#AND IF I DO THIS IM SO SO LIKELY TO MEET MORE PPL LIKE THOSE AT MY WRITING PROGRAM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orangeblossomsintheair · 2 months ago

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ILLICIT AFFAIRS (2/3) | CS55

summary : You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch. But no. Apparently, it’s real. You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is. But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?

or: Carlos proposes a deal to counter your argument that no he cannot catch a two-hour plane ride for a bootycall— phone sex.

wc : 7.5k

an : uh.. hi again 🫶 this was super fun to write!! :> im so glad ppl seemed to enjoy pt 1

He’s hyperaware of the heat radiating from your skin, the faint sheen of sweat glistening against the dim light, and the way your fingers lazily trace patterns across his chest.

When it’s over, Carlos feels the weight of you collapse onto his chest, your soft breaths mingling with his own as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.

He knows this should be the part where he gets up, grabs a drink, maybe offers you a towel.

Instead, his hands wander down your back, his fingertips finding those tiny dimples near the base of your spine. He traces slow, absentminded circles, grinning when you squirm against him with a halfhearted giggle that bubbles up like a melody he didn’t know he liked.

“Ticklish, huh?” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though it lacks the sharpness he usually reserves for these fleeting encounters.

“Maybe,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled and sleepy.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t normally do.

Too intimate, too dangerous. But with you, it feels natural, easy.

And therein lies the problem.

He pulls out, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead when you let out a quiet whine.

With a practiced motion, he removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it into the bin before slipping back into bed beside you, not even a minute later.

The two of you lie there in the quiet, the air between you filled with the soft sound of your breathing.

Carlos stares at the ceiling, his mind racing even as his body feels like it’s sinking into the mattress.

This was supposed to be simple.

One night. No strings.

But you’re fun. Too fun, really.

It's not that he’s never met women who are funny, or ones who’ve turned an evening into something more than just a tangle of bodies.

It’s just that, for the most part, that’s all it is. An unspoken agreement that they'll share the night, and then part ways. A blank, if not lustful, exchange.

You, on the other hand, have spent the whole night surprising him, throwing him off-kilter in a way he didn’t think he’d enjoy.

The banter, the teasing, the way you’d wrinkle your nose at him when you didn’t believe his answers.

It all stuck with him in a way he knows it shouldn’t.

“You want tiramisu?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

You lift your head, your sleepy eyes meeting his with a confused smile. “What?”

“Tiramisu,” he repeats, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Do you still want some?”

Your laugh is so unexpected and genuine that it catches him off guard. It’s light, carefree, and the way your nose scrunches in that way he's becoming to fond makes his chest tighten.

“I just… gave you the best sex of your life,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow, your grin mischievous. “And you’re offering me dessert?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What can I say? I’m a man of priorities.”

“Priorities, huh?” You snort, shaking your head. “So what, tiramisu’s your way of saying ‘thanks for the good time’?”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, though the glint in his eyes betray his amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real malice in your gaze. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he counters without missing a beat, his grin turning cocky.

You roll your eyes, but the way you settle back against his chest tells him you’re not as annoyed as you pretend to be.

And that’s when it hits him, the thought sinking like a stone in his gut.

He likes this. Likes you.

Maybe not romantically. Not yet at least. But definitely more than he should.

The realization is unwelcome, gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed rules.

This is a one-night stand. That’s all it’s supposed to be.

But here you are, lying on his chest like you belong there, laughing at his dumb jokes and making his heart flip in a way that feels too good to ignore.

The thought itself makes him sick.

“Alright,” you say suddenly, breaking him out of his spiral. “Fine. Let’s get tiramisu.”

He blinks at you, startled by your casual agreement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, grinning. “But only if you admit I was better than you.”

Carlos groans, his head tipping back against the pillow. “I’m never admitting that.”

You laugh again, soft and sweet, and Carlos knows, despite himself, that he’s in trouble.

He places the order moments later.

You’re still sprawled on the bed, a lazy grin playing on your lips.

“Do you always use tiramisu as a post-sex strategy?” you ask, your voice light but curious.

He smirks, sitting on the edge of the bed and tossing his phone onto the nightstand. “Only for people who deserve it.”

You snort, rolling onto your stomach to prop your chin on your hands. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky me,” he counters, glancing over his shoulder at you. The way your hair falls across your face, messy and untamed, makes his chest tighten.

When the dessert arrives, Carlos grabs it from the door, careful not to let the guy bringing it up see the faint red marks on his neck.

He returns with the elaborate cloche, holding it up triumphantly. “Food is served.”

You both sit cross-legged on the bed, the plate between you.

Carlos hands you a fork, watching as you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in exaggerated delight.

“Wow. This might be better than sex,” you joke, though the mischievous glint in your eye says otherwise.

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me again.”

“Well, maybe if you’d ordered two...” you tease, but your tone softens as you gesture for him to take his own bite.

The tiramisu is good. Great, even. But Carlos barely notices.

He’s too focused on the way you laugh when you get a bit of cream on your nose, or how your lips curve as you savor each bite.

You’re funny, in a way that feels effortless. It’s not just the jokes or the teasing; it’s the way you bring a lightness to the room, the way you make him feel like this moment is the only thing that matters.

And there's that thought again.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He barely even knows you.

Carlos watches you scrape the last bit of tiramisu from the plate, your eyes gleaming with triumph as you lick the fork clean.

He leans back against the headboard, arms crossed, a mock glare plastered across his face.

