#but honestly it works for any setting when ferrari fucks up

[moossings]

kiss your smile

just a tiny thing because i needed fluff. thank you so much @f1amboyantand & @curiousthyme for bearing with it ❤️

carlos scrunches his nose and turns his face away.

“ma basta, charles.”

but he is trying to hold in his laughter, so the monegasque stays relentless in his actions. carlos was the one to break charles out of his shell, the real charles that is all giggles and dimples.

the chariot pulling the sun across the sky.

and like the sun, charles is the one to make through the dark clouds of carlos’ mind, the storm always brewing behind those deep dark eyes.

“mi dispiace, i can’t stop.” he says between giggles against carlos’ skin, nose rubbing along his pulse point. the day has been too long, and the race too disappointing, so they seek refuge in carlos' their hotel room, laying in bed to finally put the night day behind them. “you look so cute when you are pouting.”

the undignified sound carlos lets out is definitely only for their ears, and betrays how young the spaniard actually is despise having turned 30 recently. “i’m definitely not pouting! how can you say that? i don’t pout!”

“because it’s true!” charles props up, hands on either side of carlos’ head, who can’t help but lock eyes with him. his voice comes out softer. “because it’s one of the many things i love about you.”

the silence after is not uncomfortable, but it makes carlos shyer, less of the ‘matador’ persona and more of carlitos. lately, it’s been harder and harder to let that side of himself get out, hurt after hurt scaring him away.

“i look dumb when i pout.” he whispers, eyes away turning from his boyfriend. he knows charles doesn’t like it when he talks that way. carlitos doesn’t either.

“dumb? oh, mom amour.” charles melts, rests on his elbows now to be closer, foreheads touching, noses together. 

“i want to bite every pout so your lips turn even more red.” the words are whispered against said lips, that part unconsciously at the feeling. “and i want to kiss every smile that always comes after.”

they kiss, and neither knows who pulled who closer. it doesn’t matter, it’s like this. a hand to his hair, an arm around his neck. their hearts beating in sync against the other.

living their little dream. 

but dreaming is free, no? 

[moonkkives]

- ( NEWSFLASH! )

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader, charles leclerc x platonic fem!reader, driver!reader

summary: charles can’t tell what’s worse, having to deal with ferrari or having to see his two best friends pinning on each other.

warning: fluffy!, charles wingman this time <3, mentions of banging someone’s head against a metal door <3

word count: 635

them: sundress, zoo culture

author's note: daniel back in the grid? hello? <3 also can we please talk about how f1 official social media is ignoring nyck like he’s the plague?

also, send any requests/ideas for this story if you have any! these are my babies right here 😭

max had hit a new low, charles noticed.

like, he was never one to effectively hide his feelings for his teammate; but this was starting to become a problem.

in part for his well-being, because, to be honest, if he looked at max’s lovesick eyes filling you every move when you weren’t looking he was going to throw up.

both metaphorically and physically.

but also, it was slowly but surely starting to affect his racing career — you just worked too well together. way too well.

it was one thing that red bull being an absolute rocket ship. it was another, however, when your connection to your teammate so deep that it was a huge task to be able to get past both of you on track.

you move in synchrony all of the time, easily switching between defending and attacking

your dynamic was pure magic, as david croft had mentioned many times in the past.

you were both aware, because, how could you not? terrorizing the rest of the gird had become your whole personality.

“better luck next time charles, hopefully!” “yeah, that ferrari is certainly— some thing else.”

pierre always laughed at charles’ face after.

and charles always pinched your arm in revenge.

but honestly, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy for you. he couldn’t think of anyone else more deserving to be in a top team at the moment.

similar to max, charles and you also went way back. only that you became best friends from the get go.

so, you can imagine how much charles has suffered for the past million years watching both of you blindly pin on each other.

you might we’re talented, but you sure are oblivious as fuck.

fast forward to today, he felt lando fake a gag right beside him as they were walking towards their cars to get ready for the pre-race driver’s parade.

“are you seeing that?” lando asked, “disgusting.”

charles chuckled, eyes setting on the pair that had undoubtedly catched the eyes of many people on track.

you were both walking ahead of the group, side by side and in your little own world. max was laughing at something you had said.

it probably wasn’t even that funny, but charles wasn’t going to go there.

max responded to your comment, making you let out a chuckle and softly push his arm. but a smile on his face, he took the chance and confidently wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

he heard lando let out a low teasing “ooh”.

they both watched as you trailed your fingers down his back, before wrapping it around his waist.

this time lando let out a surprised laugh, “ooh—“ he started, “that was cheeky.”

charles laughed, slapping his arm “mate, you’re being too loud!”

lando ignored him, eyes glued to both of your figures as you walked side by side, arms in arms. “she’s getting confident! did you see that little—“ he said, imitating your previous hand movement down max’s back “little thing. baby’s gonna get her man!”

he could now hear albon’s laugh coming from behind them, having now caught up on the gossip. albon pushed lando from behind.

charles shushed them both, however, his eyes were gleaming with amusement. “can you guys be any more obvious!”

lando groaned, “oh, come on! someone has to tell them!”

“absolutely not.” charles refuted, just like he had since day one, “they’ll figure it out themselves.

albon raised a brow at him, “how are you so sure?” he asked, now walking beside him and lando

charles chuckled, “because,” he started. “if they don’t, i’ll bang my head against a metal door.”

with his eyes still on you, charles couldn’t help but smile at the ways your arms were wrapped around each other, heads angling to meet in the middle and footsteps synchronized.

you were going to figure it out, charles thought, you had to. . . right?

[sainzfilm]

Heyyy, can I request an angst drabble where you work as Charles' communication manager but you're leaving Ferrari and there's always like a spark between the both of you but the both of you don't really act on it because Charles has a girlfriend (kind of like unrequited love with right person, wrong time?) I'm so sorry if it's really long, thank you <33

pairing: charles leclerc x manager!reader

a/n: SURPRISE i honestly couldn’t resist not posting hehehe :( so let’s try and see if im still shadowbanned, but at the same time you know what fuck it <3 definitely sucks to not get the attention for something you worked hard for buuuut that’s ok

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

It was obvious to everyone that Charles was your person and that you were his. The longing stares, the lingering touches, and even the way your eyes would light up upon hearing or seeing the other.

“You know you’re staring,” Carlos nudged you as the two of you sat on the couches of the Ferrari hospitality, “Have you told him?”

“I’m not staring, idiot,” You mumbled, averting your eyes and looking back at your clipboard, “I’ll tell him when I want to.”

“When you want to?” He chuckled, sipping from his water as he took a quick glance at Charles and his girlfriend, “You’re leaving in two weeks.”

Sighing as you set your clipboard down and pinched the bridge of your nose, “It’ll come easy. It’s not even hard to leave at this point.”

“If you say so, Y/N. You know, I’ll miss annoying you and your little crush,” Carlos chuckled, standing up from seeing Charles approaching, “I’ll see you later.”

As you waved him goodbye, you forced a smile from seeing the man that held your heart in his hands. Charles sat across you and crossed his arms, “Looks like you were in a pretty serious talk with Carlos.”

“He was just being annoying as usual,” You snickered, handing him your clipboard, “This is your schedule for the week, let me know if you want any changes.”

“I think most of it is pretty good,” Charles hummed, scanning the document quickly, “Just don’t take anything in the evenings though, boyfriend duties.”

“Oh okay, I see,” You nodded, taking back your clipboard from him, “Great to see her here, though. She seems nice.”

“She really is. I don’t know how I got so lucky,” He sighed dreamily, putting his hands behind his head, “It’s like all the stars aligned for me this time.”

If it were physically possible to see your heartstrings break one by one at that very moment, then Charles would’ve stopped talking about her.

“Happy for you,” You replied, your heart hurting from the lies that came out of your mouth, “I’ll just go and arrange a few things. Good luck with the race, Charles.”

Charles frowned upon hearing his full name, you never called him that. Not unless it was for formality purposes in front of the media and the rest of the team. It was always Cha when it was just the two of you. What had changed?

The race turned over quickly – a great result for both Ferrari drivers, claiming P1 and P2 respectively. You admired Charles up there on the podium with the biggest smile on his face as his national anthem played in the background.

As the celebrations ended, Charles immediately ran down and welcomed the cheers of the Ferrari team, as well as his girlfriend. You smiled sadly from afar, seeing him happy would be your utmost priority at all times. That’s what matters, his happiness. If it’s not you, then you’ll have to grow around the thorns piercing through your heart.

“Congratulations on P1, Charles,” You said, patting his shoulder, “Well deserved, it was a tough race.”

“Definitely tough,” He chuckled softly, putting the towel around his neck and looking at you momentarily, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s perfect. Nothing to worry about,” You forced a smile on your face, “C’mon, let’s get to the media pen.”

Charles frowned for the nth time today, he definitely knew something was up between the two of you. Walking to the media pen would consist of banter, nudges, or even racing each other to it. How come you were walking in front of him, but you felt so far away?

“Y/N, I know you like the back of my hand,” Charles mumbled, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him, “What’s wrong?”

Pulling back your arm, you shook your head with a smile you’d usually reserve for formalities, “Everything’s fine, Charles.”

“See, you say everything is fine,” Charles scoffed, “But, you call me Charles. You never call me that in the 2 years that you’ve been with me.”

You exhaled before turning back and walking towards the media pen, “Well then, I guess things have changed.”

It was safe to say that Charles was left dumbfounded, thoughts racing around his mind that went from ‘Had I done something wrong?’ to ‘Why is she being like this?’. Media interviews felt like torture to him, the agony was prolonged when you were by his side, but then it felt like you weren’t really there at all.

Charles caught up to you as the two of you walked out of the media pen, “Can we talk?”

“I was about to say the same thing,” You smiled sadly, clutching the clipboard to your chest, “Somewhere a little more private.”

You let Charles walk ahead back to his driver’s room. It was supposed to be two weeks from now, but then you decided to inform the higher ups that you’re leaving after this race. You figured it was better to rip the band-aid off completely rather than doing it bit by bit.

As Charles closed the door behind the two of you, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, “You go first.”

“I’ve decided that I’m…” You took a deep breath and further carried the heavy weight on your shoulders, “Fuck it. I won’t be here after this race anymore.”

“Oh, you’re taking a vacation?” Charles looked at you, raising an eyebrow, “That’s why you’re acting weird? Thinking that I wouldn’t let you?”

Sighing and shaking your head, you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill, “No. I’m leaving.”

Charles felt the immediate pang to his chest, feeling as if the world around him had stopped and it’s as if he suddenly couldn’t comprehend what you had just said.

“What do you mean you’re leaving? Wha- why? Have I done something wrong?”

Averting your gaze, you mumbled, “I’m just not happy here anymore.”

“Not happy? Y/N, I know you’re lying,” Charles ran a hand through his hair, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration, “What about the promises we’ve made to each other? You seeing me be a world champion and me seeing you go to medical school?”

“I’m not lying, Charles!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air and pacing around the room, “I just…I feel like staying here is torture.”

“Then fine, leave. I’m not stopping you,” He scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a few tears falling out, “It’s your choice.”

“You can have this back and give it to her instead,” You sniffled, taking off the charm bracelet and shoving it in his hand, “Thanks for everything, Charles.”

Charles didn’t reply to you, clutching the charm bracelet in his hand tightly and putting it inside his pocket. He wished you hadn’t given it back to him – so that at the very least, you’d have a piece of him with you, just like you to him. But, he thought that it isn’t what you wanted.

He hoped that you’d turn around to look at him one last time as you exited the room, leaving the door open. for him to watch you walk out. But you didn’t, and that was all that Charles needed to know that you were not only leaving Ferrari but also his life.

