going to be called out for drooling over her.

—-

Harry was fairly certain the farmers market was one of the best things in town. How he hadn’t been here before, he had no clue, but it was straight up his alley. There were local farmers, organic goods. Handmade soaps and house goods. Art. Delicious food. Locally made cheese and wine, which he had guiltily stolen one of Y/N’s tote bags to carry with a promise of letting her fill that one up too.

He loved it.

What he loved more though, was watching her. He did as she had suggested, a whole lot of staring. Watching as she conversed with familiar faces and introduced him to people, telling him all about where her normal stops were.

“Locally made is always better, i think.” She said softly as they wandered one of the many farmers booths. “I love local made jams the best. Once you start them, or the preserves, the store bought stuff tastes like artificial garbage. Trust me.” She held up a glass jar with strawberry jam. “It’s amazing on pancakes and crackers. Or on home made scones… though, your scones are too good to put anything else on.” Her words made him grin, losing a bit of his nerves.

She was comfort. The warm sun that hit them from between trees had nothing on how warm she made him feel. A golden energy radiated off of her like sunbeams, warming his skin each time he caught her eyes. He couldn’t stop his touchy feely nature anymore, looping his finger in her jeans and standing behind her. The tote bag carrying hand moved it to his forearm, resting his hand on her waist.

Usually, not a comfortable stop for her. What if he felt her stomach rolls? Or if she got sweaty? What if he didn’t like how soft she was, or how much was there? But immediately upon feeling his hand squeeze, she relaxed. His chin rested on the side of her head, looking over her shoulder at the plethora of local jams. Blueberry, raspberry, peach, mandarin, grape, boysenberry… a lot of others that he didn’t even realize could be made locally.

“Why don’t you pick one out for me t’keep at my place? Your favorite one?” He spoke quietly, just for her to hear. Taking a large risk with his presumptions. He sounded incredibly confident and easy with his words but internally he was freaking out at the assumption he had made.

“Hm?” She asked, flustered at both his words and his touch. “Awfully quick of you, H.” The tone revealed she wasn’t upset or freaked out about it though. In fact? Y/N was more than pleased at what he was implying. The date was going well enough for him to see them doing more? “Moving in my jam before me… I guess the jeans have worked wonders on you.”

She didn’t expect his answer at all.

“Oh, you’ve no idea, Sugar.” It was a deep purr from his mouth, lips brushing her ear. A cool shiver ran up her spine before settling the vibrations in the base of her tummy. Spreading down towards between her thighs much further than she wanted to admit. “I like them more than you can imagine. But I don’t suppose those thoughts wouldn’t to be too appropriate for a family friendly market.” His hand squeezed her waist again before reaching past her and handing some cash to the attendant, paying for both of their jars.

“Come on.” Going for it since he had just gave the biggest and riskiest flirtation of the day so far, he grabbed her hand and threaded their fingers together. “Show me where to get the fresh berries.”

——

Touching her was something Harry had already had issues with but now it felt as though he was addicted to. That, and flirting with her. She was something that he hadn’t expected in the journey of opening up his own bakery. Y/N was the most pleasant surprise. Witty and able to keep up with his banter, genuinely kind and friendly towards anyone she met.

There was probably hearts in his eyes as he followed her around with her hand locked in one of his and her tote bags carried in the other. Playing the act of doting date and loving it far more than he ever had in the past. The sun was shining through the trees and her soft hums as she browsed a local artist’s hand made crochet hats soothed a part of his soul he hadn’t realized needed saving. His body naturally fell in sync with hers, letting her guide him to her local spots and eating up every time she introduced him to people with a soft, dreamy tone in her voice. Every time she cut her eyes at him when she thought he wasn’t looking, he felt it and preened internally.

“What do you think?” She asked, holding a lavender bucket hat. It was crocheted in classic granny squares with the shape of sunflowers in the middle, and it was a funky piece- but he quite liked it for that. Y/N’s style was a bit out there and eclectic and it matched him in a way. It seemed like a very odd thing to him because of how easily and well she slid into different pieces of his life. Molded to him. And he, her.

“I think it’s lovely. Would go with that… erm, maxi skirt right? The one you wore on Wednesday, has the sparkle things sewn on and it’s the same color.” A giddy grin lifted on her sparkly lips as she nodded excitedly. He paid that much attention to her outfits?

“Yes! It’s sequins, by the way. But yes. exactly. Can wear it with a black or white top too.” She murmured, stroking the soft yarn in her hands. “Was torn between this one and the yellow but I’ve got so much yellow already.” Y/N loved gold, yellow, any warm color. A burnt Orange was beautiful too. But she tried to step out of her comfort zone and lavender was a lovely soft color that suited her quite well.

Harry picked up the yellow one and held it in his hand. It was rather soft… and she had wanted the yellow one. So he made a split second decision, gently removing his hand from hers and taking both hats up to the artist.

“Both of these, please.” He ignored her sputter in the back, handing over the bills to the pleased artist and told her to keep the change. Harry wasn’t a super spendy person normally. He budgeted because he likes to be comfortable. His inheritance wasn’t something he enjoyed touching, but now he had money coming in. The bakery was booming, his bills were paid. He had always liked being a giver in relationships… spoiling. So he at least wanted to do something like this.

Y/N was speechless as he turned to her. At first she wanted to scold him. Tell him not to spend his money and she could have gotten it. But the twinkle in his eye and the pure happiness he had on his face as he turned to her and handed her the hat and placing the yellow one in ‘his’ tote he had overtaken… all she could do was give a tiny pout.

“Harry..” she spoke softly, approaching him as he walked out of the tent. “You didn’t have to pay for mine but I really appreciate it.” Her smile was enough of a payment for him. Harry took hers from her hands and put it in her tote too after letting her take another look.

Y/N wasn’t about to say no if he wanted to do something nice for him. So often she knew women didn’t allow proper nice treatment of themselves because they were afraid of being taken advantage of. It had been her in the past. However Harry? He had proven to be a genuinely kind person. Why would she fight him in wanting to gift her something when he would match?

“I know I didn’t have to. I just wanted to. Trust me…” he gently tugged her closer by the hand, opposite resting on the nape of her neck. “I think you’ll look adorable in it. I match in the yellow one… and you can borrow the yellow one whenever you want. I’m happy you agreed to go out with me.” He stroked the side of her neck with his thumb, smiling down at her shy look. It was a relief she wasn’t angry or didn’t take it as an offense. His Sugar deserved good things. The best. And if Harry could provide them for her? He would love to.

“Now… we should eat something. I saw apple cider donuts advertised on one of the food trucks. Plus, they’ve got specialty teas and I’m sure you know the run down. Show me which to get.” She was an expert in the teas, after all.

——

Sitting beneath a shady oak tree, Y/N leaned against the bark while Harry sat right up against her to her left. In between their legs were their designated tote bags and the food they’d purchased from the trucks. Well- Harry purchased the food and Y/N got the teas. He had been a bit pouty about that.

The warm breeze felt lovely against his skin and the heat of her skin against his leg felt even better. Their spread of food was a mishmash of things they’d found interesting to try and some of Y/N’s favorites. “So… apple cider mini donuts, Mac n’ Cheese balls, summer strawberry salad, truffle fries- or crisps, you’d say- seem to be quite a combination.” She laughed as she opened up the bag of sugary donuts, popping one out of it and bringing it up to his mouth.

Harry was pleased with the open affection he got in return. All day he noticed himself being clingier but every time she simply melted into his touch or smiled lightly. She herself hadn’t been super touchy at first but as they hung around in a more romantic context, he got to see more of her. Got to bask in the most amazing feeling of her full attention. He’d never realized how easily she made him turn into a full on puppy until he opened his mouth and swore if he had a tail it would be wagging.