“Didn’t even save me the last bite,” he says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”

“You snooze, you lose,” you reply smugly, placing the empty plate on the nightstand with a flourish.

“I was letting you enjoy it,” Carlos argues, sitting up straighter. “It’s called being a gentleman. Look it up.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “A gentleman wouldn’t sulk over dessert.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t have to sulk if someone had manners,” he shoots back, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

You throw your head back, laughing, and Carlos feels a strange pang in his chest.

He quickly smothers it, keeping his expression light, his tone teasing.

“Don’t worry,” you say between giggles. “I’ll order you a second one. You’ll survive.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, waving you off dramatically. “I’ll just starve. Waste away. Die in this very bed.”

“Oh, stop it,” you say, swatting his arm. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me?” He feigns shock, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “I’m the picture of restraint.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Restraint? Coming from the guy who ate my pussy out earlier like a starved man?”

“That’s called quality service,” he says, completely deadpan. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Quality service,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He smiles, nodding.

This is what you deserve.

Lighthearted fun, no heavy emotions weighing you down.

He’s an expert at keeping things that way, at making sure there’s nothing to hold onto when the moment ends.

It’s what he promised you. And it’s what he’s going to give you.

Because anything more would be unfair.

Carlos slides out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb you as you stretch languidly under the covers.

His shirt, now crumpled, is pulled over his head in one swift motion, followed by his jeans.

He pauses for a moment, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the night settling on him like a second skin.

You watch him with a raised brow, propped up on your elbow. “I thought I was supposed to be the one getting kicked out?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he glances at you, shaking his head. “It’s a hotel, not my permanent residence,” he retorts, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ll go.”

The playfulness in your tone doesn’t escape him, and he can’t help but snort softly. “Besides, you look too comfortable to be evicted.”

You laugh, tucking the sheets around you. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”

“Not tonight,” he quips, grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

The weight of reality hangs in the air, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you watch as he slips on his shoes, movements practiced and deliberate.

“You don’t have to, you know,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “Leave, I mean.”

He pauses at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “I do,” he replies, looking back at you with a small, almost sad smile. “But thanks for making tonight worth it.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth to your expression. “You’re a sap, you know that?”

“Guilty,” he says, offering you a mock tip-of-the-hat, before stepping out.

As the door clicks shut behind him, Carlos exhales, the cool night air hitting him as he makes his way down the hall.

His chest feels tight, but he pushes the feeling aside, forcing himself to focus on the sound of his footsteps echoing against the hotel’s tiled floor.

It’s better this way, he tells himself. Simple. Clean. No messy feelings to untangle in the morning.

—-

The next morning, Carlos slowly stirs awake, groaning as the sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room.

His muscles feel heavy, his head a little foggy.

Last night is a blur, but the warmth of it lingers. The weight of your presence, the quiet moments between laughs, the way your eyes shone...

He stretches, cracking his back, but then, like a sudden punch to the gut, it hits him.

The NDA.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up so fast it makes his head spin.

He runs a hand over his face, the realization sinking in.

How could he forget that?

He’s been drilled on it, the legal side of things, the contracts, all of it.

He tries to calm himself, taking a deep breath.

You wouldn’t talk. You wouldn’t risk your own career for some tabloid fodder. You’re famous too, after all. Not in the same way, but enough that the press would chew you up if you decided to spill anything.

But still. His PR team would rip him apart.

His manager? Worse. And the worst part? He’d promised—promised—to behave for at least a month. A month.

And if Carlos is anything, he’s a man of his word.

“Dios mío,” he groans, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

He scrolls through his messages, finding your number quickly. The last text exchange, brief and teasing, makes him pause.

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if texting you about this will only make things worse. Then again, what could be worse than his manager screaming in his ear while tabloids run wild?

His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types out:

Carlos Hey. So... I realized I forgot to make you sign an NDA last night. My bad.

He deletes it immediately. Too casual.

Carlos Morning. Hope you slept well. Quick thing, meant to get an NDA signed last night. Oops.

Carlos Don’t think you’d spill, but PR would freak. Let me know if you’re alright with me sending one over?

Carlos hesitates for a moment before adding:

Carlos Also, thanks again for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.

He hits send before he can second-guess himself, tossing his phone onto the bed with a resigned sigh.

Now all he could do was wait and hope that:

1. You wouldn’t be offended.

2. His manager wouldn’t find out about this oversight.

—-

You blink into the morning light, squinting at the phone buzzing on the nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off the table.

You groggily grab it, seeing Carlos' name pop up with a new message.

You stretch, still half asleep, and glance over the message.

The first thing that hits you is the casual tone of it, which instantly makes you raise an eyebrow. NDA?

You don’t exactly need one, at least, you didn’t think you did. But then again, it makes sense. It’s a weird industry, and it’s not like you haven’t signed your fair share of these ridiculous things before.

You laugh a little at the thought, recalling the night before. The way everything felt so effortless, so easy, and now, here he is, texting you about NDAs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You picture him sitting in a hotel room, pacing, maybe even nervously fidgeting with his phone like some kind of over-caffeinated, nervous wreck.

You click on his message again, rereading it.

It’s... kind of adorable, the way he’s trying to play it cool about the whole thing. You grin.

And then you spot the part where he thanks you for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.

That makes you smile, your cheeks warming a little.

You know what he's trying to do, being all casual and kind of sweet. But you can’t help it; it’s working.

You were just teasing him for fun, but hearing him say that? Well, it kind of feels nice.