[silentreigns]

Canadian GP Qualifying Reflection

Everyone and their mom wanted Yuki's heads on a stick for impeding their laps. And I feel like the F1 community on Twitter and Instagram are doing the absolute most. The worst part is that Yuki can't really express any emotionally express anything because people would just stereotype him as being an angry driver.

This was cute and funny from some Ferrari fans but if Yuki went on the radio and called Charles a dickhead we would not hear the end of it ever. No shade but we need to call these things out when we see it: the expectations on behavior for PoC drivers is waaaaaay different from the white ones

Why did Checo stay on Inters for all of q2? Like I think they called him back into the pits to switch him on another set and he just continued to struggle? But they gave Max the right set of tires at the right time? I need to rewatch since I was so confused because at one point he was the only one on Inters

Lando driving the 7th fastest car on the grid going equal to qualifying with Checo on the fast car on the grid by a huge margin is so... 😭😭😭 Either Lando is just that good or Checo just doesn't feel comfortable in the car. Or maybe it's a combination of both

The amount of hate Carlos has gotten this weekend is insane. It was bad when he spun in free practice and caused a red flag. It had people calling for him to be dropped by Ferrari, as if free practice ain't the best time to be making these mistakes. He deserved his penalty for screwing over Pierre's quali and Pierre had the right to be upset about it. But that doesn't mean people can be sending him threatening messages!

Alex was so cunty in q2 by putting in a lap time on softs first. Like I was so excited for him to get into q3 again only for him to not be able to put in a proper lap. I genuinely think the Williams upgrades are working and I am very excited to see them fight for positions

Everyone please pray for Charles because even when he calls for the right strategy his team still tells him otherwise. Never seen a driver disrespected by his team like he has been 😭. They asked Max about his opinion on a different set of tires, Max said no, and they kept it pushing. Why doesn't Ferrari have faith in Charles like they love to put him on the wrong tires all the time. Maybe they have a humiliation kink

This don't even look right. An hour has passed and Hulk still managed to qualify p2. And I am typing this before the decision about speeding during red flags has been made. So if they take away his p2 I'll be sad for like 2 seconds but then I'm gonna be happy because Lewis gets promoted (Lewis getting upgraded grid positions for 3 races in a row sounds correct to me but I doubt anything will happen).

I anticipate Fernando vs Lewis being the main fight at this GP. Nico will be in the front for like the first few laps, but I'm pretty sure he's gonna get overtaken quickly by both of them. Not sure if there will be a safety car or red flag because it might be a dry race tomorrow? Honestly I cannot say much about what will happen outside of Max getting another GP victory

George if you're out there reading this on your burner don't suggest team orders for you and Lewis to swap places because I'm gonna be annoyed. Think about the children (me).

Update: Nico got the penalty which is actually kinda fucked up like let the backmarker team have their moment? But shout out to Lewis he's starting p3 which means another podium is possible 🥳🥳🥳

[formula-fun]

First of all, love your fics! Ur really talented! No pressure at all but do u know when the next update is gonna be? Could u recommend us some lestappen fics to read until ur next chapter? 😭🙏🏼

Hiiiii baby, thanks so much!!! I know I say it a lot but I truly do mean to have it out in the next few days! It's at about 12K right now and I've highlighted three sections that need better transitions to the section after them, so I basically have three short scenes to write and then proofreading, and then it'll (hopefully) be good to go. Thanks so much for waiting, and it's always nice to know people are excited about it!! I swear I'll try to have it out to you as fast as possible <3333

I should probably do a long official rec list soon as well, but there's a short one for you under the cut!!

/krak ʃɪt/ - @xiaoluclair - series - i love love love crack always and forever, and this is absolutely perfect. If you need something light and short to cheer you up this will have you set for the rest of forever. Their vibe is so fuckin good and these always make me laugh so hard!

on the limit - @drivestraight - 6.8 - this entire series is gorgeous, but I want to recommend this part in particular because even as a standalone I think it's really really brilliant! It's packed with so much subtext and such a punchy start to a series that ended up changing the way i think about this pairing, i love it

all this happened, more or less - @lightningmickqueen - 10.3K - the drama the melancholy the intrigue the overall vibe!! i reread this all the damn time and honestly it never makes me any less insane. fics with tweets and headlines worked into them never fail to make me lose my shit, i just love it and this is so well done

oui chef - @actparci - 16K - this is like if f1 met the bear except honestly the bear could never. i want to eat this fic and not just because it's about food. the found family restaurant vibe is perfectly done and everything about it just works, and I love Max and Charles' whole dynamic in this but also the way it builds up into them being work spouses. also max mother henning his friends is something that we will literally never have enough of fuck ya!!!!

+1

Where The Heart Is - @gemjam - 57K - this isn't lestappen and is a little older but it belongs on every rec list i ever do because it was one of the first f1 fics I ever read when i was introduced to the sport almost 10 years ago! i was a certified ferrari fan and red bull hater from the beginning, but the vibe of red bull as a little family compels me to this day and is simply so so essential and still so real. we have been shipping ferrari drivers with red bull drivers for ten long slutty years and we will continue to do so. It's also so good as a coming of age story!!!! it's honest and awkward and life isn't always perfect and people don't always behave their best whether theyre kids or teenagers or parents! Nobody has it all figured out, but they choose to keep trying every day and they love each other the best they can and i could honestly write an essay about how much that meant to me when I was 16 but also how dear to me that idea is at 25. also this fic introduced me to spanish tortilla which was a massive win, and it made me want a farm as a teenager and now im an architecture student and i understand workaholic adrian on a spiritual level. like this fic is so rich ive been screaming about it for a whole decade if you want to try something different give it a shot

[hertwood]

dts s2 e4-6

e4: -sorry seb's "says who?" at the start of episode (in response to ferrari telling him what to do) GAGGED sets the tone for the episode PERFECTLY -mattia talks about monza the way indy drivers talk abt the 500 lmao -the whole "there is no #1 driver" bit makes me think hey r there parallels to be drawn between sebchal here and alonso/hamilton in 2007? just thinkin about it -before i get to far i want to share some thoughts: when i first watched this episode with NO prior knowledge it was rly hard to follow. after i heard about the specifics of the ferrari engine controversy (cheating), for the second watch i remember this episode suddenly clicking for me! this episode would've benefitted so much from a will buxton monologue explaining the juicy details for a newish viewer. i understand that there might have been pressure from ferrari to not include those details but it is such a shame, to have such a core piece of information missing and viewers have to try to piece together the narrative without it :/ -HI LAURA WINTER -very much get the impression that seb is like the family member who notices the generational trauma and going hey maybe we should change things to stop that and gets exiled from the family instead :) those sure are the vibes -HI CHARLOTTE -im sorry the back to back "seb has a lack of confidence with the car. and charles' car is not performing" like theyre the same car but you're gonna frame it like its seb's fault but not charles's? mattia choke -at the part where they're explaining the engine controversy--i still stand by wishing they explained it better and EARLIER because i think its much needed context for the first half of the episode too -at the end of the day all i need to know is that seb clearly thought that what ferrari did was wrong, and thats all i need to know if he says so then i believe it!! -the way netflix is trying to tease like ~oh imagine all the different teams he could go to! who wouldnt want him~ is so cheeky but also i NEED to know what this was like live when yall didnt know where he was going i'm JEALOUS i wish i got to be there for it all to unfold -double ferrari dnf at monza must've been crazy to watch live too lmao -seb zigzagging through all the photographers on his bicycle. love him -seb announcing his new seat the same weekend as ferrari's 1000th is crazy ex girlfriend levels of unhinged (pos). like posting ultrasound pics the same day as your ex's wedding type of shit. no one does it like him -sorry im incapable of watching ferrari episodes without writing an essay. hope you enjoyed

ep5: -the great daniel/cyril divorce -i cant remember who said it or where i saw it but when i first got into f1 properly someone talked about how Different things might've been if there hadn't been covid--since the season was delayed, the contract was signed before reneault could have any races with daniel that year--so daniel could only make that decision based off 2019 races -the jump clearly did not work out for him but alpine also went to shit too. but if cyril hadn't left who knows. i think all of daniel's choices make sense honestly!!!! he just got very unlucky -anyway their dynamic is insane and they deserve soooo many more fic than they have!! -"it's probably a bit like being dumped by a girlfriend, but she hasn't moved out of the house yet." christian did eat with this one. unfortunately -i love cyril but him being the one to actually complain about the pink mercedes feels very..... my wife is divorcing me so i'm gonna sue my neighbors over the property line -"i hate those fucking pink cars" oh i need to gif that. i'll be watching and i'll just KNOW like yeah that needs to be in the next gifset -i cant believe i havent mentioned it yet renault colors are the BEST daniel has ever looked i miss having yellow n black on the grid. maybe thats why alpine went to shit they gave up the best color combo they could have

e7: -pierre redemption episode!!! i think this is one of the best episodes ever tbh. very cathartic movie plotline really ticks all the boxes -HI PATRICK -ok but the fact that dts NEVER covered alex's podiums w red bull after milking the shit out of his missed podiums is a hate crime to me personally -onboards going through eau rouge are scary af. -filled with rage at how christian horner chews up new drivers and spits them up (even though its all so predictable at this point. no one will ever live up to the golden boy) -i remember seeing people complain that the williams family leaving wasn't given focus in dts, if anyone has any fun video essays about that i'd love to watch! -i do take issue with will buxton saying "red bull can't admit they made a mistake (with alex)" i think red bull made a mistake with promoting ANYONE too early and expecting too much from them, but not in a pierre v alex way. neither of them were given enough time or support by red bull to flourish. and they lowkey admitted that recently lmao -but it /is/ cathartic to know that red bull have tried to get alex back since then and he doesn't need his toxic ex in his life anymore no thanks ✌️ -i just know i'll LOVE watching this race in full -they set up the suspense so well for the end of the race -and it really is. if carlos had won this race with mclaren, his first win, how different would the trajectory of his career been -ANYWAY theres something that just always gets me about men holding all their emotions in right until they cross the finish line and they finally allow themselves to feel the emotions. (recent example that made me SOB was theo when he won f2) i also love how much it clearly meant to the alphatauri guys in the garage. last time that happened was with seb for torro rosso yeah? so its clearly so so special

[call-me-jennn]

in the throes

My apartment doesn’t have in unit laundry. The laundry building is just a short walk away, especially when you cut through the pool. All you need is a key fob to get in. The fucking key fob. 

It’s simple. You gather your laundry in the basket, the detergent pod, the key fob and the payment card and walk to the laundry building to wash your clothes. Then in 45 minutes, you go back to put the clothes in the dryer. Then after an hour, you pick up your clothes, bring it back to the apartment, and fold / put your clothes away. Couldn’t be simpler. But every week it’s a battle. Jenn vs the key fob. 

I don’t know what it is, I just always lose the key fob. It had a dedicated hook where it was supposed to be hung, but then the lanyard fell off. Now I have a dedicated marble dish, and I just can’t manage to put it back there when I’m done. 

It starts with preparing to do laundry that I realize that it’s not where it’s supposed to be. I can’t find it and I start to have a meltdown. I can’t do laundry without it. I get overwhelmed with all these emotions of frustration and disappointment in myself for not putting it back to its proper place. I try not to cry. Where is it? I search all the flat top surfaces of the apartment, my fanny pack, and the pockets of all my clothes. I always eventually find it somewhere. This past time it was under a stack of mail, inches away from the marble dish. I guess I had tried to put it back in its place, but still managed to fail, by inches. I’m get so frustrated at myself.