He allowed the little donut to be popped into his mouth, but kept her hand close to him. He hummed with approval as the sugary sweetness dissolved on his tongue, buttery and sweet for his tastebuds. “S’perfect.” The coo was left with a nervous giggle from Y/N, and his hand pulling hers back to suck the ones that have served him the treat clean.

Y/N swore she would die. Feeling his tongue brushing her fingers, his eyes on her the whole time. A slightly darker green than before, even in the sunlight. The slick feeling of them brushing the loose sugar crystals off of the pads of her fingers with a soft hum again… it had her throbbing right between her thighs. When he pulled them out of his mouth with a pop, the mischievous grin had her scoffing.

“You… are a menace.” She whispered, narrowing her eyes to avoid thinking about the feeling between her legs and the flush she felt in her chest and neck. Of course he played dumb for it, tilting his head with the biggest little shit grin she’d ever seen.

“Hm? And why is that?” Green eyes lightened. Y/N was winded just from the action itself. Feeling him suck her fingers and give her a naughty twinkle in his eyes. He was so much trouble, this man. Deep dimples imprinted in those chiseled cheeks, making her feel almost infuriated at how gorgeous he truly was. Harry was a work of art. And this work of art was eating up her flustered face.

“Oh, hush.” Feeling a bit weird, she grabbed another donut and stuffed it into his mouth. Harry’s blatant flirting had her feeling like she was slipped into a hot tub, bubbles and all overtaking her body. Luckily he took it in stride, simply snickering as he took his donut and chewed it with a puffed out cheek.

There was a comfortable silence between them both as she leaned into him slightly bringing the pomegranate strawberry tea up to her mouth. The pink straw between her lips and a popping pearl traveling up the thicker length, making her hum with delight. For Harry, she had chosen a blueberry kiwi tea with mango popping pearls. It suited his vibe she thinks.

“You know…” she began as she closed her eyes and placed her cup back down. “I’m glad you were so excited to come. And that you suggested this as our date. It’s difficult at times….” Her lips pursed as he watched with a soft affection, the anticipation of what she was going to say rising his nerves. “It’s hard to find people to click with. Who I feel understand me. Especially men, no offense.” She peeled open an eye and saw him shake his head with that pretty dimpled smile.

“It’s like… m’happy with myself. I love myself. It’s just I’m aware that I have and am an acquired taste. The witch things and being the way I am, it can give people some polarizing vibes. Or they have a very odd preconceived idea of who I am. That I sit and give people the evil eye or I’m about to tell them their dead grandma has come with a message.” the end of the sentence had them both breaking into a giggle. “And while mediums are lovely, I am not one. People don’t know a lot about spiritual or metaphysical things, and it’s a tricky book to open when it’s gone from shunned to popularized very quickly. I grew up with my grandmother pulling out her tarot cards for questions I was unsure about, placing wards on the corners of our properties, making pretty little spell jars with dried flowers and glitter. Making Ostara eggs for when everyone else was doing Easter. There was no such thing as a too personal question in my grandmother’s house and everything has been there to cultivate me into the person I am now. I like it.” She grabbed his hand and felt it being slightly damp and cool from his holding of his tea.

“It was really nice to come into your shop and meet you… and not feel judged. You took every gift with no false sense of politeness. You asked about all of the things I brought you. Hell…” she turned towards him and let her fingers brush his chest as she grabbed the necklace. “See? You wore what I gave you. You could have written me off but you didn’t. And it meant a lot to me.” Y/N’s eyes were so soft, it turned his body to jelly. Her hand holding his and her fingers brushing his chest while she toggled with his necklace, and Harry swore it was movie like how his heart was beating and the sun broke through the leaves to highlight the curve of her nose.

“Of course I would.” His voice was tender in tone, squeezing her hand as he scooted a bit closer to her. “Listen.” Pink lips were wet with his tongue, eyes searching hers to get a read. “I want to know about it. I want to know about you. If it’s important to you, your way of life? I want t’know. I may not understand it, I may not even believe in some bits. But I will always do my best to try and do everything in my power to learn what I can from you.”

Harry had this ability to break down walls she didn’t even recognize were slowly being built. Crumbling them with a whispered breath. Making her believe that someone truly cared- especially from men. Men were a difficult subject but especially for her. While being plus size, dating wasn’t particularly easy. You had the people who thought of your body as a fetish, who wanted to keep you a secret, who were ashamed of being attracted to bigger women, people who wanted an experiment. Harry was none of these.

There was no shame walking with her, he was affectionate, he hadn’t commented on her stomach or wanting to over feed her. It was genuine and raw connection and it made her feel like she was on top of the fucking world.

“Well… I’m willing to tell you whatever you want. About me, about any witchy things. Just in general. I’m an open book.” She played with the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling a tiny bit shy under his gaze. “I want to get to know you, too.” Feeling a bit frisky, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the slight scruff of his cheek.

Harry flushed himself but his smile was large, immediately wanting her back in the same vicinity. Kisses were a reward, preening over the attention. Her lips had been soft and he got a hint of her sweet perfume, the breath being stolen from his body completely as she pulled away.

A simple cheek kiss had made him feel tingly and hot under the skin. That alone had him realizing this was something real. Something he couldn’t waste. At all. Harry was in for it now, and he couldn’t fucking wait.

“Well… let’s get to knowing each other, Shall we?”

[fayes-fics]

Three-Dot Symphony

Excerpts from a modern romance

Pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, friends to lovers over text

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, sexting, explicit descriptions of sexual acts, overuse of emojis, humour.

Word Count: 2.4k

Authors Note: Here’s the text fic no one was asking for! Loosely based on an anon ask about Ben being an expert at sexting (here), but frankly this is not even the sexting fic I was planning to write - I've no idea what this is or where it came from. Betaed by the awesome @makaylan as usual. All remaining typos & grammar errors are from the characters themselves obvs ;)

Y/N: What are you wearing?

BB: !?! Is this a come on?!?

Y/N: No? I mean it literally. As in, I can see you across the room?  Y/N: Ok, listen let me rephrase… what the fuck are you wearing?

BB: Better. But also shame.  BB: Not my choice. Llittle sis Hy made me, her birthday = fancy dress

Y/N: K but that outfit?! Did you offend her somehow or…?!.  Y/N: Wait… shame?

BB: She just hates everyone equally.  BB: Also nothing…

7 hours later

BB: What are you wearing?

Y/N: Haha. Go to sleep.

BB: Meh. Worth a try.

25 days later

Y/N: I hate the world and all the penises in it! Y/N: Fuck sorrryyy this was meant for someone else Y/N: Please ignore

BB: I mean that’s probably fair. About the penises (peni?) BB: Wait how many Benedicts do you know?! 

Y/N: Sorry. Again.  Y/N: You’re not in my phone as Benedict

BB: Not to sound too existential, but what am I?

Y/N: Lol. Arty Ben Y/N: I was trying to text Arti, a friend  Y/N: Sorry again

BB: Arty Ben? I mean okay. Could be worse… BB: Why the penis hate? Bad date? BB: (Quite proud of that ⬆️ tbh)

Y/N: Something like that Y/N: (Mr Comedy)

BB: Not all penises are bad. Surely? BB: Or rather penis owners

Y/N: No you are a nice penis Y/N: Penis OWNER! Y/N: You are a nice person who happens to own a penis Y/N: Shit… I shouldn’t text tipsy Y/N: Just hand me a shovel I’ll dig myself

BB: This is just delightful  BB: Thank you BB: My penis thanks you too BB: Wait I didn’t… I errr I’m sorry I think I’ve had too many drinks too

Y/N: Say hello to your penis from me Y/N: 🤣

BB: He says hello back 😉

Y/N: He?! 