But you don’t let it linger for long.

You know the drill. You’ve signed NDAs more times than you care to count, and it’s not like you’d ever be stupid enough to leak anything. That’s not even on the table.

Sure, there are some ridiculous tabloid stories out there, but you’re not about to give them the satisfaction.

Your career and reputation are worth more than any cheap headline.

You’re not the kind of person who’d throw away your dignity for a bit of gossip, not to mention that Carlos probably wouldn’t either.

He may be a little reckless, but you get it. Both of you have something to protect, and you respect that.

You stare at your phone, a little smile tugging at your lips. You decide to just keep it simple. He’s worrying, but you’re not about to make things more complicated.

You type out your reply:

you Don't worry about it. They're not getting anything out of me.

you I’ve signed worse things than an NDA, and I’m not about to be the person to ruin your career. If it can even be ruined at this point

you Go ahead and send it over. I’ve got you

By the time afternoon rolls around, you've handled the whole NDA situation with surprising ease.

The paperwork is signed, sealed, and done in record time.

You would have expected more back-and-forth, but Carlos kept it simple. Sent the document, answered your questions, and now it’s behind you.

No drama, no complications.

You step out of the hotel with a relieved breath, feeling like the morning's oddities are finally behind you.

But then there's that nagging little detail: Charles.

Charles, who always has a million questions when you don’t stick to your usual routine.

You grab a coffee on your way back to your room, the scent a comforting excuse for your absence.

It's just something simple. Something that won’t trigger his radar.

You know Charles too well.

A well-timed story about running out for caffeine sounds harmless enough.

And if not, well..

You’ll make it work.

—-

The next week, you’re nursing a mild headache, the kind that makes the sound of your alarm feel like a personal betrayal.

As you peel your face off the pillow, the regret for every sip of alcohol you’d had the night before hits you with the force of a freight train.

You really should stop letting Daniel and Landon drag you to every club under the sun.

Your hair’s a mess, your pajamas are a little too wrinkled for comfort, and you move with the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie who’s been deprived of both sleep and caffeine.

First stop? Coffee. Always coffee.

You shuffle into the kitchen, eyes half-lidded, and reach for your favorite mug, the one that’s seen better days. The faded design, "World's Okayest Sister," is probably more fitting this morning than ever before.

You measure the coffee grounds with mechanical precision, almost like your body’s running on autopilot.

The machine hums to life, and you watch it, waiting impatiently as the rich aroma of coffee fills the kitchen.

If you stare hard enough, maybe it'll brew faster.

Once the mug is filled, you lift it to your lips and take a long, heavenly sip.

The warmth radiates through you like a tiny, much-needed hug. It's not perfect, but it’s coffee, and that’s all that matters right now.

With the cup cradled in your hands, you shuffle back to your phone, which is still sitting on the counter from last night.

Scrolling through the notifications, you pause, your thumb hovering over the screen.

And then you see it.

carlossainz55 followed you.

Your coffee mug pauses midair, precariously balanced as you blink once, twice, trying to process what you’re seeing.

No, surely you’re still asleep.

That has to be it.

You’re dreaming. It’s the only logical explanation.

But no, the notification doesn’t disappear when you squint at it. It stays there, glaring at you, daring you to react.

Carlos’ profile pops up on your screen.

His name. His profile picture, all charm and confidence. His grid, filled with race shots, candid moments, sponsoring deals and that annoyingly perfect smile.

And there it is, glaringly obvious: “Follows you.”

You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch.

But no.

Apparently, it’s real.

You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is.

But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?

You stare back at the notification, still processing it, still waiting for something to make sense of this.

The world feels like it's moving at half speed as you squint at the screen.

Maybe it’s a mistake, you think. Some part of you wants to just close the app and forget it.

But the notification doesn’t disappear.

It lingers. Mocking you.

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about him.

Hell, how could you not? The night had been... well, amazing. The chemistry, the way everything just clicked, the way he made you laugh, how easy it all felt, like you’d known each other far longer than you really had.

The sex? Stellar. Absolutely 10/10. Probably something you'd brag about to your friends in a very classy, not-at-all-suggestive way if you hadn’t signed that NDA.

But now... this.

Him following you on Instagram?

It's like getting slapped in the face with a wet fish that had somehow been lit on fire.

What does this even mean? Are you supposed to act like it’s totally normal? Like you didn’t just have a mind-blowing night that now, suddenly, has an Instagram follow attached to it like a weird souvenir?

Is this how Carlos tells people he’s into them? Like, “Hey, I’ll follow you on Instagram, but let’s keep it low-key, like how I casually post sponsored content about luxury watches that cost more than your rent.”

Maybe he follows everyone he hooks up with?

But no, he’s Carlos Sainz Jr.

This is a guy who gets paid in gold bars, signs contracts that come with their own zip code, and has a fanbase that could start a small country. He's the type who has a personal assistant for his personal assistant.

The fact that he’s following you feels like finding out that Beyoncé follows you. It’s just.. weird.

You inhale sharply, suddenly remembering how to breathe, and glance at the clock.

It’s way too early for this kind of chaos.

You take another sip of coffee, as though caffeine might somehow help you process what’s unfolding.

Your thumb hovers over the follow-back button. Do you? Should you?

Of course, you do.

You tap the button before you can overthink it, and the little blue “Follow” turns into a subdued grey “Following.”

You sit there for a moment, staring at your phone, waiting for… something.

A notification.

A message.