Then I wash the clothes. After 45 minutes it’s time to put the clothes in the dryer. Where is the key fob? It’s really a toss up where it might be. It’s a 30 second walk to the laundry building, how could I misplace it in that walk? Sometimes it’s in the dish. Other times it could be anywhere. My pockets or my fanny pack. One time I couldn’t find it and it ended up being under the bed. Another time I found it on the sidewalk outside, dropped during a detour when I got distracted by the lights and sounds of police sirens, similar to the way a dog gets distracted by a squirrel.

I can usually find the fob when the clothes are finished drying. But the process of picking up the clothes and bringing them back to the apartment to fold and put away has me focused on completing those steps. So focused that I forget that there’s another step I need to complete. Putting the key fob back. And that’s how the key fob ends up staying in whatever pocket, or on the desk, or on the dining table, or wherever instead of where it’s supposed to be. Then the next week comes and I realize I don’t know where the key fob is.

Are you fucking stupid Jenn? Honestly, I wish I was. I think I’d be so much happier if it was just stupidity. If I were just stupid, I think maybe I wouldn’t be aware that there’s even a problem. Or maybe I wouldn’t be able to figure out a solution. But it’s not stupidity, it’s just brain dysfunction. I’m painfully aware of the problem and fully know what the solution is. I just can’t do it.

I swear I’m not just stupid. If you saw me at work, or at the hospital or at school, you’d think I’m smart. I can do so many things, I can solve problems and I can come up with creative solutions. My brain is a Ferrari. How can I be defeated weekly by a stupid key fob? My brain is a tricycle. Albert Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I’m insane. This key fob destroys my self esteem every week. I’m reminded every week how useless I am. I have a good memory. I don’t take any notes in school because I remember everything. But I can’t remember to put back the key fob.

During this past weekend’s meltdown, he, as he does every single time, hugs and gently consoles me. It’s not a big deal, he says. It’s okay if the fob gets lost, we can always order another one. But why don’t you put the key fob on your set of keys, he suggests for the thousandth time. My keys, which has an Airtag on them, the Airtag that he put on them. Finally, after years of struggle, I put the key fob on my keys. And just like that, problem solved.

And that’s me medicated. Unmedicated, it was this, but with everything. Forgot to pay a bill, forgot to submit my resume, forgot to take my exam. Can’t find my keys, can’t find my debit card, can’t find my glasses. Each little thing accumulates into a dozen failures constantly. And you feel horrible because with each one there was a simple solution that could’ve prevented it from happening. If only you had the brain power. For a long time I thought it was just laziness. But it’s not that I don’t want to do these things. I didn’t just choose not to. You think I wanted to be like this? I don’t know how else to describe it other than that it’s just hard. Everything was just hard, all the time. Now some things are just hard some of the time. Things are so much better now.

After years of weekly losses, I’ve finally defeated the key fob. On to the next battle.

(I know I don’t write as much anymore but this ADHD medication unfortunately makes me feel less creative. Today’s inspiration struck because I forgot to take my medication hehe.)

[formulatrash]

Hi! If you feel comfortable speaking about it, could I ask for your take on the red bull/ sky sports issue? And would you agree with audiences seemingly holding sky sport to a higher standard because they are the global feed? Would like to hear it from someone who’s actually a journalist and I trust your ethics, but only if you’re comfortable of course! Thank you!

well, there's a lot here. firstly: Sky are only the global feed because until recently F1 couldn't be arsed to do its own broadcasting, so the British contract got used as the world english language feed because Bernie didn't want to deal with that, so just signed something and made it go away. so Sky being that isn't really any kind of official endorsement or extra responsibility on their part, it's that F1 was like aw shit we need one of those ok fine let's just use yours.

what I think is that Ted's a journalist and he's allowed to say what the hell he likes within that. the clip that seems to have seriously set it all off this weekend (where he said Lewis was "robbed") was him talking about how Lewis has said he felt, so wasn't even editorialising it, he was just talking about how this past year and developing what turned out to be a dog of a Mercedes had played out for Lewis. I, honestly, do not see an issue with reporting what Lewis has said about how he's felt this past year and tbh it'd be much worse to make up shit he hasn't said. so, that is what it is.

Red Bull are smarting very badly from the budget cap thing. both because it has put question on this year's car and because it has dug up 2021 again. I get that this is a sensitive issue for the team and people invalidating achievements that hundreds of people have moved heaven and earth and utterly exhausted themselves to get is incredibly frustrating and disheartening and annoying. social media this season has been exceptionally toxic - think about what was aimed at Hannah Schmidt - so I think that Red Bull have a case for saying that they feel protective of their achievements and

they also have suffered major reputational damage, which can be sponsor damage, via the drawn out budget cap enforcement process. is that part of the appropriate punishment for screwing up where other teams managed not to? yes but also everyone is very tired, at this stage in the F1 season and people are running to breaking point in stress terms.

is it wildly rich for a team that dishes out some of the biggest verbal lashings to get precious about it? I mean, yes but that's Formula 1 for you. Ferrari can get remarkably mouthy for a place that can't go more than half a decade without putting something illegal on their car, y'know. Mercedes certainly have said some shit. even Haas and Williams'll give it out if someone'll listen.

so: I think it is all a bit of a case of everyone being tired, emotional and stressed right now. Ted hasn't done anything wrong and the fans pillorying him are the actual problem in any case; that amount of mental noise is insane. Take last week when for three days there was a different member of F1's presenting team trending every hour over fucking Brad Pitt of all the complete arseholes. and it wasn't Brad Pitt trending! Brad Pitt, this super-famous celebrity we're meant to be sticking our tongues up the butthole of and ignoring serious abuse testimonies about, was not trending, it was the guy who does bits about how qualifying works on Drive to Survive. having been in the eye of that stuff often enough myself (much too often, given Buxton is a Pitt-level celebrity compared to me) it's just like being blasted in a wind tunnel only the only data you receive is the knowledge you are, indeed, a cunt.

anyway, I digress; I think it's an overreaction but contextually an understandable one, given the landscape of abuse and the intensity of the season. and I don't have to hear Christian Horner on the pit wall, so.

[sun-undone]

New canon obx details from the Pogue Life Scrapbook Hardcover (part 1)

So this book is basically set up as if it's the pogues making a scrapbook of their lives with cute little graphics and handwritten details. Each pogue (including Sarah) has their own section where the content is more skewed toward them, but all of the other pogues write stuff in the margins, and their comments honestly read pretty in-character (at least imo).

According to the author, Joey Elkins, he was asked by the creators to write it, and he was also the script coordinator for season 1, which is why i feel like it's safe to say that the details in the book are supposed to be canonical.

((Throughout this entire book, they pretend that all of the events in the show have happened in 2019 instead of 2020, which is so unnecessarily annoying but yeah i'm just gonna try to shift the years accordingly))

With that disclaimer out of the way, here's some potentially interesting stuff from the first half of the book, going sequentially through each of the sections:

First things first, though. Map. Map.

John B

Big John apparently makes really good banana pancakes, according to Pope

Big John taught John B about the constellations and the North Star

Big John spent 2 years studying archaeology and history at UNC Wilmington

Apparently, Big John taught John B how to scuba dive when he was 10....which pretty blatantly denies the canon but okay??

John B bought the Twinkie when he was 15

I feel like everyone pretty much assumes this already, but the HMS Pogue belonged to Big John before he gave it to John B

JJ once tried and failed to spear a massive tuna when the pogues were out fishing

John B once raced Topper's Malibu 24-MXZ in the HMS Pogue and obviously lost

POTENTIAL JARAH B FIC MATERIAL: One summer, Ward asked John B to work the My Druthers for a kook party, and John B remembers not being noticed by any of the kooks, including Sarah. Sarah adds that she did in fact notice him, and that Topper even got pissy with her because he kept catching her looking at "the cute first mate with the tousled hair and unbuttoned shirt" (in Sarah's words)

John B and JJ have absolutely brought extra sunscreen to the Boneyard to flirt with Tourons

this is such a random detail but the DCS officer's full name is Cheryl Coleman, and she's from the South Carolina DCS, not North Carolina

Ward hired surfing instructors to teach Sarah to surf, but she quickly shoved them off and preferred to learn by herself

The first time Kie went surfing, she was having a really difficult time finding her footing, but after seeing a pack of dolphins in the water with her, she took it as a sign to push through

JJ

Cambank sibling supremacy anyone?? this is cute as fuck okay

One time, JJ asked Big John to lend him his metal detector so he could try to find valuable shit on the beach to pawn. He mostly just found junk, but he did find a brass necklace which he promptly gave to a girl named Shauna, claiming that it was gold. He also found a vintage Hot Wheels Ferrari, which he claims is his prized possession

JJ believes in a bunch of urban legends surrounding the OBX, claiming that one time, Ricky had to patch up some Touron hikers who had some suspicious looking bites

Another very random, specific detail that i personally live for: Mrs. Crain's first name is Alma

JJ has several hiding spots for weed in the Twinkie, including but not limited to: tears in both the back and front seat upholstery, the passenger-side sun flap, under the floor mats, and behind the air conditioning panels (John B says that that last one is a horrible idea as if there has been an incident in the past, so take that how you will)

JJ bought his dirt bike the summer before the show starts, and he apparently got the money from him and John B giving surfing lessons to Tourons

MORE POTENTIAL FIC MATERIAL: i can't even properly summarize this so here is a fourth of july story from the obx

Places JJ has worked and gotten fired from: Island Club (we know how that one ended), Kildare Surf Shop, Pelican Spa, E. Reed Mattress Mart, and Masonboro Beach

Once, the kooks teepeed Kildare High, so JJ snuck onto their football field and ripped it up with his bike. He has also gotten in trouble for selling weed gummies on school property and falling asleep (and apparently snoring very loudly) in Mr. Sunn's class

I'll go over Kie, Pope, and Sarah's sections in another post!!

[ahtsumu]

LOVE PERSEVERING, EP 1. “The Plot Twist”

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

synopsis: the nanami’s have an evening full of surprises – the most surprising of all, however, is the one that comes without explanation.

tag(s): loose (very loose) wandavision!au, humor, domestic fluff, suggestive content, profanity, can be read as a standalone! ; wc: 2.6k

love persevering m.list

“SORRY I’M LATE.”

Nanami Kento closes the front door behind him and changes out of his oxfords for house slippers. The traffic was crazy, there’d been an accident on the 101, a Maserati collided with a Ferrari and the two drivers were hashing it out in the middle of – no, that’s a horrible story and even worse lie. He doesn’t even drive to work. He takes the Caltrain to his job in San Francisco every morning and takes it home to Sunnyvale every evening.

Shit, Nanami thinks as he tries to hide the evidence of his… offense. Can he cover it up with something? Maybe if he held his briefcase in front of it… No, that’s so obvious. It’s so… red. And big. There’s no way it’d stay concealed.

It’s not that Nanami is in any way dumb or easily frazzled. No, he’s quite intelligent and levelheaded and the fact that he works as an Associate at Goldman Sachs should be proof enough. It’s just that he strongly dislikes the thought of lying to you. Technically, he doesn’t even have to make up a story to explain his tardiness. You probably don’t really care that he’s – Nanami checks his watch while setting his briefcase down – an hour late home. But having a story would quell your suspicions about the true reason he’s late.

See, today his co-worker Archie was talking on and on about how he surprised his wife with a bouquet of fifty roses the other night and, well, Nanami felt inspired. He’s not typically one for large romantic gestures, so he thought that maybe he should step up his game and at least remind you of how much he loves you the one day he’s given a sign to.