BB: Well it’s not going to be female is it?! 

Y/N: It’s not an IT…?!

BB: Ok IT says hello 😁

Y/N: Hello Ben’s penis. 🤣

BB: 👋 😂

3 hours later

Y/N: Goodnight Ben's penis 

BB: I mean, I’m right here… BB: Do I not get a goodnight?

Y/N: Goodnight Ben Y/N: Goodnight Ben’s penis

BB: He gets two?!

Y/N: Haha. Night Y/N: Penis 

BB: Oh no, this is going to become a bit isn’t it? 😔 

4 days later

Y/N: ‘Sup Penis

BB: I’m not going to dignify that with a response 

Y/N: That’s fine, wasn’t talking to you  Y/N: Was AS YOU CAN READ only addressing the trouser snake

BB: Trouser snake?!

Y/N: Don’t like that? I got a million more 🤷‍♀️  Y/N: P. E. Nis, Esq. 🧐 (gent about town)

BB: How many drinks have you had?!

Y/N: Rude Y/N: Quite a few tbh Y/N: Wait, why do we only text tipsy?

BB: I've no idea, give me an hour I’ll try to catchup

Y/N: K

1 hour later

Y/N: ‘Sup penis and penis owner

BB: ‘Sup

Y/N: Got some drinkin’ goin’ on?

BB: Maybe

Y/N: What’s your poison?

BB: Whisky

Y/N: Niiiice Y/N: Brand?

BB: Glenfidddddich BB: Wait, that’s too many D’s isn’t it?

Y/N: Oooh single malt - we got a fancy penis right here, definitely deserving of the 🧐 Y/N: Can never have too many D’s imo…

BB: My penis, I would like to point out, is not drunk BB: Just me

Y/N: Wait… he’s not invited to your party? Y/N: That’s rude, he’s literally right there

BB: He’s a he again, not an IT? BB: No he can't be shirking his duties

Y/N: Meh, calling him a he is good Y/N: He has duties?!

BB: Y’know like…

Y/N: Tell me

BB: Stop it

Y/N: Tell me

BB: I can be drunk but he still needs to be fit for purpose 😜

Y/N: Ohhhh got it, got it Y/N: Does he have plans tonight then? Y/N: On duty, so to speak? 

BB: I mean… nothing planned BB: But he always likes to be prepared you know, just in case, like a Scout

Y/N: Seems a shame he has no party plans Y/N: Poor penis, he deserves a good time too Y/N: I like that he is always prepared though, that’s nice Y/N: He seems nice

BB: He enjoys his duties when called upon BB: He thinks you're nice

Y/N: Good for him Y/N: Awww nice Mr Penis, I think you’re nice Y/N: I mean I've never met you, but I'm sure you are nice

BB: He would be happy to meet you someday…

Y/N: Oh that would be nice Y/N: When can I meet him?

BB: Call me

1 hour later

BB: That was…. Something BB: Thank you 😁

Y/N: Anytime 😉 Y/N: I really like him Y/N: When can I see him again?

BB: On FaceTime or…?

Y/N: However he will have me

BB: After work tomorrow?

Y/N: Yes please Y/N: Totty Ct Rd Tube, Exit 4, 6pm

BB: We’ll be there

1 day later

Y/N: He’s even nicer in person Y/N: He’s lovely and so very attentive 

BB: Are you texting from my bathroom?!

Y/N: Yes? Y/N: I mean I thought you’ve might want ⬆️ that on record so 🤷‍♀️

BB: Come back to bed

26 days later

Y/N: Don't forget milk 😘

BB: K 😘

Y/N: Hurry back, Sainsburys isn’t naked. I am

BB: 🥵

12 days later

BB: When is your trip? 😘

Y/N: 2 weeks from Tuesday, don't wanna go 🙁😘 Y/N: I’ll miss P. E. Nis Esq 🧐

BB: He will miss you so much BB: Wait did we agree that’s his name?

Y/N: 😉 Y/N: You want something better? I mean I'd happily call him Admiral  Y/N: He's pretty commanding ykwim 😮‍💨

BB: Stop. I'm at work 🥵

Y/N: If you send me a picture right now, I’ll greet him before you later

BB: Are you trying to kill me?!?

Y/N: Is it working?!?

BB: You know it is BB: Now he's at attention BB: In a meeting BB: You are a menace

Y/N: Fuck that’s actually hot Y/N: I wanna see

BB: No penis pics! BB: Just imagine it

Y/N: The one time I ASK for a dick pic I don't get one?! Y/N: I am doing just that Y/N: *adds new underwear to shopping list*

BB: *takes off that underwear* *prefers you without*

Y/N: 🥵💦 

BB: No more sexting at work  BB: I think my boss just saw this BB: Shit

Y/N: Oooops 🙈  Y/N: Also, babe, this ain't sexting, you wait til my trip 😉

BB: 😉

17 days later

Y/N: On the train, 🙁 I wish you were here 😘

BB: I wish that too 😘 BB: Text me when you’re there safe

Y/N: Will do  Y/N: Also sexting later 😉

BB: I can't wait BB: Why don't we just FaceTime tho? 🥵

Y/N: Ohhh we will Y/N: This is just your appetiser, that's the main course Y/N: You’ll see 😉😘

BB: 🥵😘

2 hours later

Y/N: Safe 😘

BB: 😘

6 hours later

Y/N: Ready? Y/N: Phone out of sight of boss?

BB: Lol. Yep 

Y/N: Sitting comfortably?

BB: Yep

Y/N: What are you wearing?

BB: Lol funny, I like it

Y/N: I'm not wearing underwear

BB: Oh shit, rly? BB: Call me

Y/N: No! Text only for now. Out at boooooring business dinner Y/N: But I'm not wearing underwear. For you Y/N: No one else will ever know. But you Y/N: What would you do to me if you were here? Y/N: Proof incoming Y/N: (sent photo attachment)

BB: Fuckkkkkkkkk BB: Can't type with erection

Y/N: Yes you can  Y/N: If I can type dripping into my skirt Y/N: Then yes you can

BB: (emphasised “If I can type dripping into my skirt”) BB: (loved “If I can type dripping into my skirt”)

Y/N: Look who just figured out text reactions. Cute. Y/N: I’m waiting…. Y/N: Babe? Y/N: You ok? Y/N: We don't have to do this if you’re uncomfortable….?

BB: SHIT. SO SORRY BATTERY DIED. BB: NO I WANT TO DO THIS!!! BB: I COULDN’T FIND A FUCKING CHARGER BB: BABY? BB: Sorry didn't mean to shout.

Y/N: Haha no worries Y/N: I’m here Y/N: And I'm still waiting… 

BB: I want to uhhh run my hand up your thigh BB: (this feels weird)

Y/N: Mmm continue Y/N: (My thigh feels weird?!?)

BB: No! Sexting feels bit weird. K gimme a mo BB: I would walk up to you like I didn't know you, and slide my hand up your thigh

Y/N: Yessssss Ben tell me more

BB: Don't worry I’ll make sure no one can see between your legs BB: But they’ll be able to see your face so you better be a good actor BB: I’ll slowly push up your skirt til its high as it can go with you sitting

Y/N: Oh yes

BB: Then my fingers will trace up your inner thigh until I get to your pussy

Y/N: It's so fucking wet rn

BB: Good.  BB: I’m going to tease you a bit, just light gentle strokes everywhere but where you want it, over your lips, your lil sexy strip of hair BB: then hmmm just when you’re panting I’ll just gently flick my fingernail against your clit

Y/N: *heavy breathing* fuckkkk you are good at this 

BB: A few more times. Do you feel that?