Maybe a rogue pigeon delivering a note written in Carlos’ annoyingly neat handwriting. But nothing happens.

Nada.

“Cool,” you mutter to yourself, setting the phone down as if you’re trying to pretend nothing happened.

You take a deep breath, forcing your mind to focus on literally anything else. Like taxes. Or organizing your sock drawer. Anything but the lingering feeling of weirdness in your gut.

For the rest of the day, you pretend to be busy.

You check your notifications like a paranoid criminal every hour, convinced that your phone is holding some secret conversation you’ve missed.

But no. Nothing. Just the usual nonsense. Some ads, a message from your mom about dinner, a reminder to wash your laundry.

One day turns into two. Then three. The silence becomes more deafening, and you start to wonder if you imagined the whole thing.

Did Carlos actually follow you? Did you dream the entire sequence?

By the end of the week, your life is back to normal. The frantic phone-checking ceases. It's forgotten, a memory that’s faded to black like an expired coupon.

Then, seven days later, your phone lights up, the notification banner buzzing with the energy of a surprise party that you didn’t ask for.

carlossainz55 So, do you always follow people and then pretend they don’t exist?

You blink.

Twice.

Maybe you missed something?

You almost drop your phone because you’re so unprepared for whatever this is.

It feels like being tackled by a puppy while holding a glass of wine. You were doing fine, and then suddenly, everything’s upside down.

yourhandle Excuse me? You followed me first

carlossainz55 Details. The silence was deafening

yourhandle I figured you were busy being, you know, a world-famous rally driver. No time for little people like me

carlossainz55 I make time for the important things

You snort into your coffee, half-amused, half-annoyed. The casual way he says it makes you want to roll your eyes, but you're also weirdly charmed.

yourhandle So, what prompted this sudden message? Lose a bet?

carlossainz55 I was cleaning out my DMs and remembered there was one person I forgot to annoy

yourhandle Wow. I’m honored

carlossainz55 You should be

carlossainz55 By the way, how’s your brother? Still glaring at pictures of me?

yourhandle Probably. I think he keeps a dartboard somewhere with your face on it

carlossainz55 Tell him he needs better aim. I’m still standing

yourhandle He's practicing

carlossainz55 If he needs lessons, tell him I’m available

yourhandle Yeah, I’ll let him know. I’m sure he’d love some quality bonding time with you

The conversation flows easily, light and teasing, like you’re two middle schoolers passing notes in class.

Except the notes are digital, and the subject isn’t Mrs. Henderson’s questionable choice in socks but rather the unspoken elephant in the room.

You both dance around it like you’re in twelve-year-olds, neither of you brave, or stupid, enough to confront it head-on.

At least not until Carlos, true to form, decides that subtlety is for mortals.

carlossainz55 So… about that night…

You freeze, suddenly less comforted and more “oh no, where is this going?”

yourhandle What about it?

carlossainz55 I was just thinking...

yourhandle Dangerous start

carlossainz55 ...we should do it again.

Your jaw drops. This man. This actual man.

Subtle as a brick to the face.

Your brain short-circuits for a moment, staring at your phone like it just insulted your family.

yourhandle Excuse me?

carlossainz55 You heard me. Round two. Let’s make it happen

yourhandle Carlos, you don’t just text someone a week later and propose a sequel. That’s not how this works

carlossainz55 Why not? It’s efficient. I’m a very busy man

yourhandle Busy doing what? Posing with expensive cars and pretending to care about energy drinks?

carlossainz55 Exactly. It’s a tough life

You snort, shaking your head.

He’s absolutely ridiculous, and yet you can’t stop yourself from responding.

yourhandle And what makes you think I’d even say yes?

carlossainz55 Because the first round was great. Admit it.

You hesitate, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

But he’s not wrong.

yourhandle Okay, fine. It was great. But that doesn’t mean I’m jumping at the chance for a repeat performance.

carlossainz55 Come on, live a little. I’ll even let you pick the time and place

yourhandle Oh, how generous of you

carlossainz55 I try my best

You roll your eyes so hard they practically fall out of your head.

But deep down, you’re kind of enjoying this absurd back-and-forth.

He’s bold, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his audacity.

yourhandle I’ll think about it

carlossainz55 That’s a yes. I’ll pencil you in

yourhandle Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz

carlossainz55 Too late

The next day, your phone pings with a message. It’s too early for coherent thoughts, but you know it’s him.

You squint at the screen, and sure enough:

carlossainz55 So… have you decided? Sex?

You blink. Twice. Is he serious? Of course, he is. It’s Carlos.

yourhandle Wow. No preamble? No “How are you?” Just straight to it?

carlossainz55 I’m efficient

yourhandle I think the word you're looking for is shameless

carlossainz55 That too. So? Are you free?

yourhandle Oh, totally free. Let me just clear my very busy schedule of pretending to have my life together. Where are you, anyway?

carlossainz55 Mallorca. Family stuff. You?

yourhandle Monaco. Basically living in Charles’ yacht at this point. You know, as one does. Mostly trying to avoid being swallowed by the summer rumor mill

There’s a long pause. You can practically hear him doing the mental math.

carlossainz55 Okay, so… two-hour flight? That’s nothing. I can be there by dinner

yourhandle Carlos, are you seriously suggesting flying across countries for a booty call?

carlossainz55 I’ve done more for less

yourhandle This is why the planet’s dying

carlossainz55 Okay, okay. Saving the dolphins. What’s the eco-friendly option here?

You roll your eyes, fully expecting the next message to be ridiculous.