“First, you gotta lower her expectations, y’know?” Archie says like he’s giving a pitch. “Make her think the conversation is gonna be far from romantic. Say something totally boring. ‘Hey, honey, I had a great day at work today.’ Somethin’ like that, y’know? Then you just whip it right out. Bam.”

Nanami looks at the pink peonies in his hand with a small smile. Happy marriage, the flower shop attendee had said. Hearing your footsteps leading out from the second-floor bedroom, he quickly places the red bouquet behind the living room sofa before rushing back to his original place by the door. At first sight of your figure descending the stairs, Nanami starts (perhaps too exaggeratedly) loosening his tie.

“Ken.”

Oh. Oh, this doesn’t sound too good. Pausing his movements, Nanami assesses the damage. Your arms are crossed over your chest and your head is slightly cocked to the side, and you’re shooting him an expectant look. To be frank, you look a little pissed. You’re not even smiling. This definitely isn’t too great.

“Honey,” he starts, flashing you a conciliatory smile.

“Did you know that we were supposed to leave for our reservation an hour ago?” you interrupt.

Reservation? It doesn’t ring a bell.

Oh, is that why… fuck.

Taking your husband’s silence as evidence that he’d forgotten, you let out a sigh and walk up to his frozen frame, stopping when you’re right under his nose. “Did you?”

Nanami looks up at the ceiling as he tries to recall anything about reservations, but his mind turns blank. Actually, he thinks as he furrows his brows, he can’t even remember what he did yesterday.

“No,” he admits truthfully, looking into your eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m really sorry but I don’t remember at all. Listen, I –”

And then, you laugh.

“I was just messin’ with you, babe.” Still giggling, you pull him in for a hug. “The reservation’s not today.”

Nanami blinks as his arms wrap around you. There’s no reservation. “You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles. “I genuinely thought that I’d done something wrong.”

“No, definitely not. You’re wonderful.” Lifting your heels off the floor, you capture Nanami’s lips in a short kiss. He eagerly responds, pulling you closer into his firm body. This is, without a doubt, Nanami’s favorite part about coming home. You. Always there, at the end of the day, with your sunny little grin and sweet, adoring eyes. A little piece of paradise.

“You are so much trouble,” he murmurs as you pull apart. You hum at that, unable to disagree.

“We do, however, have a reservation at eight tomorrow.”

He frowns. “I genuinely don’t remember making plans for that, darling, I’m sorry.” Nanami glances down at your face and notices your surprised expression.

“Me neither. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me something about that.”

Well, that’s odd. It’s not often that either of you forgets anything, let alone something as easily remembered as a dinner reservation. It’s utterly peculiar that you would both happen to forget about the same thing. Today’s turning out a lot stranger than he’d ever expected. “How’d you find out?”

You pull your phone out of your back pocket and show him the email confirmation.

Dear Mr and Mrs. Nanami,

Thank you for making a reservation with us at Gary Danko. As a reminder, your reservation is for two people at 8:00 PM this Friday.

If you have any questions concerning your reservation, please feel free to contact us. We look forward to serving you!

Thank you,

The Gary Danko Team

“This is… strange,” Nanami notes, studying the little screen.

“Very,” you agree.

“Should we cancel?”

“Should we?”

“I –”  Nanami’s stomach grumbles, putting a pause on your conversation.

With a chuckle, you slide your phone back into your pocket. “Never mind. We can talk about it during dinner,” you say, helping your husband out of his suit jacket. As the blazer comes off, you affectionately rub a few circles on his back, feeling his posture relax under your touch. Honestly, he works too hard. You always tell him this but he really should take a few days off and drive down to the beach – maybe with you, if he’d like – and forget about the world for a while. God knows he could use the rest.

Nanami hums in approval. “You go on first.” He kisses your forehead before gesturing at the briefcase on the floor. “I should put this away.”

The moment you disappear into the dining room, Nanami moves his briefcase onto the coffee table and brings the bouquet of pink peonies out from their place behind the sofa, this time holding them behind his back. A reservation neither of us remembers, he suddenly thinks as he strolls quietly towards the dining room. Truly odd. Tucking the thought away in his mind (there’s always time to figure out mysteries like these), Nanami calls out, “Actually, honey, there’s a reason why I came home late today.”

“I was just about to ask. What was it?” You’re almost done setting the table when Nanami walks through the archway with a bouquet of flowers almost as broad as his shoulders.

“Holy shit.”

He laughs, filling the room with its bell-like sound. “For the lady.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you walk over and take the bouquet from his arms, cradling it like a baby. Each petal is fresh and alive and so vibrantly pink. It’s obvious that a lot of care went into this bouquet, and it only touches you further that your husband went to such lengths to guarantee you’d only get the best flowers possible. “Thank you, darling. What’s the special occasion?”

“No occasion,” Nanami says, shrugging. “Just that I love you. And I wanted to remind you that, even on days where nothing happens and it feels like we’re just going through the motions –” he takes your free hand and hunches over to kiss the ring on your fourth finger “– knowing I get to share every day with you gives me joy to look forward to.”

Happy marriage. It’s true and that’s all there is to say about it.

You’re unable to form words. Nanami Kento, the subtle, quiet lover, being loud with affection for once. An indescribable warmth spreads all throughout your body. “Ken…” Tears prick at your eyes as you set the bouquet down on the table and rush into his arms, peppering his face with kisses. “I love you,” you murmur in his ear. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you. Thank you.”

Nanami grins, cradling your face in his large palms. “I should do this more often,” he says, letting out a breathy chuckle when you nod instantly. “I’m sorry. I’ll work on – ” You cut him off with a slow but eager kiss, snaking your arms around his neck and tugging him closer to deepen it. If Nanami had been surprised by your interruption he doesn’t show it – his lips, soft and plump, move in complete synchronization with yours. He tastes like tea and honey and he smells like he always does, of wood and spice and the beach. It’s intoxicating and completely dangerous how irresistible he is and you can’t get enough of him.

The truth is, every real kiss with Nanami feels like the first. And you can never get enough. But you are running out of air, so you break the kiss first and rest your forehead against his, feeling his hot breath fan across your cheeks.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, stroking his cheek with the pad of your thumb. “I wouldn’t want anyone else as my husband.”

Nanami quirks one corner of his mouth up and covers your hand with his, turning his head to kiss its palm. “If I had another life to live after this one, I’d marry you in that one, too.”

A prolonged growl from Nanami’s stomach interrupts your sweet moment.

“I think your stomach objects.”

“Maybe we should shove something down it, like dinner.”

Grinning, you slip out of your husband’s reach and beckon him to follow you into the kitchen.

“This salmon is delicious,” Nanami remarks, taking another bite off his fork.

“Thank you,” you beam. “I found a recipe while I was at work today and thought I’d try it out. Honey garlic salmon. My life is forever changed and so is yours, by extension. You’re welcome.”

Nanami chuckles, ready to respond with a dry comment about ‘having no choice,’ but then that odd email you’d shown him earlier resurfaces in his mind. “Speaking of changes. Should we cancel that Gary Danko reservation?”

You hum, thinking back to the letter as you chew. It seems like the most logical thing to do. After all, neither of you remembers making the reservation. The ambiguity surrounding its existence is unsettling enough to warrant cancellation, but something in you just wants to see what might happen. Swallowing your food, you say, “Don’t you think it’s strange that it has our names on it? I think we should consider going.”

“What if it’s a scam?”

“Then we go home, order Indian takeout, and watch a war documentary until we both fall asleep.”

Unconvinced, Nanami sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, the navy fabric of his button-up tightening around his muscles. “We should call them first, figure out if they know anything.”

“You’re right,” you say, and then you pause before adding, “And if they don’t?”

You’re done speaking but Nanami knows that sentence isn’t finished, and that the other unspoken half is: can we still go? The truth is – and he’s told you many times – that your unpredictability is the most predictable thing about you. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, eyes darting across your face as he contemplates his answer.

It’s not that Nanami is an overprotective husband or needlessly suspicious of every odd thing in life. It’s that he somehow cannot remember a single second of his life before today, the same day this email arrived. To be more accurate, he feels like he has those memories inside him. Somewhere, deep in his brain, he vaguely remembers what things like a “fifth birthday” or “first wedding anniversary” look like. They just feel out-of-reach. Regardless, he’s absolutely certain that things aren’t exactly right. But you look so excited and utterly unaware of his predicament, so it must be something only he’s experiencing and he doesn’t want to burden you with this problem.

“If you really want to go, then we’ll go,” Nanami concludes, taking a sip of his wine. “After all, the wife…”

“… is always right,” you finish for him. “Well, sometimes the husband is, too, but in this specific context, for unspecified reasons, the wife is most definitely correct.” The grin on your face almost puts his worries to rest.

(Almost.)

You call Gary Danko after dinner and they confirm your reservation.

“Sorry if this sounds, um, weird, but would you mind reminding me when we made this reservation?” you ask, walking in circles around the kitchen.

“Not at all!” Some typing noises travel through the receiver before the man you were talking to says, “Actually, you didn’t make the reservation.”

You make eye contact with Nanami who’s lightly rinsing the plates from dinner. “Pardon?”

“No, it was a Miss Amanda Priestly who called us and reserved the table for you two days ago on October 31st. Does that name sound familiar?”

Nanami raises his brows. That’s your boss.

“Um, yeah. I know her, thank you,” you say, frowning. What on earth is your boss doing reserving tables at Michelin-rated restaurants for you and your husband?

“She left a message, too, in case you were, quote, ‘confused,’ unquote. She says, ‘Mimsy, thank you for your help on the Modish Winter look book. Dinner is on me. Kisses, AP.’”

And suddenly, everything falls into place. All those late nights you spent analyzing old trends and predicting the next season’s rush into your memory. For a month, you pretty much lived in your office down the hall from your editor-in-chief. You barely even had time to sleep. It makes sense that Amanda would show her thanks for the effort you put into the project, but you hadn’t expected her to. After all, she’s Amanda Priestly. She still calls you Mimsy instead of your real name.

“Oh, of course!” you laugh, looking over at Nanami. He sends you a curious look before putting the rinsed plates into the dishwasher. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.”

The call ends and you tuck your phone in your pocket as you say, “Mystery solved.”

“Hmm,” Nanami says, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “The Modish Winter Look Book. For some reason, I don’t remember you working on that.” In fact, he doesn’t remember you working at a magazine company at all, although he can’t put his finger on what job he used to think you had. What is going on?

“Really?” you ask, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers together. “You don’t remember that time I ran into our office with four different tweed blazers and asked which one looked the most wintery?”

Nanami furrows his brows as a memory comes back to him. It was a sunny morning in early November when you ran into the home office with two blazers draped over each arm and forced him to rank them based on how well they exuded “winter energy.” Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing, just that the one with more blue seemed most appropriate for wintertime.

“I just remembered,” he says, a look of amused confusion coming over his features. Today has been so strange. “Did the blue blazer make it to the final look?”

“One moment,” you say, disappearing into the living room and returning with an advanced, rough copy of Modish’s Winter Fashion Edition. “It’s not out yet, but…” you trail off as you flip through the pages, pointing when you get to the one you were looking for “… here’s your contribution to the magazine.”

The blue blazer, in all its glory, smack dab in the middle of the section that says “TRENDS TO SAY GOODBYE TO.”

“Ouch.”

“Well, you predicted something,” you giggle, placing a hand on his chest. “Fashion might be your calling, Ken.”

He smiles wryly. “I’m hanging up.”

[princessofmerc]

Honestly between a horrible car, strategy and pit stops it’s going to be even more difficult to get anything this season. I feel like the championships are gone, and I sincerely hope all the data collected from Lewis’ car does something…

Sorry there are going to be swear words and this isn't meant personally. But we've had a P4 performance today with a botched Set up. A P4. George and Lewis are still very much in reach of winning the WDC the season is long, Ferrari and Red Bull are the teams statistically ruining their own chances this year. Nothing is won or lost yet.