Y/N: Yessss. More please.

BB: Then I’m going to push two fingers inside you.  BB: You are always so perfectly tight and warm BB: Do you feel that?

Y/N: Yessss god I love your long delicious fingers  Y/N: They reach places no one else can 

BB: Now I’m rocking those fingers inside you  BB: I’m going to tease that lil spot inside you the one that makes you flood all over my hand BB: My thumb is pressing circles on your clit now  BB: Oh yes there we are, moan for me baby

Y/N: Godddd yessss it feels so good Y/N: Let me suck the fingers on your other hand please? Y/N: Out then in my mouth mmmm baby Y/N: Please fingerfuck my mouth and pussy Ben Y/N: Then please fuck my throat with your cock Y/N: I need you so much

BB: I can’t type, shaking

Y/N: My pussy is clenching on nothing, I need you  Y/N: Fuck this dinner. I’m headed to my room right now Y/N: You better be naked, hard and ready to FaceTime in 3 mins 😘

BB: Already there 😘

6 hours later

BB: Baby, last night was so amazing 😘 BB: I hope you are still sleeping after that session but you know I had an early start today  BB: Well anyway, I'm going to have to be offline in the basement archives all morning, so… BB: This is for you when you wake up. Enjoy you little minx…  BB: I’m thinking about our upcoming trip to that AirBnB in Cornwall. Those big floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the sea? I want to fuck you against them, baby. I want you pressed hard against it. That cold glass on your nipples while I fuck into you from behind. Your face pressed against it, puffs of condensation where you are breathing heavy. Want to know why you’re breathing so hard? Cos I’m fucking you so deep. Pushing you up onto your tiptoes with every stroke in. But it’s slow at first, so you feel every inch as I slide into you, hands on your hips. BB: You’re so fucking wet, and I’m going to tell you that. Maybe some people walk by on the coastal path. I don’t care. I’m going to keep fucking you, my girl; let the whole world watch. Then I’m going to speed up a little and go a little harder. I can’t wait to hear your sexy fucking moans as I do that. I'm going to move a hand to grip around your throat just a little, stand up a little taller, so you’re always on tiptoes, speared onto my cock from behind, your gorgeous ass squashed against my pelvis. I’m going to tell you to put your hands outstretched above your head on the glass. And then I’m really giving it to you, fucking you hard. And the hand not on your throat is going to slip down between your legs and circle your clit until you scream. I love when you scream for me. Scream and moan and come on my cock clenching so hard, milking all that cum out of me. Oh, baby, I can’t wait.

1 hour later 

Y/N: 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 Y/N: FUCKING HELL…. 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 Y/N: Ben, I mean, BeneDICT 🥵🥵🥵🥵 Y/N: Baby I… Y/N: Wow I need you to know WOWWWWWWWW

1 hour later

Y/N: I just read that again 🥵🥵🥵🥵 Y/N: And came again Y/N: I’ve unleashed a monster Y/N: And I don't just mean when I pull down your zip 😉 Y/N: (Sorry) Y/N: A sexting monster 

1 hour later 

Y/N: I'm terminally horny and it’s all your fault Y/N: I need you right the fuck nowwwwwwwww 🥵🥵🥵🥵

1 hours later

BB: Welllllll….. I guess that worked? 😘

Y/N: Y’think?!? 🥵🥵 Y/N: On train back now Y/N: You better fuck me in the hallway when I get home 🥵 Y/N: Sorry typo I meant when I get to yours

BB: Don't be sorry BB: This could be your home…if you want 😘😘

Y/N: It… could? 😘😘

BB: Yes 😘😘 BB: I’ll happily fuck you in the hallway when you get home 🥵😘😘 BB: In fact, I can’t wait 😘😘 BB: My love 😘😘

Y/N: 😘😘😘😘😘

39 days later

Y/N: ‘Sup Penis

BB: That will not make me move these boxes up the stairs any faster

Y/N: Worth a try

BB: What exactly are you moving into my flat? Boulders?

Y/N: That's classified Y/N: I love you 😘😘

BB: I love you too 😘😘

Authors note: You guys have no idea how tempted I was to call this fic ‘Sup Penis. No idea.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports

[lizzie-is-here]

Ello can u pls do (8. having to share a bed and being chill with it because, ya know, friendship™️ but it turns out you cuddle in your sleep and oh no this is a problem-) Kate Bishop x fem reader where you guys have been friends for a long time and both have feelings for each other and both of you have been forced to sleep in 1 bed because there aren't any others then you both end up confessing each others feelings and end up together in the end? ty :) <3

follower event!

character: kate bishop x fem!reader

prompt: “having to share a bed and being chill with it because, ya know, friendship™️ but it turns out you cuddle in your sleep and oh no this is a problem-“

a/n: these ideas are so freaking cute i love them. also writing about kate is very enjoyable lol

requests are still open here!

“Hey, (Y/N), it’s Kate. I really hate to do this, but it’s kind of an emergency and I would really appreciate if you could let me into your apartment.”

You stare at the text message from an unknown number, immediately setting down your hot chocolate and heading to the door of your small apartment. You and Kate had been best friends since high school. If she says it’s important, it’s important.

When you open your door, however, it isn’t just Kate on the other side. Next to her is Avenger and master assassin Clint Barton, her idol and inspiration. And a golden retriever. Who you’re sure your cat will hate.

“I’m really sorry,” she begins, clutching her bow tightly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, it’s just… There’s a lot happening, and I didn’t know where else to go so I-”

You hold a hand up. “Kate, it’s fine. You don’t have to apologize; come in.” The duo slips inside of your apartment and politely sets their weapons and shoes by the door. Clint glances around your apartment.

A cat lazing on the couch, side-eyeing Pizza Dog. The TV turned on to Hell’s Kitchen, with Gordon yelling at some poor chef about scallops. One bedroom, one couch. He sighs and prepares for a night of poor sleep.

“I’m making hot chocolate, do either of you want some?” Kate is quick to accept, heading to the kitchen and offering to help. You assure her that you can mix the powder on your own just fine, but you can feel the guilt radiating off her.

You let her make the hot chocolate.

After the three mugs are distributed, you sit the two archers on the couch and pause your show, standing in front of the TV. “So,” you say, sipping the scalding drink. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on and why an Avenger is in my living room?”

They give you the best run-down they can, explaining everything from the Ronin suit, the Tracksuit Mafia, and the badass assassin tailing them. You grow more worried as they speak, hurrying to close the blinds and check the doors.

“Well, I don’t have any fancy tech, but I do have food and working cable,” you joke. “The couch pulls out, so I can sleep out here-“

The famed archer waves you off. “Nah, I’ll sleep out here. Not like I want to sleep in the same bed as this hooligan.” He shoves Kate.

She rolls her eyes and shoves him back, nodding to you. “Sharing a bed? Like old times?”

“If you say old times you mean ‘a few months ago’, then sure.” You wave goodnight to Clint and Pizza Dog, and head to your room, Kate trundling behind. She flops on your bed as you head into your bathroom.

“Hey, wash up before you go and dirty my bed,” you joke, offering a washcloth and some disinfectant. She merely rolls over, pouting.

“Don’ wanna,” she whines, sliding from the bed anyway and taking the dripping cloth from you. “Um, now may be a good time to mention that I don’t know how to treat wounds.”

You glance at her. A cut at her temple, some scrapes on her arms and face, and some bruising here and there. Nothing too bad, but enough to need attention. Flipping down the toilet lid, you gesture for her to sit, grabbing a first aid kit.

Humming Christmas carols, you pour some soap on the rag and begin to wipe the blood and dirt from her face.