And, of course, it doesn’t disappoint.

carlossainz55 Phone sex

yourhandle I’m sorry, what?

carlossainz55 Efficient. Sustainable. Zero emissions. It’s the responsible choice

yourhandle Carlos, do you even know how phone sex works?

carlossainz55 No, but I’m adaptable. Like learning a new track. Same principles

yourhandle You did NOT just compare dirty talk to racing strategies

carlossainz55 Why not? Both require focus, timing, and precision. And confidence, of course

You groan, half in disbelief, half because you’re genuinely entertained.

yourhandle Carlos, this is absurd. You’re absurd

carlossainz55 Absurdly charming

yourhandle Absurdly something, that’s for sure

carlossainz55 So? Are we doing this? Or are you too chicken?

You laugh, shaking your head, still not sure how you ended up here— bantering with a world-famous driver about... phone sex.

You’re almost impressed by how persistent he is.

yourhandle Carlos, I swear, you’re something else.

carlossainz55 I know. It’s a gift

---

Carlos is nervous.

He shouldn’t be.

He’s Carlos Sainz Jr—cool under pressure, smooth behind the wheel, and cocky enough to make people swoon without lifting a finger.

Yet here he is, pacing his room like a lovesick teenager, nerves coiling tighter with each passing second.

Why is he nervous?

He already knows the answer— Because it’s you.

Because for the past week, you’ve been haunting his every waking thought.

Every stolen moment has been spent thinking about the way your lips had parted for him, the way your eyes had rolled back when he sank deep inside you, the way your voice, breathless and wrecked, had gasped his name like it was your favorite prayer.

He’s pathetic, really.

Fisting his cock every night like some horny rookie, chasing memories of you that refuse to fade.

He remembers every little detail too vividly.

Your soft whimpers, the flush of your cheeks, the dazed way you’d looked up at him with a mixture of awe and need.

It’s seven minutes until your scheduled call.

Scheduled.

Like this is some professional meeting and not an invitation to lose his mind over you through a goddamn phone.

He swears under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he feels the familiar heat pooling low in his belly.

“Joder,” he mutters, already hard just thinking about you.

He sits back against the headboard, sliding his boxers down his thighs.

His cock springs free, aching and flushed, already leaking like he’s some desperate virgin. He swears again, low and guttural, wrapping his hand around the base as if it’ll calm him down.

It doesn’t.

Carlos spits into his palm, slicking himself up with a firm grip.

His hips twitch at the first stroke, and he hisses through his teeth, already so sensitive he’s on the edge of losing it.

He shuts his eyes, letting his mind drift to you. Fuck. Your pretty little cunt, so tight and wet around him, gripping him like you never wanted to let go.

He can still hear the way you’d moaned his name, sweet and broken, like you couldn’t get enough of him.

He strokes himself harder, his fist moving in slick, desperate pumps.

His breathing grows heavier, each exhale mingled with a groan as his hips lift to meet his hand.

“Good girl,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words slipping out without thought.

His mind is full of you.

How perfect you’d looked when he’d buried his face between your thighs, your legs trembling as he devoured you.

He remembers the way you’d begged for him, the way your fingers had tugged at his hair as he licked and sucked until you fell apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, his pace quickening. His free hand grips the sheets, knuckles white as he imagines your face again.

Your lips parted, your expression blissful and wrecked as he pushed you over the edge.

He’s close, teetering on the edge of release, his cock throbbing in his fist.

“Such a good girl,” he slurs, his hips bucking uncontrollably. “Taking me so well—mierda—just like that...”

The thought of your cunt fluttering around him, your breathy cries echoing in his ears, pushes him over.

With a guttural groan, he spills over his hand, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach as he rides out his high.

His chest heaves as he comes down, the pleasure fading and leaving behind a warm haze and just a little shame.

He stares at the mess he’s made, breathing heavily as he mutters a soft curse.

And then the phone buzzes. Your name lights up the screen.

Carlos firmly believes that every man has a refractory period, it's simple biology.

But as his cock twitches at the sight of your name lighting up his phone screen, he starts to question everything he’s ever known.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he hardens again, his body responding to you like you’ve got some magical hold over him.

He huffs out a breath, staring down at the mess he’s made on his stomach, the sticky evidence of how utterly gone he is for you.

With a shaky hand, he answers the call.

His voice comes out softer, more composed than he feels. “Hey.”

Your reply is immediate, and the sound of your voice sends another jolt straight to his cock. “Hey.”

Carlos clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to whine. His body’s so sensitive it aches.

“You nervous?” he asks, his tone laced with a teasing edge to hide how wrecked he feels.

“A little,” you admit, your voice breathy.

He exhales through his nose, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Then let’s fix that, shall we?”

—

There’s a pause, and then he murmurs, “Do you mind if I take the lead, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly at the pet name. “No, Carlos.”

“Good girl.” The words roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate, and you feel the throb of need between your legs intensify.

“Are you in your underwear right now?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low rumble.

You glance down at yourself, cheeks flushing. “Mhm...”

“Tell me what they look like.”

“They’re red,” you whisper, your voice shy.

Carlos grins, his tone playful. “My favorite color. Take them off for me, baby.”

Your breath hitches, and you slip them off, letting them fall to the floor.

“Are you wet for me?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Very,” you admit, your cheeks burning.

“Let me hear.”

You hesitate, unsure how to respond. “How do I-?”

Carlos chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Slip a finger in, baby. Let me hear how soaked you are for me.”