And that's the fucking performance they're on while pretty much everyone around them have introduced updates. How about we stop calling losses before they are lost goddamnit. Do y'all even know how this sport works?

George's P4 is hope it's light because I can assure you: what George can do Lewis can as well.

Shov explained why pit stops are more difficult this year after the first race. If the car is so horrible why is George consistently in the Top 5? Sure it's luck as well, but his start, his battles with kmag and bottas topday? This man got a P4 on his WORST track. There's so much potential in the car they haven't unleashed yet. They prefer finding the error and then bringing in EFFECTIVE updates and that may take some time and Imola wasn't the right place for them to introduce updates and that makes sense because of the rain and the sprint they wouldn't have been able to test anything. Miami is going to be tough because logistically that won't work probably.

Do you know how often we criticise the strategy when it actually works out? I can give you a thousand examples from last year (most prominent one fucking Abu Dhabi) and sometimes it doesn't because someone else one ups you or you're unlucky that's the fucking sport and life for fucks sake.

Nothing is lost they're still in the run for any championship. For Fucks sake stop being so goddamn negative and look at the bright things: Mercedes is the team with the most succesful engineers, with the most successful driver and the bvrightest future talent. If anyone can do that it's them. And George's drive today showed that. Stop undermining his achievements by saying everything is going to fucking shit when he truly showed what this team and these drivers can do. For fucks sake.

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter 4)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Violence, language

Okay, yeah, sure, fine, you and Santi might not have been 100% honest about what you were planning in the jungle.

In fairness, neither of you ever actually said that this recon mission was at the behest of the CNP or Colombian military or any other government entity. You may have hinted at it. You may have neglected to correct the guys when they assumed. But you never actually told them that anyone had requested the raid on Lorea’s house.

What you had said was that there was a good chance this could turn into… something more. Something that might end up in a hefty pay day for all of you. You just never told the group of men that you and Garcia were actually banking on it.

You didn’t love the idea of lying to a bunch of strangers whom – if they agreed to everything – would end up holding your very life in their hands. Frankly, just the thought of doing so felt… sleezy. Especially considering that these men were Santi’s trusted friends. His brothers. But Santiago insisted that it needed to be played this way – They’ll never go for it if we tell them what we’re really up to. But I promise you, bonita, once they’re here, once they see… they’ll be all in.

He clearly knew his team because after just that single two-hour recce, a couple rounds of beers at a local bar, and a rather stirring, pointed speech, they were, in fact, all in.

And why not, really? The only one of them who had anything to lose – a family beyond those seen at the occasional holiday, wedding, or funeral – was Tom. And he’d been struggling so badly lately with impending alimony and child support and two kids’ worth of college tuitions – eight years minimum – that the money alone did all of their convincing for them.

It was illegal, yes. It was, as the captain said, “downright criminal.” But it wasn’t wrong. And as long as everything went according to plan, no one would know anything about any of it.

In the end, the world would be down at least one piece-of-shit, megalomaniacal drug lord murderer.

Some of the struggling people of Leticia – because you and Santi had promised each other and Yovanna that you’d drop a good chunk of the money into the hands of local charities – would have better lives.

Tom’s girls could go to college without having to worry about paying off student loans until they die.

Will could finally get rid of his old junker and buy a nice car – maybe not the Ferrari Ben was angling for, but a nice car all the same – to get him back and forth across the country for all those rousing speeches he insisted he would not stop giving.

Benny could invest in better training, at better gyms with better equipment… and real trainers. Or, hell, he could give all that shit up and quit getting his ass handed to him by kids ten years his junior, all in the hopes of capturing what was almost always one hell of a disappointing purse.

And Frankie? Well, Frankie wasn’t sure what he’d do with his share. But it sure would be nice to not have to worry so damn much. To not have to scramble to make the house payment every month. To not have to beg that dick who owns the local airfield to let him take on a few jobs just so he could settle into a cockpit for a bit. To maybe have the time – and funds – to take a woman on a date every now and then… not that he had a clue who that woman might be.

And you and Santi? Well, after years of accomplishing nothingin the fight against Lorea – the fight against the drug trade that had ruined and taken so many lives around the world – you two could finally say that you’d actually made a difference. Even if you couldn’t quite say it aloud for everyone to hear.

000

By the time you get to the compound early Sunday morning, rain’s already been falling for hours. The area’s nearly flooded, so your off-road path is basically a sprawling swampland. You barely slept, your hip is aching like crazy from an old injury, and the minute you step out of the SUV you damn near squeal like a stuck pig as you suddenly sink up to your calf in thick, sucking mud.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters under his breath – under a breathless laugh, you’re pretty sure – as he hops out and wraps a steadying arm around your waist. “Let me help,” he says, the words so soft, you can barely hear them over the unyielding pounding of the rain.

You try to balance, holding onto the door, one foot just barely sinking into the soft earth as Frankie leans down to pry the other from what feels like an utterly engulfing quicksand. He struggles, still holding you around the waist while his left hand works to grip your leg, your boot, your ankle… whatever he can wrap his fingers around. But it’s no use. The op has yet to even begin and already you’re stuck. In the disgusting mud. Deep in the endless jungle. With no hope of ever getting out.

You let out a painfully dramatic, completely despairing sigh and glance up only to see Benny laughing. Really laughing… not even trying to hide his utter, unabashed amusement at your awful predicament. You shoot him as threatening a glare as you can muster. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“Go get into position,” Tom orders, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his head – once again in a seemingly all-too-practiced dadway – before he bends down to help Frankie out.

Finally, finally, the two men manage to free you. Shockingly, your boot leaves the earth as well, though you can feel the muck inside squelching beneath your instep and in between your toes. Your lip curls in disgust as you haphazardly wipe the boot – bottom, sides, and top – on the wheel well, a bit of mud getting squeezed out near your ankle as you do so. “I’m gonna get jungle rot,” you mutter bitterly as you continue to smear grime along the body of the SUV.

Tom swats your leg away. “Just be sure you don’t give away your location with all the squishing,” he says with a hint of a smile. Then, patting Frankie on the back, he finishes with a much more stern, “Let’s do this,” and takes off to find his position, face and shoulders both set as he easily drops into soldier mode.

“I’m still not sure if I like that guy,” you begin as you and Frankie head for the high ground, “or really freaking hate him.”

He bites out a quick laugh, turns to show off that too-damn-perfect smile, and replies with an easygoing, “Yup.”

Once you make it out of your drop-in point, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. The worst part is just waiting, especially with the rain. Waiting for Garcia’s informant to drop off the van. Waiting for the guards to leave for church, the family not so quickly following suit. Waiting for the guys to move in – Frankie shooting a quick wink alongside, “Watch my six,” as he heads out to join them. Waiting for the all-clear from Benny before you can finally enter the house yourself.

The house. Lorea’s house.

You’d been waiting for this for too damn long. Years of hunting the man had led to these last few months of building out this very plan with Santiago… and then to the last week of recon and final plans with these soldiers whom you barely even know. For all of the initial mistrust heaped upon you by them – and you honestly don’t blame them for any of it – the truth is, they know they have each other to depend on. You’re the odd man out here. You’re the one who should be questioning them… their dedication to this mission. Their loyalty to Santi, and by extension, to you. Their desire to end Lorea’s reign of terror.

You’re in this to take that man out. And if just one of these guys decides that’s not going to happen – for whatever reason – you’re shit out of luck. You should trust them only as far as you can throw them, which would be… not very far. But as you catch sight of Ben standing inside the front door, eagerly waving you in, and as you see the trail of blood leading into the kitchen, a voice over the coms calmly declaring, we had to shoot one of the guards in the leg, something inside of you shifts and settles and all of the worries about who may or may not be trustworthy simply flit away to nothing.

But other concerns quickly rise to take their place.

Watching the highly trained special ops team move about you – each man light-footed and fluid, so quiet that their breathing is nearly inaudible, even as one of them leans over your shoulder from his position behind – is nerve wracking enough to make your legs begin to tremble. You knew what you were getting into here. You knew that this would be dangerous, that it would require a certain level of skill and technique and training. But it isn’t until you actually see these men – these elite soldiers – in action that you realize how woefully inept and unprepared you are in comparison.

Self-doubt begins to seep from the cracks now forming in your carefully crafted façade. Uncertainty, insecurity, fear starts to build up and rise within you, burning like bile creeping up the back of your throat. By the time you and Santiago finish the second sweep of the downstairs and begin climbing the steps to the second-story landing, your entire body is vibrating with regretful apprehension.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you hear as you approach the study upstairs. It’s the room where your informant took the picture of the stacks of cash after her delivery, the holding area where all of Lorea’s blood money sat, just waiting to be counted. But when you enter, there’s no money to be found, just pissed-off-looking soldiers surrounded by the empty bags they had planned to fill with cash.

“Your girl burned us,” Frankie mutters blankly, eyes full of regret and annoyance as he leans heavily against one wall. His dark gaze collides with yours for just a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head and breathes out, “We gotta get outta here.”

Your brow crinkles in confusion, all of the insecurity bubbling through your body suddenly settling and getting replaced by a sort of righteous indignation. “Whoa, wait,” you spit out, sidestepping Santi and rushing to the center of the room. “We’re not leaving. We’re not done here.”

Will gives you an almost disappointed look and blankly mutters, “Nothing here, sweetheart,” before dropping heavily into a chair in the corner.

You shake your head, a pointed certainty to your words as you level him with a heated stare and say, “Lorea’s here. He’s always here. He does not leave.”

Tom scoffs. “Yeah, well, he left today,” he says, tone full of spite. “And he took the money with him.”

You spin to face him, “No,” pouring from your lips in a firm and unyielding tenor. “He’s here. And so is the money.”

“We did a full sweep,” Will breathes out.

“So we’ll do another,” Santiago chimes in, suddenly at your back.

You look around at all the forlorn faces and roll your eyes, realizing all at once that, for all their training in war, these men don’t have a freaking clue about the kinds of things you deal with in your job. They’re used to encountering soldiers – enemy combatants, trained mercenaries, militias… people who’s purpose is to fight. That’s not what Lorea is. That’s not what he does. He didn’t move deep into the jungle to fight, to wage war, to build an army. He came here to hide.

“You guys are fucking idiots,” you declare with a huff. “I once spent two hours tearing apart a houseboat before finding the guy we were after squatting in a hidden cutout near the bilge. A few years ago, we found fifty thousand dollars under a false bottom in a hot tub while serving a search warrant. Another raid ended with us tearing apart a kid’s tree house that had cash hidden under the floorboards. You think because Lorea isn’t sitting here behind his desk, counting his millions like fucking Scrooge McDuck that they’re not here? That he’s not here?”

“Didn’t McDuck swim in his money?” Benny inquires from behind, the question earning quick huff of a laugh from his brother.

You feel Santi step away from your side. “She’s right,” he says, his eyes dancing around the room, looking for… something. They land on a mostly empty can of paint, and he smiles, sniffing quickly at the air. “Fresh paint.”

Tom’s eyes widen and tick towards the wall to his left as his lips split and out pours what you had all along seen as being an obvious truth. “The house is the safe.”

000

When it rains, it pours. You’d been the one to say that, to inanely mutter the adage through the coms with a huff as Benny took off back inside the house – the safe – while you sat in the now heavily weighted van, so full of money that the suspension sags to the point of extremeconcern.

The guards are coming back, the sound of their SUV’s engine just barely chugging atop the steady beating of the downpour that had engulfed you all for the past few hours. They’re coming back, and everyone but you is still inside.