Kate can’t help but soak in every detail. Your nose scrunches as you wipe and clean, and you let out satisfied huffs between phrases of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” when you successfully remove patches of dried blood.

You’re too absorbed in playing nurse to notice her staring, and she only snaps out of it when you grab the hydrogen peroxide. You whisper an “I’m sorry,” as you dab the cuts, softly shushing her as she wimpers from the sting.

Thankfully, the feeling doesn’t last long, and she can resume her staring as you grab ointment.

Kate isn’t sure how long it’s been since she started looking at you like this. She knows it started in high school. She remembers how scared she’d been. But now, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Loving you is the most natural thing in the world.

It’s uncharacteristic, how shy and awkward she becomes around you. For all of her confidence and swagger, you reduce her to fumbling her words and tripping over air. So she never said anything. Never brought it up, in hopes her pesky feelings would die out in college.

Then she saw you at her first college party and knew she had to admit her feelings at least to herself. Not like any girl absolutely sweep the football team at beer pong and leave on her own two feet. But you were you, so she wasn’t surprised.

She almost asked you out halfway through your freshman year of college, but finals were too stressful. Then, she tried again the next year for Valentine’s day, but another girl beat her to it. The year after that was the worst, since she almost got the full sentence of, “Will you go out with me?” out before being hit by a punk on a bicycle and having to get three stitches in her head.

And, well, she was going to ask you out a few days ago for Christmas, but then she destroyed a bell tower, infiltrated a black market auction, met an Avenger, and caught her apartment on fire. So her luck was not the best.

“Watcha thinking about?” you ask as you unwrap those little skinny bandages. You carefully hold the skin together as you apply them, still humming, now to “Little Drummer Boy.”

“You, everything about you,” she thinks. “I want to kiss you really bad.”

But those aren’t the kinds of things you tell your best friend after raiding her apartment, so she just shrugs.

“Nothing much.” You scoff, helping her up and throwing off your shirt and shimmying out of your jeans. You two have changed around each other so often that it’s no big deal, but Kate’s thoughts are still going a mile a minute.

Her heartrate hits top speed as you step past her to grab an oversized sleep shirt and some comfy shorts from the ground, bending down as she goes beet-red.

You toss her some clothes and she tugs them on, trying her best not to think about how they smell like your perfume.

Meanwhile, you slip into your clothes, turning around and immediately slapping a hand on her forehead.

“Kate, hun, you’re bright red. Do you have a fever?” you ask, brows knitting as you watch her shake her head.

“No, no fever here,” she chuckles nervously. “No, I’m just… The adrenaline from the fight is probably wearing of, so…” You take the excuse, clambering into bed and patting the spot next to you as you flick off the lamp.

Once you both get situated, you’re face-to-face in the dark, hands almost touching. The street lights filter through your blinds, projecting bright dots on your face and the wall behind you.

Kate watches you shuffle under the covers, burrowing into your pillow with a tired noise. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, unsure if she should say something or keep her hyperactive thoughts to herself.

“Hmm?” you ask. Although your eyes are closed, you can feel how restless she is.

“Are you mad at me?” Your eyes fly open, frowning.

“Kate, what?” She shook her head, immediately regretting the words that flew out of her mouth. “Kate, no. I am not mad at you. I promise, okay?” You take her face in your hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Get some rest, okay? Gotta have you energized to take out this Tracksuit Mafia tomorrow.”

———————————————————————

Kate did not get rest. For a while, she filtered in and out of sleep, adrenaline and nerves still running on overdrive. And as her mind spiraled, she began to worry.

These tracksuit guys were relentless. What if they trailed her and Clint to your apartment? What if they broke in? Oh, God, had she endangered you by coming here?

In her mind, your apartment was no longer a safe place. It was a trap, and you were stuck in it. She didn’t think she could forgive herself if you got hurt. Or if your apartment got burnt to a crisp.

The anxiety and panic began to set in, slowly building until Kate was wiping tears from her eyes.

As she sniffles quietly, you huff in your sleep, mumbling to yourself and scooting around the bed. She freezes as you roll over, tucking yourself under her arm and sprawling one arm and one leg over her. Great.

Not being able to shove you off, Kate rests her chin atop your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo and attempting to slow her breathing.

Something about the proximity stirs something in the girl. Maybe because of how often she’s thought about this. Maybe because your arm is wrapped tightly around her waist as you quietly snore.

She runs a hand through your hair, freezing as you mumble. You wake up to the movement, blinking hazily. Lifting your head with a groan, you blink away your tiredness as you take in the situation.

“You alright?” you whisper, words muffled by sleep. She nods, hoping you’ll just go back to sleep. But you notice her shaky breaths, so you lay back on your side of the bed, facing her as you sigh. “What’s wrong?”

It takes her a little while to respond, but she manages eventually. “Did I make a mistake by coming here? Am I gonna get you hurt?”

You shake your head, gently patting her arm as you yawn. “No. I’ll be fine, Kate. Even if they did come by here, I doubt they’d be able to rough me up that much.” She frowns. “Hey, I can’t let a bunch of old dudes in tracksuits beat me up. Like, how embarrassing would that be?” you joke.

Some tension leaves her shoulders and she laughs, chasing away the worry suffocating her.

“You’re ridiculous,” she chuckles. “I love you so much.”

She genuinely doesn’t clock the words as they spill out, but she notices you still, even your breath stopping. You gulp, words stuck in your throat.

“You love me?” you ask, tearing up.

It’s Kate’s turn to pause. “I- wait, what? Did I say that?” She laughs, kicking herself as she watches her chance at asking you out dwindle away. “I don’t- What?”

You watch as she grows more upset with herself, reaching over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Kate, hey. It’s okay.” Leaning in, you whisper to her. “Can I tell you a secret?”

You don’t wait for her to respond. “I love you, too.”

She shakes her head. “(Y/N), you don’t have to say that-“

“Shh. Shh your face,” you say, laughing as you pat her face in an attempt to stop her self-deprecation. “I love you. You just have to deal with it.”

When she continues rambling, you sigh, scooting closer and cupping your hand on her cheek. As you lean in, you wait for her to pull away. When she nods, barely noticeable in the dark, you close the space.

You only part when you both need air, giggling in the dark like two idiots that had been skirting around their feelings for years. “Well,” she grins. “Guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”

[tamelee]

+3

I skimmed through it a bit but I think OP did somewhat decent research on the topic of fetishization regarding shipping/fandom. Such criticism is in many ways very valid. Very prevalent in the t/b-discourse as well. OP themselves say that it’s a new exploration on the topic so it’s of no surprise to me that it’s written as a broad generalization. 

And very irrelevant to the actual story or the question that was asked. 

So, no- it’s not good criticism because the irrelevant conclusion doesn’t say anything about SNS specifically. And how valid is it anyway if it stated that the bond between Naruto and Sasuke is no different from other characters? Lmao, that’s downright wrong in every way and disrespectful to the craft even if you don’t agree with them as a couple. Even Naruto/Sasuke haters are able to see otherwise and it’s often a source of hatred in the first place. Their ‘rivalry’ is explored in the story and in many ways actual ‘text’ is used to explain it further, how it came to be and what it eventually means. The person of the Ask, asked a very valid question, yet all of that is dismissed for the sake of a conversation regarding fetishization in fandom and using that to criticize and disprove SNS. 