You inhale shakily, doing as he says.

The moment your finger slides in, you let out a soft whimper.

It’s not enough.

It’s nowhere near enough.

“Fuck,” Carlos groans, the sound making your pussy clench. “You are wet. God, baby, I’d kill to be there right now. All those pretty juices going to waste... I’d lick you clean.”

You whine at his words, your hips shifting against your hand as you try to chase the feeling.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, though his voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back. “Start moving that finger, sweet girl.”

You obey, your breath hitching as you pump your finger slowly. It’s good, but it’s not enough. Not compared to Carlos.

“Carlos,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “Please...”

His laugh is soft, teasing. “Need more?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your hips bucking into your hand. “Yes, please-”

“Okay, baby. Add another finger for me.”

You do, slipping in another finger with a hiss. The stretch feels better, but it still pales in comparison to what you really want.

“Thank you,” you mewl, your head tipping back against the pillow as you fuck yourself slowly.

Carlos groans, his hand wrapping around his cock again, unable to stop himself. “That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds.”

Your thighs tremble as you press your palm harder against your aching clit, your hips rolling instinctively.

The heat pooling low in your belly is unbearable, and every tiny movement sends sparks racing across your skin.

On the other end of the phone, Carlos has been quiet, but you can hear it, his uneven breathing, the faint hitch in his breath that tells you he’s not unaffected.

You let out a soft, broken moan, unable to keep quiet, and his breath catches audibly.

“Are you…” Your voice is trembling, slurred with need as you choke out the words, “…are you touching yourself?”

“Of course I am,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “How could I not? Fuck, you’ve got me so hard I can’t think straight.”

The image of him stroking himself, his cock slick and swollen, his jaw clenched as his chest heaves, sends a rush of heat to your core.

You grind your hips against your palm, pressing harder against your clit as your thighs tremble.

“I wish you were here,” you whimper, your voice breathless. “Wish I could feel you. I’d be so full, Carlos. I’d clench around you so tight, just like this-”

The sound of your stuttered moan nearly sends him over the edge right there.

Each gasp, each whimper, each broken sob of his name over the line is another jolt to his already oversensitive cock.

He’s gripping himself tightly, too tightly, the pain blending with pleasure until he can’t tell where one starts and the other ends.

His grip falters for a moment before he picks up the pace, stroking himself mercilessly despite the ache in his stomach and the burn of overstimulation.

“You sound so fucking good,” he rasps, his voice cracking slightly as he fights to keep it together. “God, I wish I could see you right now- wish I could spread those legs and watch you touch yourself for me.”

Your shaky whimpers only spur him on. “Carlos… I-I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” His tone dips, almost desperate. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Gonna make those pretty little noises when you fall apart?”

You grind your clit against your palm, your back arching as you nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yes- yes, Carlos-”

He groans, his hand faltering slightly as his cock twitches in his grip.

He’s so fucking close, but it’s almost unbearable now, every stroke of his hand sending shocks through his overstimulated body.

“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” he grits out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stop the whines threatening to spill out.

“Wish I could taste you. God, I’d bury my face in that pussy and never come up for air.”

You gasp, the sound high-pitched and desperate, and he knows you’re right on the edge.

You can hear the faint, wet sound of his hand moving faster, matching your pace.

“Think about me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding. “Think about how good I’d feel inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? So tight, so wet for me.”

The filthy words rip a broken moan from your throat, your hips bucking wildly as you grind against your palm.

“Carlos,” you gasp again, your voice high-pitched and desperate.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice wrecked and raw. “Be a good girl and let me hear you fall apart. Let me hear how much you fucking need me.”

The moment your cries reach their peak, his hips buck involuntarily, his cock pulsing painfully in his hand.

“Carlos!” you scream, your voice cracking as you tumble over the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips like that almost breaks him. His body is trembling, his stomach tight, and the overstimulation is nearly unbearable.

He grits his teeth, his hand still moving as he chases his own release. “Fuck- fuck, baby, you sound so good- so perfect-”

Carlos can barely breathe now. His hand is slick with his own cum from earlier, and every stroke feels like fire, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his voice shaking. “I’m so fucking close- fuck, I can’t-”

His words cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, his vision going white as his cock pulses in his hand.

It’s too much, way too much, but he strokes himself through it anyway, biting back the sobs of pleasure-pain threatening to escape.

When he finally collapses back against the pillows, utterly wrecked, he hears your soft, breathy laughter on the other end of the line. "Are you okay?"

Carlos exhales shakily, his chest still heaving as the aftershocks ripple through him. He wipes a hand over his face, his body buzzing and completely wrecked, but he manages to keep his voice even as he speaks.

"Yeah," he lies, his tone almost too casual. "Just… pent up, I guess."

The truth, though, is that he’s fried. His hand aches, his cock is oversensitive, and his nerves feel like they’ve been set on fire.

But he’d go through it all again, every unbearable second, just to hear the way you came undone for him.

“So,” he asks after a beat, breaking the heavy silence. “How’d I do? Be honest. I can take it.”

There’s a pause on your end, followed by a soft laugh that makes his chest tighten. “Was that really your first time?”

He snorts, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “I mean, yeah. First time on the phone, anyway. Not my first time… y’know.”

“Uh-huh,” you tease, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. “Because you sounded like a pro. Like, suspiciously good.”

“Suspiciously good?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’m just naturally talented, thank you very much.”

“You’re definitely talented,” you admit, your voice soft and warm. “Very good.”