Call it greed. Call it vindictiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But you all had agreed to get as much plata out of that house as possible, to fill the cars to the freaking brim with as much of that motherfucker’s money – his lifeblood, his love, his everything – before setting fire to the whole damn thing. You’d been in this business long enough to know that bringing down one cartel merely opens up a door for others to grow. But still, the idea of watching Lorea’s empire burn makes you wet in a way the torrential rain beating on the roof on the van never could.

You toss a glance back, over you shoulder at the mound of duffel bags, a child’s suitcase thrown into the pile as well, all filled to bursting with cash. It’s pretty unbelievable. Incredible. You’d never been the type to really worry about money, no more so than the average guy. But damn if being surrounded by millions of dollars doesn’t make you a little lightheaded. And the fact that it’s Lorea’s money?

Despite Santi’s little bullshit pep talk the other night about how all of you deserve this – for serving your country and fighting for what’s right… blah, blah, blah – you honestly don’t feel like you deserve this money any more than anyone else. But Lorea sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. And you trust yourself – and each of these men by your side – to put it to far better use than he ever would.

You can’t see the guards, can’t see the SUV carrying them from your vantage point in the van. But Benny had told you to stay put, he’d get the others and he wanted you ready to drive as soon as they came out. Still, you know now that the first car must’ve arrived at the compound because – aside from the steady pounding of the rain and the wild pulse of your heartbeat echoing in your ears – everything is suddenly silent. No more hum of an engine. No choppy callouts over the radio as Ben seeks out the guys. Everything is silent and still. Until… pop-pop, short and sudden, muffled by the thick walls of the house.

Over the coms you hear – in a calm, controlled tone – Two down in the entryway. Another sharp pop, followed by a voice you’ve come to easily recognize. That’s three.

There’s something in the way their words are uttered, something in the utterly placid tenor of each of their voices. Something also to the sparse shots – so unlike the rapid, automatic gunfire you’re used to being thrown into amid scared and untrained local police and inexperienced, foolhardy kids hired as cheap labor by the cartels. There’s something about the way they all rush suddenly into your line of sight – fast but calm, controlled – as they pour out of the house, a few racing past to find the guards’ SUV, the sounds of their footfalls and quick breaths nearly drowning out the whir of the engine as you turn the ignition. There’s something about it all that leaves you feeling – despite the fact that things did not go as planned and you can see that all-too-recognizable, pissed-off scowl tugging at Santiago’s features as he flies past your window – calm as well. Safe, even.

Frankie climbs quickly into the passenger side of the van just as you fire up the engine, Will slowly pulling himself into the seat behind him. “Shit,” you mutter, eyes widening as you take in the grimace on the man’s face, the blood on his hands and shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“S’fine,” he tells you, punctuating the statement with a nod, a directive to look forward. “Let’s move.”

You put the van in gear and hit the gas, maneuvering steadily through the compound and towards the front entrance. “Did you get shot?” you inquire again, your voice showing less concern and more simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he groans, a thick breath hitching as you hit a particularly big bump in the road. “Your friend Lorea popped out of his little hidey hole and got me. Guess you called that.”

You whip around to face him, eyes now like damn saucers. “You got him?”

Frankie grabs your arm and gives a little tug to get you turn back towards the front, only speaking, answering for Will, once you do so, once you settle a still-wild stare on the path ahead, “Yeah. Pope took him out. He’s dead.”

You say nothing for a long moment, letting those words seat inside of you. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. How long have you wanted to hear those words? How long have you been gunning for that son of a bitch, waiting for someone to take him out… hoping that someone might be you? Santi doing it is the next best thing, you figure.

A sudden explosion lights up in front of you as you approach the gate and Benny blows past it, and past the van, angrily muttering to himself all the while. “He looks pissed,” you comment blithely, looking to Frankie for something akin to permission before flooring it and ramming through the gate like you’re just itching to do.

He gives a staunch nod forward. “Can’t blame him,” he says, capping it off with a softer, rather encouraging, “Go for it.”

You hit the gas, glancing in the rearview mirror and asking, “The others are in the SUV?” as the guards’ car pulls up behind you and waits for Ben to jump in.

Frankie nods – “Yeah.” – and his eyes suddenly tick your way, narrowing a bit as they rove your body before coming to rest on your hands as they tightly grip the wheel.

“What?” you ask, feeling his stare burn into you.

Will laughs from behind – a swift, stilted thing that tells you just how much pain he’s actually in – and lets out an amused, “Fish always drives.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with put-on sincerity as you continue down the unpaved road. “Do you want me to pull over?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the plainly obvious pout tugging at his lips when he looks over at you and mutters, “Just watch where you’re going.”

The first half or so of the long drive up to the airfield is spent in tense silence. You don’t fight it, don’t force any sort of conversation, don’t inquire about what exactly happened in that house. You can tell that these men need a long-ass moment to come down from everything. Hell, your own adrenaline still has your pulse thrumming endlessly through your ears. And you’d been safely ensconced inside this van for most of the action. It’s not like you had to fight your way out of there. It’s not like you got shot.

Your eyes bounce up to the rearview mirror, finding Will curled into himself in the backseat. “How you doing, Ironhead?” you ask, purposefully infusing the ridiculous name with a mocking intonation.

He looks up and catches your gleaming eyes in the mirror, notes your slight smirk, and gruffly replies, “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Frankie supplies from your right. He spins around to give his friend a quick once over. “He’s fine.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” you challenge, raising a brow. “Didn’t see you coming out of there with a new hole in your body.”

“Didn’t realize you were so focused on my body,” he returns with a bit of a lilt.

Will groans loudly from the back. “Don’t start flirting up there,” he practically orders before the no-argument tone slips into something softer, almost jovial. “I’m suffering enough back here as is.”

“You’re fine,” Frankie shoots back, turning bodily in his seat and craning his head towards his friend. “You act like you’ve never been shot before.”

“I’m retired,” he replies. “Think I forgot how much this sucks.”

You nod, almost to yourself, emitting a simple, assenting, “Yeah.”

Frankie leans back, still remaining sideways in the seat, his stare now wholly on you. You glance over and see his brow scrunch in… is it concern? Or merely curiosity? “You’ve been shot?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice.

Again, you nod. “I have. Didn’t care for it.”

“See, Fish,” Will mumbles from the back as he slips further down the seat in an effort to find some semblance of comfort. “Maybe you’ve been so busy flying around rich businessmen in the private sector that you’ve also forgotten how shitty this is.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he mutters with a frown.

Will cocks his head at you – not that you can see it, eyes remaining trained on the road lest you get another watch where you’re goingevil stare from the man by your side. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You snort out a short laugh, glancing quickly at Frankie and saying softly – and more than a little bit condescendingly – “He likes to call me sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man in the back sighs out, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Guess I’m just a run-of-the-mill chauvinist.”

You shrug. “I never said anything about you being run-of-the-mill.” And from your right, you hear a soft snicker. A gentle smile spreads across your face and your hands loosen their death grip on the steering wheel just a bit as you feel the air filling the van begin to lighten, tension seeming to slowly spill away. After a lingering – but not at all wrought – moment, you shift a bit in your seat and say, “Went on a raid just outside of Tijuana. My first down in Mexico. And I took a bullet in the hip.”

“Shit,” Will intones. “Hell of a bienvenido.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, suddenly all-too conscious of the old ache in your joint that’s been plaguing you all day. “But on the plus side, I’m now always the first to know when it’s about to rain.”

Both men laugh. You laugh – despite the pain in your hip and the worry about the guy in back… and your terribly distracting infatuation with the wide smile now painted on Frankie’s face. You all sit in the van – on your way to flee the country after committing a terrible crime – and laugh about the fact that, despite each of you being a little bit broken, none of you are dead yet.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

[flatspot]

it's time for the race. silverstone 2008. i don't think it needs any further introduction. yes we've missed a lot out in this first half of the season but i've only got a week left.

silverstone (i am determined to watch this in one sitting)

lewis starting p4 both on the grid and in the championship, rain not yet falling but some standing water, let's do this

lewis almost taking the lead at the first corner followed by webber immediately doing a 180 on the straight

and now massa's spun, these onboards facing the wrong way as people fly straight at them is somewhat terrifying

seb and dc take each other out, we literally haven't even finished the first lap

watching them race even under a yellow flag past the cranes lifting cars is uh. not a good feeling

oh look massa with another spin (wait, is this the race where he set the record that valtteri broke in turkey last year)

kovalainen has just spun and lost a position too so i have decided to start a spin counter. sutil joins our counter and we lose him to the gravel

that race in the pit stops between lewis and raikkonen was actually pretty exciting lmao

aaaand here comes the rain again, i predict my spin counter will be getting a workout (nakajima spun as i was writing this)

ferrari done fucked up with the fuel and the tyres and lewis has a 21 second lead after just four laps

heidfeld does a surprise overtake on both raikkonen and kovalainen in the same corner (actually, his second double overtake of the race) while fisi drives straight off the road as lewis laps him

raikkonen finally pits again to change his tyres after losing 45 seconds and comes out in 11th place (from 2nd) ferrari masterblan at work

honda attempt to double stop but of course barrichello has a problem and has to be literally pushed out of the pit stop so jenson can take his

lewis and kubica both do a bit of lawn mowing and everybody starts thinking about coming in for full wets

massa spin number three with............a hare running away from him???? raikkonen follows him round a lap later

raikkonen goes round again lmao and so does webber and honestly both them and massa have all been very lucky not to go into any of the barriers

kubica out of the race from 4th place, spin counter putting the work in

another hare??? running across the track?? babes what u doing

lewis's lead is over 46 seconds at this point and realistically, the intermediate tyre is probably still not the right one to be on, barrichello still running faster on the extreme wets in third but has to stop again for fuel because of that aforementioned problem at the pit stop

tell you what i haven't been keeping track but i reckon glock must be on about four spins by now

lewis currently 6 seconds a lap faster than the other drivers on the intermediates, who all pitted around the same time. unbelievable

"some of you are writing in saying 'what's so special about lewis hamilton?' he certainly has an anti-fan club out there but i think you're getting your answer today" good to see absolutely nothing has changed in the last 13 years then

gordon ramsay in the mclaren garage? hello there

apparently the 2008 mclaren doesn't even work right with the full wets on which is always encouraging to hear

massa spins the fourth time in a straight line, we should only have one more to come

and there's the record five right after kovalainen also has a spin and loses two positions

oh my god goosebumps listening to the crowd as lewis comes round the last couple of corners

"he wanted to go faster, we had to tell him to slow down the last 15 or so laps" that's my gremlin driver

and lewis hamilton wins with a gap of 1:08 minutes having lapped all his championship contenders who remained in the race. 'we've done it, we've bloody done it'. what an absolute masterclass by him. we leave silverstone with a three way tie for the lead.

spin counter: 22 (impressive when you consider the majority of them were down to just four drivers)

[illfoandillfie]

Curtains Part 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Roger F!Reader

Summery: Exams, a car show, and an entirely too long wait.

Warnings: Smut (18+), nothing overly kinky, a little bit of a dom/sub dynamic, dom!rog, some light degradation, a little breast/nipple play,fingering, honestly quite tame considering the shit these two normally get up to lmao

Words: 7129 

A/N:  Oh my god its finally here. The last chapter. I am so sorry it's taken so long but it's been super busy around home and whenever I did get a chance to write I got very worried I was going to balls it up and ruin the whole story lmao. Anyway, I've really loved writing this series and these characters and I hope you enjoy the last part!