It’s the whole “Kishimoto didn’t know what he was doing”- argument all over again but coated with fancy words. That’s not to say that everything is wrong, I’m just saying fandom is irrelevant to the actual story. SNS-fans say unhinged things as well and there are many things I don’t agree with either. Assumptions about Kishimoto’s personal life and stating those ideas as being true or even remotely provable is definitely one of them. Chastising shippers from other fandoms for using filler-material and then flaunting a ‘SNS’-quote from a novel written by the same person that provided the filler-material for other ships is most definitely another. There is certainly fetishization happening in this fandom and that’s not something you can simply fight or disprove of in a way in order to remove it completely. It still got nothing to do with the story itself though or Kishimoto’s intentions regarding ‘Naruto’. OP lumps us all together and assumes a fan’s entire thought-pattern, thinks majority of us are Western (which blames any valid argument on culture which is bollocks) and don’t know anything about Japan if we think there is gay-subtext because surely Japan doesn’t unless it was meant to (which is rich tbh), our ideology that we all apparently share and decides to criticize all of us because of our toxicity and internalized misogyny. ‘Because an SNS-fan is all of that and therefore whatever we say is wrong.’ That isn’t okay for any of us to do regarding other sub-fandoms, nor is it in this case. And yet OP continues to say that they don’t personally prefer SNS followed with more subjective thoughts which is fine, but doesn’t prove anything. Honestly, in what way did you think this was better criticism? At what point did it actually answer the question or did it link their newly acquired research to the story? 

“As expected from Sasuke fans lol.” 

...uh, if you say so 👀 I'd personally would be a bit more specific. And I'm sorry but I don't know the other person you talked about ><

😩 you are all torturing yourselves reading these tbh

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Business AU - Working Late, Part 15

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 || Part 11  || Part 12  || Part 13 || Part 14

Lots of dialogue in this one 😩 sorry in advance. Gotta have some plot points once in a while heheheh.

This chapter also features a nightclub owned by Raph, the “Scarlet Underground”. It’ll probably be featured again in future chapters, idk for now (tbh, I’m really improvising the plot of this fic, you have no idea LOL). Writing a bit about nightclub settings always brings me back to my early 20′s 💅 this mama was partyin’ hard~

ENJOY!

“You think it’s the Foot clan actin’ up?”

Mikey had lowered the black cloth covering his mouth as he asked that question, looking over at his brother Donatello. Both terrapins were at the top of an apartment building, dressed in their ninja gear as they surveilled the perimeter close to Vee’s place. The tall one lowered his mouth piece as well, letting out a sigh as his brow ridges furrowed.

“Who else could it be then? ... What Vee described only brings me to that conclusion.” He paused for a brief second. “... They’re probably trying to find a way to get through us. They want to hit close once more.”

“You did install cameras and sensors close to her apartment, right?”

Donnie brought up a holo screen up from some hardware at his right wrist, confirming the active status of a couple of devices he had left around the perimeter.

“I’ve been monitoring since last week, when I saw that presence at her unit. It’s been calm so far, with a few exceptions here and there, but right now I can’t only trust my tech for this matter.”

The young one faked a gasp, amused.

“Can’t believe I’ve lived the day to hear you say you’re not only relying on your fancy tech stuff. Leo and Raph won’t believe me!”

“Leo and Raph don’t need to hear about this. At least not now...” replied the other, still frowning.

“Well it better be sooner than later!” added Mikey, slightly annoyed. “Four pairs of eyes would’ve helped tonight, rather than two. Especially if it’s Foot related stuff.”

“Whatever,” sighed Donnie, wanting to change the focus. “Let’s move. We need to get dressed.”

Both turtles put back on their mouth pieces, suddenly getting in motion as they parkoured over and around the buildings - remaining as much as possible in the shadows. For this past week Donatello barely had any sleep, yet he’d never been this alert before. The looming menace that Vee could potentially get hurt, or worse, was chewing every thoughts in his mind. Frankly, he only wanted to bring the woman to his place and keep her there, but by doing so he’d be putting a bigger target on her back - and he didn’t want to stress her any more so.

He couldn’t help this feeling that he was being selfish on her. There was finally another chance for him to better track Foot clan activity, but it was at such a risk. And at such a high price he would hope that the reward would be great....

***

It appeared Raphael had some information regarding the presence Donatello had felt at the Lowline’s construction site, thus inviting the purple banded terrapin to his personal nightclub. Vee had instinctively been asked to join, knowing she had worked on the project as well. The woman, on her end, couldn't help feeling giddy at the perspective of spending a night out with her man. Especially when it'd be in a party setting! She had some dresses in her wardrobe worthy of such occasions, nothing too extravagant. And so she opted for a short black sequin dress, the sleeves stopping at her elbows. Her hair let loose and her makeup on point, she felt ready for the evening ahead and to get a better taste of New York City's party scene. Her phone beeped to life, then a text message from Donnie flashing on the screen telling her that he was waiting outside in his car. Vee took one last look in the mirror, adjusting her hair, then headed out. Her smile was already apparent as she saw the vehicle outside, hopping into the passenger seat. Vee's gaze devoured Donnie once she was properly seated inside. He was wearing a printed short sleeved shirt, unbuttoned to the middle so it was clearly showing the upper part of his plastron and a wooden beaded necklace. His outfit was completed by tan pants and a brown belt and shoes. Gosh he looked sexy right there and then.

“Hey there, good lookin',” started Vee with a grin.

“Speak for yourself, that dress looks hella nice,” replied the terrapin with a smirk.

Vee could only reply by inching closer to him and giving him a kiss, slow and tender.

“Well, ain't you two cute,” said a voice in the back, amused.

The woman jumped a bit, suddenly shifting her attention to the backseat and noticing Mikey. The younger terrapin was wearing dark jeans with some tears here and there, accompanied by a white t-shirt and his usual gold chain.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” mumbled Vee, sitting back into her seat. “Didn’t know you were here. I just barged in and started kissing Donnie....”

The tall mutant at her side started to laugh, alongside his brother.

“Nah, dudette!” reassured Mikey. “It's chill! As long as you two are happy together, I'm happy.”

Vee smiled, although still blushing out of pure shame. She lightly slapped Donnie's arm:

“Just drive! I'll probably stop feeling like a fool once we'll get there.”

The trio was next on the move, the mood light as Donnie was seamlessly driving around the city's streets. The bespectacled mutant did bring up a subject over, regarding this evening's focus:

“Just so we're all on the same page,” he started. “We shouldn't mention anything about the Foot clan to Raph, unless he's the one to bring it. … We have yet to know what he found out, so I wouldn't want to risk our own mission.”

Vee nodded in agreement, while Mikey commented: “Bro, not gonna lie, it does feel kinda unfair to hide stuff from him and Leo...”

“I know...” sighed Donnie, slightly defeated.

“We're a team. We stay together. We work together. Y'know what I mean...?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just...-” Donnie paused, instinctively leaving a hand on Vee's thigh as he kept his focus on the road. “I have this gut feeling that they'd get in the way of my happiness only for the sake of avoiding any incident with the Foot. … I'm tired of waiting. We're stronger, we can take them head on and not just focus on their little unorganized cells here and there.”

“For sure, but the longer we keep that away from them, the more harm it might do in the end. I'm sure they just want the best for you, just like you want the best for all of us, right?”

The tall one spared a glance to his rear view mirror, crossing Mikey's gaze. He couldn't help the ghost of a smile.

“Good food for thought, Mikey. I'll make sure to remember that...”

They sure matured over the years...