He grins, letting the compliment settle into his chest like a warm weight. “Thank you,” he says, a little smug.

Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “Now, clean yourself up and drink some water.”

“Bossy,” you shoot back, laughing.

“Always,” he quips, his grin widening. “And I’ll keep saying it because I care. Hydrate, or I’ll call you again just to nag.”

“Fine, fine,” you relent, your tone playful. “I’ll get some water, but only because you’re so convincing.”

He chuckles, wishing he could actually take care of you.

He imagines bringing you a glass of water, wiping you down gently, maybe even cooking you something if you were hungry.

But he can’t. Not tonight, anyway.

“So,” he says, shifting the conversation, “how’s everything else? What’s new with you?”

You hum, and he listens as you shuffle around, likely cleaning yourself up as instructed. “Not much. Work’s been… chaotic. But in a good way, I guess? Keeps me busy.”

"I know that feeling," he says, grabbing a handful of tissues and grimacing as he cleans up the ridiculous mess pooling on his stomach. He swipes at it with quick, efficient movements, though the sheer volume makes him pause for a second.

"Dios mío," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

“The season’s kicking back up soon, and summer training’s been brutal,” he continues, his voice a little strained as he carefully wipes himself clean.

When he reaches lower, the sensitivity makes him wince, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

His body’s wrecked, his nerves shot, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or pain anymore.

You are definitely not good for his health.

“Brutal, huh?” you tease. “Poor baby. All that fame and fortune must make it so hard to be you.”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” he retorts, laughing. “I’ve got to stay in top shape so I can keep looking good for you.”

“Oh, that’s why?” you shoot back, giggling. “Not, like, for the whole racing thing?”

“That’s just a side gig,” he jokes. “The real goal is impressing you. Obviously.”

You both laugh, the conversation easing into a comfortable rhythm.

He listens to you talk about your day, chiming in with little quips and teasing remarks that make you laugh.

It’s easy, natural, and he almost forgets that you’re miles apart.

Eventually, you yawn softly, and he can hear the tiredness in your voice. “I should let you go,” you say reluctantly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though the thought of ending the call makes him a little regretful. “Get some rest.”

“You too,” you reply softly. “And Carlos?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For… tonight. For everything.”

His voice softens. “Anytime, baby.”

When the call ends, he stares at the ceiling for a long moment, the silence of his room pressing in around him.

He sighs, running a hand over his face, and mutters to himself, “You’re so fucked, Sainz.”

—-

series taglist :

@5sospenguinqueen @wadupppp @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting

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wasitforrevenge · 1 year ago

Text

oh sweetheart

pairing: boxer! ellie williams x f reader au

word count: 1.9k

rating: 18+

warnings: boxer!ellie, drinking, smoking, cursing, creepy guy but ellie comes to ur defense!! ellie has lots of tattoos, fighting, threats, idk if im missing anything (no character description or anything specific)

summary: you didn't expect to meet her on this night out.

authors notes: hi friends! this is my first time writing and posting on here hopefully you enjoy, please reblog, like or follow! lets be mutuals :) anyways feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated! ellie williams has me on my hands and knees!!! i hope you enjoy! i like the idea of making this a series if it works out and ppl like it, so pls let m know!! thank you :)

PART 1 | part 2

series masterlist <3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

loud. everything is loud. the smell of sweat and blood stains the air around you. the sounds of people cheering and shouting towards the center of the large room. the lights are buzzing above you as you are walking into the entrance of the shitty run down gym your brother, jesse, and his girlfriend, dina, ended up dragging you to tonight.

you didn't mind coming along with him but this wasn't what you expected to be doing tonight. after a long shitty week of unpacking your new apartment, you kinda just wanted to end up a hole in the wall bar and drink your stress away but he had other plans. which including watching grown men beat the shit of each other for their cut at the end of the night.

it was intimidating, walking through the crowds of people you didn't know until you finally make it to where his friends were waiting for you guys. they were sitting at a table with a clear shot of the fight which was surprising since the whole place seemed to have more people in it then it could fit. you make your way awkwardly to the empty seats saying a gentle "hello guys" to your brothers friends who you didn't knowl. you sat next to dina as jesse made his way to the bar with your drink orders.

after you graduated highschool, you moved to new york and spend 4 years there working in a small cafe you lived above but now at the start of the summer, still not sure what you should be doing with your life. now you're 22 and you've moved to the city of jackson to be closer to your older brother and his girlfriend. you were excited to start fresh in a place where no one knew you yet, you were ready to leave your old life and those toxic things in the past. but you wondered if it was even possible.

you spend the next hour talking with dina and catching up on the things that have happened since you moved, "have you started looking for jobs yet?" she asked as you both sipped on the second drink of the night that jesse went and brought back a bit ago. you've only met a couple times in person since they started dating about 2 years ago but you loved her, she was making this night a lot better. "not much luck yet, i don't know what to do, luckily i have some time to figure something out." you responded. she went to say something but then the loud speakers around the room started blaring music and the countdown to the match that was about to start.

jesse tapped dinas shoulder to go watch with the rest of them. dinas eyes met yours and asked, "are you coming up?" you started getting nervous as the people started getting louder and crowding towards the center ring and told her that you'll stay here and watch. they both nodded and said they'd be back when it was over.

you took this opportunity to finally go get some fresh air since the crowd isn't all over anymore and it was a straight shot to the door you came in, you walked over to the side of the building, definitely feeling the drinks you had, you let your back rest against the concrete wall, finally cooling you down on this hot summer night. there's people standing outside talking but they payed no attention to you. you stayed against the wall as you pull out the cigarette pack from the pocket of your thin dark green jacket and the lighter out of your back pocket in your jean shorts. you cursed yourself for not buying more but its a bad habit and you know it. you pulled one out and put it in your lips as you brought the lighter up and took a drag, finally letting the anxiety go as you stared off into the sky.