Also the British International Motor Show was a real thing that really was held at the Olympia. And Roger did eventually own a Ferrari and a Mercedes, although as far as I know not a Rolls Royce (that was Freddie’s).

Taglist:  @laedymoon  @dtfrogertaylor   @ezmina98  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor  @hannafuckingsucks  @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie

@bohemiansweede @rogershoe  @lnnuend0  @funitrog  @moonlit-wilde​

The exams hit you hard. Most nights were spent at the library, staying as late as possible before you dragged yourself home and collapsed on your bed, the morning alarm always coming too soon to start the whole thing over again. The biggest downside of the routine was how little you’d been able to see Roger since it started. When you had managed to catch him he looked as tired and stressed as you felt, neither of you capable of talking for too long before one of you yawned or remembered you were meant to be revising. It filled what little space in your brain that wasn’t already full of anxiety about exams with anxiety about your relationship. You still weren’t entirely sure how solid things with Roger were. They were certainly at a better, more normal, place after your two dates and a not-quite-a-date at the markets. Freddie had spent the entire first half hour you were there eyeing you suspiciously, as if you were going to bolt suddenly or tell him off. He stopped eventually though and you’d had a lovely day, helping to sell a few items when you weren’t wandering around with Roger looking at other stalls. But everything still felt so new and uncertain, especially after the rocky start you’d had, which left you not entirely positive you were officially a couple, and now you couldn’t help worry that the forced distance would make Roger lose interest in you or set you back a few steps after all the progress you’d managed. It didn’t help that you were on edge from not getting laid recently. The last time had been an age ago, in the backseat of Roger’s car. You would have slept with him again at the markets, or more likely after you’d gone home, except your period had started the day before and you couldn’t bring yourself to suggest having sex like that. So, since then you’d been on forced celibacy with only the end of exams to look forward to. Sure, you could have masturbated but between the hours spent sitting the exams and the hours spent cramming for them, you never seemed to find time for it. It all added up to a rather unpleasant desire crushed beneath a lack of sleep and a constant voice in the back of your head telling you that you were fucking something up. Unhelpful for cultivating a good mood or an opportunity to convince Roger to come over for a quickie. In fact, you barely saw him until the day after his final exam.

Feeling slightly better rested since you were free from needing to regurgitate months of class notes, you walked up next door’s driveway and knocked on Roger’s door. “Y/N, what a pleasant surprise, come on in,” Freddie said as he opened the door, “all done then? Exams I mean,” “Yes, thank god. You?” “Yeah, I finished earlier in the week. Never been more relieved in my life, although the day Rog finished was a close second,” he led you through the cluttered living room, your eyes slipping from the old, worn couch to the record player by the phone, into the kitchen where Roger stood, a bowl of cereal in his hands, eyes out of focus as he stared off into space, “Rog, wake up darling, the girl you’ve been whining about is here to see you.” Roger blinked, tired eyes falling to you and pulling a smile onto his face, “Y/N,” “Hey Rog,” He hastily put down the bowl and pulled you into a hug. You sighed into him, mind already more at ease than it had been when you arrived. “How were your exams?” He asked when he finally let you go. “Oh y’know, okay I guess. Probably failed one of them but I’m beyond caring right now, you?” “Yeah, yeah, all good I think. I’m just glad to be able to sleep normally again. Kept having this dream about turning up to an exam naked and then realising it was the wrong subject anyway.” “Jesus, Rog, if you’re going to sit here dissecting your dreams again I’m going to have to leave.” “You call yourself my friend,” “And aren’t you lucky for it. Just remember to wash out your bowl this time,” Freddie grabbed the cup of tea he’d been making and exited with a wave that you returned.  “Was that because of me? Does he still not like me?” “He likes you fine, I promise,” Roger grabbed your hand and led you out to the living room, “I’ve just been driving him nuts these last few days.” He dropped onto the couch with a creak and pulled you down onto his lap. “Nuts how?” “Oh y’know, exam stuff mostly. Weird little rituals I started doing to make sure I passed, like, um, I had to wear a particular pair of shoes to every exam, my sparkly silver ones, otherwise I was convinced I would fail. Nearly had a breakdown when I couldn’t find them one morning. Stuff like that.” “Would the other stuff be related to his girl you’ve been whining about comment?” “Maybe,” Roger looked away, as if slightly embarrassed to admit it, “I might have kept bugging him with questions about whether he’d seen you around. He went right off at me the other night, told me to pull my head in and just go see you but it was one in the morning so,” he shrugged as he trailed off, still focused on the other side of the room. “You really thought about me that much?” “Yeah, course,” he finally looked at your properly, “I missed… hanging out with you,” “Me too,” you smiled shyly, trying to work out if hanging out was a good sign or not. You decided to continue with the plan that had brought you to his door that morning, just in case, “But, if you’re up for it, I have an idea of something we could do tomorrow.” “Oh yeah? Does it involve making out a lot?” “I guess it could,” “Consider me there,” You laughed as he took hold of your chin and pulled you into a kiss. Maybe it was a good sign after all.

If Roger hadn’t broken off the kiss to yawn three different times, apologising after each one, you would have been hard pressed not to end up in his bed. He wasn’t quite as worked up as you were, admitting he’d developed the habit of wanking on the morning of every exam he had, but he was still eager for more than just making out, encouraging you to roll your hips and grind against him. But he was clearly too exhausted. “Where’re you going?” he asked as you wriggled off his lap and stood up. “You’re dead on your feet Rog, you should go catch up on some sleep,” “I’m not, come on come ba-“ he was cut off by another yawn. “See?” “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point. But you don’t have to leave, you could come nap with me and then when I wake up in a couple of hours we can continue this, but tucked up in bed.” You laughed, “Nice try, Rog, but I’m gonna go home, let you rest properly. We’ll have all of tomorrow though. I’ll come by at tenish okay?” “Tenish it is. Can you give me a hint about what you have planned?” “No but I promise you’ll enjoy it.” “That could be anything,” he said as he walked you to the door, tilting his head and resting it against the frame. “Exactly. Don’t want to spoil it. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you made to leave but Roger caught your hand and pulled you back against him, leaving you slightly breathless, lips tingling with the kiss. “One for the road,” he shrugged, trying not to grin too much. “Go get some rest Rog,” you laughed, “Oh! And wear comfortable walking shoes tomorrow,” “Walking? That doesn’t sound like making out.”

You only had to knock once the next morning before Roger was opening the door, looking excited and better rested, though there were still heavy bags under his eyes. You’d seen the same bags on your own face but, thankfully, makeup covered a multitude of sins. “So, will you finally tell me where we’re going?” “No but if you don’t mind driving, I’ll instruct you where to go,” “You’re kidding me! You aren’t going to tell me anything but you want me to drive?” he narrowed his eyes and stared at you but you just smiled sweetly back until he relented, “good thing I like you so much or I woulda told you to shove it up your arse.” “You’re the best Rog,” you giggled, swooping in to kiss his cheek, “promise it’ll be worth it.” “Yeah yeah, get in the bloody car,” he shook his head but you caught him smiling to himself as he got into the drivers seat. “Your gonna need go left out of the driveway,” “I am, am I?” he said before following your instruction and turning left. You directed him there with only one minor detour when Roger managed to get stuck in the wrong lane and missed his turn. A few streets away from your destination he saw a sign directing passers-by to visit the British International Motor Show, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just let you tell him where to go. You could tell he was getting more excited with each street you directed him down, trying not to get his hopes up as you seemed to creep closer to the show. The dam burst when you told him to pull up in the carpark of the Olympia. “No fucking way,” he said softly, trying to concentrate on not hitting any other cars as he pulled into a spot, even as his eyes darted around the crowd of people entering the venue, “You got us tickets to the motor show?” “Mmhmm,” you nodded, digging around in your bag for your pre-purchased tickets, “you mentioned on our last date that you were a bit of a rev head so I thought you might like it.” The way he looked at you made your whole body feel like it was infested with a swarm of butterflies. It was a look of barely contained glee and adoration that had you beaming right back at him. Once he was out of the car he hurried round to your side, pulling you into a hug and spinning you around in a circle as he squeezed you tight. “Christ, Y/N,” “I guess that means you like it?” you laughed as he put you back on solid ground. “Like it? This is the sweetest thing a girl as ever done for me. Might actually be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. As if I needed more reasons to fall for you.” Your breath caught in your throat and the swarm under your skin went haywire but Roger barely seemed to realise what he said, too excited and impatient to see the show. He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the entrance.

Most of the day was spent wandering around the show, Roger almost bouncing from one car to the next. There were all sorts to see, some brand new and unveiled that morning, some the kind your parents had driven around in as teenagers. There were more economic models, aimed at families or young adults looking for their first car and some were high end, luxury models with sleek designs and shiny finishes. Those were the sort that caught Roger’s eye most, never mind the outrageous prices you couldn’t even dream of affording. It was while standing in front of one of them, a gorgeous black Rolls-Royce from the mid-60s, that you nudged Roger with your elbow. “Y’know how when I first saw your Morris I said it wasn’t the type of car I imagined you in?” “Yeah,” “This is the sort of car I was picturing.” “Really? I’ve always loved a Rolls. Them and Ferraris. As a kid I used to have pictures of them ripped out of magazines and stuck up on my bedroom walls. Well, them and about a hundred other cars,” he chuckled at the memory and then fell silent for a bit, lost in thought, absentmindedly squeezing your hand. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he spoke again. “One day I’m going to own one.” “Are you now?” “Yup. One day Queen’s gonna hit it real fucking big. I’m not just saying that either, I mean it. We’ve really fucking got something the four of us, and one day we’ll have the number one song in the country and sell so many albums I’ll be able to buy one of each, a Rolls and a Ferrari. Maybe a Mercedes too. And I’ll take you out in them, wherever you want to go. We could drive down the coast, spend the weekend in our beach house. Or maybe out to the countryside, nice and peaceful and quiet. And if we stay at home I’ll take you out shopping. We’ll go to all the high-end stores and buy everything we want. Shoes and jewels and fur coats and everything." You leaned your head on his shoulder as he spoke, “That sounds wonderful,” “You haven’t heard the best part though,” “Oh?” He dropped his head down, lowering his voice so only you could hear him, “Haven’t even mentioned how I’ll fuck you in the change rooms of all those fancy shops. A hand over your mouth to keep you quiet because we both know how loud you get.” It was a mark of how long it had been that you began panting just from feeling his breath against your ear, “Looks like this car has enough room in the backseat. Just in case the shops are closed.” He stood up straight again, laughing, “Maybe we’ll sneak in there later. Shame I’m not rich already, could’ve just paid off the security so he’d give us a few moments alone with the car.” You knew he was joking about sneaking into the car but it didn’t help you calm down at all. Roger must have sensed your need, had probably been able to feel it seeping out of your skin, because he spent the rest of the day teasing you with small touches and whispered comments. He may have given up the teasing and just fucked you except that the number of people and the amount of security hired kept you from finding anywhere even remotely appropriate. The bathrooms were too crowded, extra portaloos hired and placed around the side of the building to accommodate everyone, and the back of the building faced the carpark and had a constant stream of people passing by or standing around directing traffic and loiterers. You considered suggesting the backseat of his car again but your head and thighs ached at the thought. After a final quick look around inside you decided to call it a day and head home where there was plenty of space and a big comfortable bed waiting.