After a short while the car was parked and the group walked its way towards an entry point that led to the lower levels of a building, some red neon letters spelling the name 'Scarlet Underground'. They didn't need to wait in line in order to get in, the bouncer recognizing the turtles instantly and granting them passage into the depths. Vee could already feel deep basses rumbling through her as the trio went downstairs. She unconsciously reached for Donnie's hand, seeing that the place was already packed with people. At least the terrapin was taller than most guests around – thus very easy to spot - but she still wanted to keep close, especially with the gazes she could now feel on her. The evening already seemed at its peak, the air warm and people dancing all around with drinks in hand. This whole scene brought Vee back to a time in her life when she used to go out often to such environments back in Montréal. All while she knew it could be fun, she also remembered the senseless drama that often came along – the woman slowly shaking her head with a grin, now those memories so insignificant to her. Her attention got back to the two turtles she was accompanying. Donnie was ever so gentle and polite, making his way through the sea of partygoers with a soft touch, still holding Vee's hand all the while. Mikey, for his part, was already feeling the groove and having fun as he was going forward to their next destination. Vee did notice that many people would look their way with certain admiration, also mixed with a certain desire for some. There was no denying that those mutants were always a sight to behold and somehow a promise for something different – a non-human experience. Vee could understand their curiosity. She had quenched hers and, boy, she could never go back...

There at the back of the place was a more recluse space, first guarded by other bouncers. They gave no thoughts to the terrapins, but one did stop Vee in her tracks, Donnie feeling the push on the woman as he was still holding her hand. The mutant was quick to face the man who had stopped her, his golden gaze harsh as he simply let out: “She's with me.” The guard was quick to let Vee go, stepping aside and allowing her pass. She hurried her high heels in faint clicks against the floor as she made her way closer to Donnie. The terrapin then left his hand at the small of her back, his stature somewhat taller as they continued their walk. That brought a smile to Vee, along with a quick shiver down her spine. She knew she wouldn't get into any troubles with Donnie by her side tonight.

It wasn't long until they reached heavy curtains hiding a small room. Mikey was the first one to plunge in, already letting out an “eeyoooo” as a greeting, soon replied by enthusiastic voices. The tall terrapin and Vee next made their way in, the woman’s eyes then landing on Raphael who was sitting comfortably on one of the three sofas available, cigar in hand and surrounded by two beautiful women - some other people present as well. It wasn't a large room, but there was still enough space for a handful of guests, as well as a stripper pole for entertainment.

The large turtle smirked as he saw Donnie come in, also sharing a welcoming nod to the woman by his side.

“What, is Honor Boy also gonna pop in as well?” he asked, amused.

“Nah,” replied Donnie. “Mikey came along 'cause I just happened to be with him when you called me.”

“Ay, bro, you know that even if I'm not in the picture, I'm always down to come here!” commented Mikey.

Raph only had to say “leave us the room, please” for his guests to take the hint and head to the party outside of this alcove. One woman at his side granted a kiss to his jaw, murmuring something to the terrapin before getting up – leaving the male with a renewed smile to his face. The last souls exiting the place, Raph gestured to a liquor bar nearby.

“Please, have a drink. The night is young.”

“Don't mind if I do!” replied Mikey, already on the lookout for what to mix. “I'll get something refreshing for y'all.”

The large mutant next took some time to look over at the woman, a certain amusement in his eyes, taking a drag from his cigar.

“… Feels weird to see you in somethin' else than work clothes,” he added. “I still stand by my words; my brother got some good taste.”

That caught Vee slightly by surprise, a light blush coming on her cheeks. Donnie simply tsked, moving forward so he could sit nearby his brother.

“Stop stalling time. You said you had information about that presence in the undergrounds.”

“Woah, slow down there, Don,” gently warned Raph. “My place, my rules. Let me enjoy spendin' some time with my bros, for fuck's sake.”

Vee took place right next to the tall terrapin, tenderly holding his hand and leaning into him a little.

“There's no rush, n'amour. We've got all night.”

“See, the lady understands,” added the red banded one, satisfied. “I hope you take your time with her as well.”

“Oh stop that,” muttered Donnie in exasperation, Mikey snickering in the back.

The younger mutant soon handed his concoctions to the group, starting light with some gin and tonics (maybe with some emphasis on the gin!). Just to play on Donatello's nerves, Raph did drink slowly, sparing an amused glance to his brother. The purple clad mutant exhaled, rolling his eyes as he sat more comfortably on the couch, letting out a “you're full of shit“ under his breath, next taking a sip of his drink as well. Sometimes he could just really understand Leo whenever it came to dealing with the red brute...

“Word on the street is that the thing you're lookin’ for is huge,” started Raphael, leaving his empty glass aside. “It may even be taller than you, nerd.”

“Jeez, no wonder I kinda felt threatened when I sensed its presence,” commented Donnie, frowning.

“It appears that it mostly hangs around underground subway stations and abandonned construction sites.”

“Maybe it's just looking for work,” quiped in Mikey, jokingly.

“Well it's doin' a piss-poor job,” continued Raph. “… Some people were able to get a visual on that damn thing and it appears to be a mutant – some even say it looked like a gator.”

That took Donnie slightly by surprise, the gears of his mind already at work.

“Either those damn New York legends about alligators in the sewers are true, or it's some Baxter Stockman fucked up work,” he thought outloud.

“You think he got his hands back on some purple ooze?” questionned Mikey.

“If he was able to synthesize it in any manner, perhaps. But that must have taken him some time, and it must be bound to bring some errors or undesired results...”

“I am absolutely lost,” finally added in Vee.

The mutant trio paused, looking back at the human woman.

“... There’s quite a lot to unpack there. I’ll get you up to speed later, don’t worry,” reassured Donnie.

“All you need to know is that if that fucker Stockman we’re talkin’ about is on the loose again with some fancy shit alien juice, we’ll have to expect more problems in the near future,” added Raph.

He next dangled his empty glass to Mikey’s attention, quickly adding a “if you’d be so kind” - to which the younger brother happily complied.

“I suspect by this conversation that it’s not the first time that this guy you’re talking about has done some work with that said purple ooze?” asked the woman.

“Indeed,” continued the bespectacled one. “Years ago he turned two criminals, Bebop and Rocksteady, into mutants. The results were quite impressive, but they can prove to be quite catastrophic if in the wrong hands.”

“I personally think that this Bebop guy had a nice mowhak!” commented Mikey, giving another drink to Raph before sitting back down.

“Style aside,” cut the red one. “At least those two shitheads are behind bars, so we won’t have to worry about them. ... But now if Stockman is finally out of Tokyo and ready to unleash some hell over here, we’ll need to get on the move fast.”

Donnie finished his drink, his fingers drumming against the now empty glass, frowning as his thoughts were running once more.

“... Any idea where to start in order to find that alligator?” he asked Raph.

“You really wanna get after that thing? ... Your suicide, brother.”

“If it’s really one of Baxter’s creations,” continued Donnie, not minding the other’s comment, “its behaviour just doesn’t make sense right now. Why is it not attacking? Why is it hiding? What’s its purpose - we’re not even hiding in the sewers anymore, so there’s no need to stay underground. ... I need to see for myself on what side that mutant is on.”

“Maybe it’s scared,” added Mikey. “Where was it mostly sighted? That could give us a good idea on where its home is.”

The big terrapin softly sighed, somehow conceeding.

“It seems to mostly hang uptown. No idea where exactly right now, but I can definitely get details.”

He next pointed a finger to Donnie, his gaze shifting from the purple mutant to the orange one: “And there’s no way in hell I’m letting you two go after that gator alone. I’m tagging along and you can’t stop me.”

The two others exchanged a look, Donatello then shrugging: “I wasn’t going to object anyway. We’ll need all the muscles we can get if we have to fight that thing.”

Raph paused, not expecting to be included that easily. Relaxing his posture in his seat, he grinned after taking a sip from his glass.

“Then it’s settled,” said the red one. “One underground adventure coming soon.”

“Want Leo to tag along as well?” asked Mikey.