"excuse me miss, you shouldn't be out here alone, a beautiful girl like you," a man with a rough voice said but you didn't move to look, suddenly wishing you never left your apartment to begin with, "hello i'm talking to you, its not nice to ignore people, ya know," he slurred his words as he spoke. you turned your head as you went to tell him to leave you alone but instead, he was standing in front of you before you knew it you dropped your smoke and now he's practically cornered you.

he was so close you could smell the alcohol on his breathe as he spoke again, "now are you gonna talk to-" you leaned away from him as he was interrupted by the sound of a door opening a few feet away, he looked towards it but then turned back to you just as quick, almost touching you as he went to speak again but he was beat to it.

"get off her." you didn't even realize the door had opened until you heard her.

the man looked back towards the door to the figure in the light, he squinted and when he got a good look, he suddenly backed off and put his hands up. "hey hey i wasn't doing nothin- it was nothing!" he shouted back to whoever was next to the still open door, light shining into the alley.

the door slams and the light fades as the figure walks closer towards you and your eyes meet the deep green eyes of the person who just saved you as she turned to the man who was just cornering you against the wall.

"it doesn't look like nothing, i mean, really? you're fucking joking right?" she questioned him as she looked him right in the eyes.

"i said it was nothing- she was flirting with me and-" he was cut off as she laughed loudly. "yeah you're full of shit, get the fuck out of here and don't let me see you again or you'll regret it." she said as she stepped closer towards him, almost at the same height, he looked scared of her. "okay, okay- fuck 'm leaving!" he slurred one last time as he turned around and headed the opposite way of the run down gym.

you stood there as the interaction happened, not sure what to do or say yet, you were silent as he walked off, and those green eyes met yours again and you saw her lips moving as she was speaking but you caught nothing she said. "hey, you okay there?" she asked you as she went to stand in front of you, looking you up and down, checking if you're psychically okay while she gave you a second to process before she asked you again.

"hey sweetheart, you okay?" she asked and grabbed your arm, not in a way that the man would have but like she was actually making sure you were okay, and this time you finally heard her.

"h- yes im okay, just- fuck- yes thank you." you said finally getting a good look at her now that she's up close and touching you. her eyes were greener than you thought, her short auburn hair with some pulled back into a bun, the big moth tattoo wrapped around her right forearm that was still holding onto yours, other tattoos littered her arms and some poking out under her t-shirt she was wearing. she was so close to you and it sent butterflies through your body. now is not the time, you thought to yourself.

"are you sure- 'm sorry that happened, fuck him." she said roughly, not towards you but him.

"its okay, thank- thank you for helping me" you said gently to the girl who was still looking into your eyes. you had been so focused on hers that you didn't even see the tiny scars, small healing cuts and the bruises that were fading until you looked over her face again.

"yeah of course, are you here alone?" she asked you curiously still holding on to you, you weren't even phased by it. you told her you were here with your brother and she nodded her head towards the door, "lets get you back to him before anything else happens sweetheart" she said as she guided you to the door, hand on your back, as you swallowed and went first.

suddenly all the sounds that you had not realized you had been blocking begin again, smells of the sweaty bodies surround you again and you felt too hot, either because of her or the summer heat trapped in here. once you made it inside, she moved her hand off the small of your back and told her to go find your brother and to get home safe. when she walked away, you realized you didn't even know her name.

you saw dina, sitting along with a few of jesses friends and made your way over to her. the match must've ended while you were outside. you walked through the gym to sit back down, moving carefully to avoid touching anyone. once you made it to the table, dina wondered where you had ran off too. "oh just went out to get some fresh air," you said back to her smiling, not wanting her to worry. she told you jesse went to get more drinks and after the encounter outside, you needed it.

jesse came back a few moments later, holding a round of shots for you three. "here you ladies go," he spoke with a happy look on his face. you smiled slightly back and took the glass as dina laughed at him. you took the shot, trying to forget what happened outside with the man but not what happened with her. you wondered if you would see her again. is she here to watch? could she work at the bar? is she here with friends too? your thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over the speaks that the final match was gonna start soon.

dina and jesse were telling you, "its the last one tonight and the last ones are always the best so lets go!" you would rather sit and order another drink, but what if something else happened cause you were alone? so reluctantly you got up with them and got closer to the middle ring, you heard the loud speakers announcing the boxers as they entered the ring. you weren't even paying attention, nothing could stop your mind racing with thoughts about the girl outside.

you shake yourself out of the trance when dina reaches over to you to touch your hands that were shaking but you didn't even realize, you look to her and give her smile that she returns, then she looks back to the ring and you turn your head to follow her eyes to the center. and your breathe caught.

thats her.

thats the girl who saved you outside.

the girl with her hands wrapped in tape and the mouthguard in.

the girl who wondered if she'd ever see you again either, not that you knew that, but she hoped it wasn't the last time.

you wondered what she thought as you both stared back at each other. you heard the coach start the countdown. you just watched her.

...5

...4

...3

...2

as the buzzer started, she smiled directly at you then turned to throw the first punch.