“If he’s not too busy bossing around, we’ll see.”

Raph next spared a glance towards Vee, noticing she had been silent for some time now. He winked at her.

“Don’t worry, doll face, I won’t ask you to come and get fightin’.”

“I can’t fight, for sure,” she said back. “But if there’s ever anything else I can do to help, I’ll be glad to.”

Donnie’s traits frowned once more, stopping himself from voicing out that she’d get into renewed trouble if she was to do so. And that look did not escape Raph...

“We’ll keep that in mind,” said the red one. “But I’ll give y’all a break for tonight. Go have some fun on the dancefloor. I’ll let you all know when I have more details.”

Mikey was already on his feet: “Hell yeah! I’ve been itchin’ to dance since we set foot in here.”

As the trio was about to leave the room, Raph’s voice did rise up once more:

“Donnie, stay here for a sec’.”

The tall terrapin stopped, Vee pausing at the same moment. Donatello’s gaze on her was reassurring, a gentle touch on her arm as he asked her to stay close to Mikey. Now finally alone with Raphael, the purple clad mutant sighed before turning around and facing his brother. And boy did he look annoyed...

“... I saw that face you did when she offered to help. I swear to fuck, Donnie, if she’s already in deep shit-”

“Everything’s okay,” cut the other. “I just don’t want her to get into harm’s way, that’s all.”

“By the tired look on your face, I’d say she already got into some.”

“I’m tired ‘cause I’ve just been working a lot lately.”

“Don’t lie to me, Don, I know you. I know your different kinds of tired. And right now this ain’t work tired.”

Donnie shrugged, vaguely gesturing in annoyance: “And your point is?”

“Are you trackin’ the Foot or not?”

Silence - except for the muffled booming of a bass boosted song in the distance - deafened the place. Raphael sighed, finally standing up.

“Look, just answer me, alright,” he added, walking towards his brother. “... I promise I won’t get mad.”

“Oh, sure,” sourly said Donnie.

“I swear.”

“Then yes,” promptly answered the purple one, hoping to rip the bandaid right away and rapidly get through the hard discussion ahead. “Since our last discussion on the subject, I never stopped. ... And lately I’ve been going harder at it since Vee spotted some of their ninjas and one even broke into her appartment.”

“Shit, for real?”

“There’s no way in hell anyone’s going to stop me in my research,” continued Donnie. “And now if I have to consider Baxter Stockman in the picture as well, I need to act fast.”

“Donnie...” Raph was about to lay a hand on the other’s shoulder, but the tall terrapin was quick to push his gesture back.

“And I don’t give a shit if you want to tell Leo. I’m done hiding. I can’t stand doing nothing, sitting at the top of this goddamn city and watching the people I love get hurt by my inaction.”

“Donnie, I get ya,” interjected Raph again. “I don’t wanna fight you on this. I wanna help.”

Donatello was now visibly surprised. He couldn’t help a renewed frown however.

“... Why the sudden change of heart?”

The other showed half of a smile: “Let’s just say some stuff is shiftin’ around in my life. I won’t tell no more.”

“And what about Leo?”

“Lemme handle the shithead. You have enough to worry about anyway.”

There was this sudden wave of relief washing over the tall terrapin, a sigh escaping him as his shoulders slouched a bit. That reaction brought a soft chuckle from Raph, next moving to the small bar in the room. He poured two shots of whiskey, offering one to the other. Donnie didn’t hesitate to drink it up, then presenting the glass for another one.

“... It must have been weighin’ on ya,” commented Raphael, pouring another shot.

“You have no idea,” answered the bespectacled mutant. “At least Mikey will be happy about that.”

Raph drank in turn, his traits hardening: “Wait, Mikey’s on it too?”

“We’ve only been patrolling around these days, nothing too big,” quickly dismissed Donnie. “He was just so adamant about us four tackling this as a team... I get his point and I frankly believe that things will definitely move faster when we’re all together. I was just so pissed that Leo would have us hold back and do nothing. I just don’t understand his reasoning.”

“I’m not tryin’ to completely defend his case, but bein’ the leader and all that shit kinda makes him anxious all the time. He can’t be everywhere all at once, so he’s just worried about our family, ya know. He’s tryin’ his best...”

Donnie smirked at his brother, drinking his shot.

“Who would’ve thought that you’d be defending Leo one day.”

“Believe me, I almost puked,” joked Raph.

They both got some more shots in their amusement, Raph then leaving a friendly tap at the other’s shell, pointing to the alcove’s entrance.

“I wouldn’t want to make your lady wait any longer. Go have some fun tonight. Drinks are on me.”

“Thanks, Raph,” added Donnie as both of them walked out of the room.

They exchanged a brotherly handshake, the purple banded terrapin then making his way towards the main floor. He did not miss however when one woman present in the room earlier had now made her way back to Raphael, the red brute’s hand already at the small of her back. Donnie smiled, starting to piece everything together.

***

Mikey’s enthusiasm was definitely bringing a grin to Vee’s face, the duo lost on the dancefloor and letting the music guide their every moves. Sensing this deep bass rumble through her body brought back some old feelings and memories, trying to hush them and focus on the moment. The ghost of lips and hands on her body, the missing warmth of a body close to hers as hips were following the lustful rhythm of the night. Feeling small, helpless, like a prey for men to feast on. The sudden boiling of her blood as she had to defend herself countless times against the most mediocre specimens known to mankind...

She started to feel actual hands on her, a presence now glued to her back and following her dance. Her thoughts relaxed as she saw the three fingered green hands, promptly knowing their owner to be Donatello. She lost herself in his embrace, her arms and hands going up, instinctively finding scales at the base of his neck to tenderly nail at behind her. In this moment they were one, Vee’s eyes closed as the terrapin nuzzled her temple - the woman noticing a faint smell of whiskey. Her gasps were lost to the music as one of Donnie’s hands slowly traveled across her abdomen, a lustful pressure kneading her form, sensually flushing her ass closer to his core. 

In an instant they were alone, away from the dancefloor. Intoxicated from both music and alcohol, there was this feverish need felt in their kiss - a hunger so surreal, letting go of one another would feel like the end of the world. In the shadows of a disregarded hallway, flashes of colored lights were creating a kaleidoscope of emotions, the continued music translating to the pulse of their hearts. Enclosed between a wall and the terrapin, Vee’s hand made its way across his clothes, remaining on his hidden erection as she continued to kiss him. At first, Donnie was absolutely getting lost in this feeling, but he was finally able to snap himself out of it and lift the woman against the wall. Prompting her to hold on around his neck, he got her legs to open, the rim of her dress slightly lifting. Getting her scent, the churr in his chest could easily be mistaken for some bassline vibrations. Without any thought, he got a hand to her core, pushing aside any garment he’d find with his finger, then sensually caressing her sex.

This renewed dance got him to unconsciously move his hips a little, both entranced by the moment. He easily started to finger her, a lovedrunk smile on his features as he witnessed Vee’s arousal. Her moans were barely heard, her hips following his rhythm in a grind that got her so close to the edge in no time. Her lips couldn’t stop kissing at his scales, going from his jaw to the corners of his mouth. She wanted so much more, yet the euphoria filling her could only satiate her current need. Donnie moved his attention to one side of her neck, lightly sucking and biting as he kept finger fucking the woman. Vee’s exclamation was not missed to him as he felt her walls pulse around his digit - letting her ride this wave as he stayed deep within her, his palm cupping her sex. He didn’t care that his hand was getting soaked. Right now and then that was the hottest thing he could experience. In a lustful manner, he licked from the side of her neck to her cheek, not skipping a beat as he simply said:

“We need to get the fuck out of here. I’m so not done with you.”

((To be continued))