By the time you arrived home it was early evening, your feet sore despite wearing your most comfortable pair of shoes. Roger’s stomach grumbled as he walked you to your front door, a loud reminder that neither of you had eaten more than a few snacks vendors had been selling at the show. “I had so much fun today,” he said, valiantly ignoring his stomach, “like an unbelievable amount of fun.” “Me too. Didn’t realise a car show could be quite that good,” you teased, “You wanna come in? Keep the fun going? We could get dinner, watch some TV,” “You’ve spent all day with me, sure you aren’t sick of me yet?” “Course not. Come on you sound like your starving and I’ve got a coupon for pizza stuck to my fridge,” “Well who am I to say no to that?” he said as he followed you inside, “where’s the coupon, I’ll call the order in.” “You don’t have to do that,” “No, no, let me. Least I can do to thank you for today. Any preferences?” “Uh, pepperoni if you don’t mind,” you called from the kitchen, returning with the coupon and handing it to Roger. “I definitely don’t mind, pepperoni is obviously the best,” Roger laughed and picked up the phone, as you quickly ducked into your room and made sure it was tidy. He followed you when he was done, peering into the living room and the kitchen as he searched for you. “Don’t have to clean up on my account,” You jumped a little at the sound of his voice behind you. “I’ve been in your room before, you’re much neater than me.” “Surprised you noticed the room enough to make that judgement,” “True, was always much more interested in you and how little you were wearing,” “Exactly,” you said, trying not to let on how fast your heart was racing at just the mention of the previous nights you’d spent together. “But I’m very messy,” Roger shot you a grin as he walked over to your desk, fingers brushing lightly over a few of the knickknacks you kept there before he moved to your modest bookshelf. You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself as you watched him investigate your belongings, perching on the end of your bed, hoping he liked what he found. For the most part he just brushed his fingers lightly over your belongings, smiling softly and occasionally pausing to make a comment. He picked up the candle from your desk to smell it, complementing the scent as he put it back in its place. A few of the books on your shelf were pulled off and held up as he asked your opinions of them. He found a pair of your sunglasses and pushed them into his own face, checking himself out in your mirror before taking them off again, and then turned his attention to your record collection, spending much longer examining it than anything else. When he was done shuffling through the stack, making impressed hums when he found ones he particularly liked, he turned back to you. “Well I’m sorry to say but you have fantastic taste in music and I really have no other choice but to steal half of them,” “Is that so?” you asked, releasing a relieved breath, “Doesn’t seem fair,” “Well,” he walked the few steps towards where you still sat, leaning down until his lips were mere centimetres from yours, “it’s either that or you keep them and I fall madly in love with you.” The butterfly feeling returned, “Oh?” It was all you could manage to say. A loud knock from the front of the house interrupted you. “That’ll be the pizza,” you said quietly, torn between answering the door and closing the space between you. The decision was made when Roger’s stomach growled again. He dropped a quick kiss to your lips and then stood up with a small sigh.

If it had been up to you the night would have been spent snuggled up on the couch, eating pizza, drinking wine, and goofing around, until you retired to the bedroom and let the street hear you screaming Roger’s name. And you were pretty sure Roger’s mind was running along the same tracks. The only obstruction to your plan was the lack of sleep you’d both been suffering from, causing both of you to nod off before you could move from the couch. You woke in the morning, the TV no longer playing the comedy it had been left on but a test pattern card with odd organ music behind it. You blinked the sleep from your eyes as you tried to remember why you were on the couch and not in your bed, the night coming back to you as you sat up and realised you’d been curled up with your head on Roger’s thigh. He woke with a start when you stood up to stretch and turn off the TV. “Y/N?” he voice was still thick with sleep, eyes bleary and hair all over the place as he lifted his head from what must have been an uncomfortable position. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. We fell asleep on the couch.” “Oh, right,” “You can go back to sleep if you want,” “Nah, ‘m up now. Bathroom?” “Just through that doorway over there.” Roger nodded his thanks as he yawned and, rubbing his eyes, headed off. You grabbed the last of the, now cold, pizza and the wine glasses and followed him towards the kitchen, dropping the leftovers on the bench before turning to stick the kettle on. When he returned to the kitchen he looked marginally more alert, hair not quite the bird’s nest it had been when he woke. He dropped a kiss to your temple. “D’you want breakfast?” you asked, peering into the fridge, “I can do eggs on toast.” “Only if it’s no trouble,” “Not at all,” you grabbed the carton of eggs and the butter before you closed the fridge, “if you make the tea.” “I can do tea. Make a pretty good cuppa if I do say so myself.” “So you’re a tea connoisseur now?” “Never said that, where do your mugs live?” “Cupboard on the left,” “Ah ha,” there was a tinkling as he pulled out two, “All I’m saying is I’m good at making tea.” “Rog it’s adding boiling water to bagged leaves, not sure you can be bad at it,” “Well tell that to John. He’s a fantastic bassist but Jesus every cuppa he’s ever made me has tasted like shit.” You laughed, glancing away from the stovetop to watch Roger move about your kitchen like he belonged there. True, that might have been to do with how similar your kitchen was to his, most of the student accommodation in the area having the same basic layout, but it was nice all the same. “How do you take it?” “Uh,” your first thought was something entirely too inappropriate for so early in the morning, “dash of milk, two sugars,” “Coming right up.”

“So,” you said, dragging the word out as you brought your plates down to the table, Roger already there with the mugs of tea. “So, what?” Roger imitated your lengthened word, an amused lilt to his voice. “Dunno, you got any plans for today?” “Meeting the boys a bit later, band stuff. Might try and squeeze in a nap at some point. No offence but your couch isn’t overly comfortable to sleep on, although the cute girl using me as a pillow did help,” You giggled as he nudged your foot with his, it really was unfair how attractive he looked even when ruffled from a night on the couch. “What about you? Any plans?” “Oh, uhhh,” you didn’t have anything specific but couldn’t very well tell Roger you’d kept the day open in case he’d wanted to stay in bed with you for the better part of it, “Think my friends said something about going out for coffee, so I’ll see if they’re still keen for it.” “Oh yeah? Do these friends know about me?” “They know I’ve kind of had a thing going on and they know I was avoiding a particular guy for a while, but I haven’t, like, actually told them about you yet. Wanted to wait until I knew we were going to be okay, y’know?” “Yeah, I get that.” There was a moment of almost silence, the only sounds those of your knives and forks scraping across your plates. Your brain was suddenly much louder than it had been a second before, full of thoughts about whether or not you should tell your friends about Roger when you saw them, nerves about theoretically introducing them to him and then, oh god, introducing him to your family, having to meet his, all the stuff that a proper relationship would mean, all the stuff you’d been trying to run from when you’d cancelled that date. But there wasn’t really any way to go back now without everyone getting even more hurt than last time, he’d twice now said he was falling for you and, though you hadn’t vocalised it, you thought maybe you were falling for him too. But of all the thoughts jumbled in your head, the loudest by far was the realisation you’d be going another day without getting laid. It was torture. You’d got so close last night and god you wanted it so much. You had a brief vision of sweeping everything off the table, plates and cutlery hitting the floor, and Roger instantly pushing down your pants and lifting you onto the clear surface, his fingers slipping into your underwear and - Roger broke the silence and pulled you from the fantasy, “If you wanted you could come over tonight. I’ll make you dinner,” You shook your head to clear it, “really? “Yeah, really. I’ll even let you rummage through all my junk like I went through yours,” “Sounds fun, I’ll be there,” “Cool, uh, I think I should get home around three-thirty, so any time after that.”

Roger helped you tidy up the dishes before he left, another lingering kiss your souvenir, in addition to the desperate need to get off. You attempted to kill some time doing just that, but nothing seemed to be enough. It wasn’t Roger. You wanted Roger. And as lovely and terrifying a sentiment as that was, it did mean you had to go to meet your friends completely worked up and wet. When you told Roger later, sleepily blurting it out while curled up in his arms that night, he chuckled and, though it was dark, you could tell he was grinning. The same grin he’d been wearing when you knocked on his door that afternoon. “Is Freddie here?” you asked as he led you towards the couch. “No, just us. I’ve kicked the others out for the night. Freddie’ll end up staying with Bri or John, they were still arguing about it when I left them.” “Arguing?” you fell into the seat beside Roger, toeing off your shoes and curling your legs up under you, angling your body to face where he was leaning against the arm of the couch, one leg bent in front of him, one touching the floor. “Something about John’s girlfriend, I think, or maybe it was Brian’s roommate? I don’t know, I didn’t hang around to listen, they’ll sort it out,” he waved his hand dismissively, “But that means more food for us.” “So what are you making me then?” “Well, actually,” he glanced away, hand slipping into his shirt to rub his shoulder, “was thinking I’d order some takeout. There’s really nothing to cook with in the fridge and I’m a terrible chef anyway. I could offer you toast but the chance of it being edible is about fifty fifty. But there’s the chippy a few streets away or, um, an alright curry place, whichever you prefer.” “Fish and chips sounds good. I’ve eaten nothing but cake and coffee today so anything savoury would be brilliant really.” “So your friends were free then? How’d it go?” “Yeah, really fun. You might have been mentioned once or twice,” “Only once or twice?” “Once or twice is practically unstoppable gushing for me. They’re both insisting on meeting you, by the way, so that’s something to look forward to I guess,” you scrunched your nose up in discomfort. “I’d love to meet them,” he said, taking your hand leaning towards you, “And you’ve got nothing to worry about, they’ll love me. I’m very loveable.” You let yourself relax as you laughed, Roger joining in as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your jaw, kissing you softly.  

It should have come as no surprise that you’d end up making out within minutes of arriving. The weeks since you’d last slept together plus the unfulfilled tension from the previous night all boiled down to a neediness you couldn’t remember feeling with anyone else, the soft kiss fast becoming firmer as you found yourself underneath Roger, fingertips digging into his back. He was grinding against you rhythmically, your skirt pushed further up your thighs, trying to pull you tighter against him, breathing getting more ragged with each passing moment. It felt good but there were too many clothes in your way, you needed more. A whine fell from your lips unexpectedly. “Someone’s a bit desperate,” Roger said, tone vaguely mocking, giving you just a hint of the teasing control he usually showed you, “should we move this to my room?” “God yes,” He grinned and planted another kiss against your lips before he pushed himself to his feet, pulling you up by your hand, not letting go until you were standing in the doorway of his room. It was similar to your own room in that it faced the back yard, a big glass door leading outside. The biggest difference was the curtain, open to let the sun in but no doubt it actually existed. Roger dropped your hand to cross the room and you turned your attention to the rest of it, tempted to rummage through his belongings the way he’d examined yours. If you hadn’t been so worked up you would have but instead you stepped into the room and glanced around, killing time until Roger was back against you. It wasn’t neat but it wasn’t as messy as you’d been led to believe it would be and you wondered how long he’d spent tidying it. The bookshelf wasn’t full and yet not all the books were lined up, some of them stacked in uneven piles, some leaning against others, no discernible order to them, though you could spot a few titles you recognised from your own collection. His desk held a stack of textbooks and a few loose pages of handwritten notes, and you could easily imagine him hunched over as he studied, scribbling down things he recognised as important even if his tired eyes and brain couldn’t fully comprehend them. Your gaze had just fallen on the neatest part of the room, his collection of records all meticulously lined up and just begging to be rifled through, when a noise drew your attention. Roger checked the back door was locked and drew the curtain over it, blocking out the view of the back garden and the natural afternoon light. Your stomach did a flip. “We, uh, we’ve never had so much privacy,” you tried to make it sound like a joke, though you weren’t sure you succeeded, suddenly feeling too nervous to speak properly. “Yeah, s’pose that’s true,” he gave a small half shrug and took the few steps towards you, stopping just in front of you, “but that’s okay. We’ll make it work,” and then his lips were on yours, the rough neediness almost forgotten as he held your face, reassuringly rubbing his thumb over your jaw. It helped you relax again, stoking your desire though you couldn’t help thinking things would be vastly different with an empty house and closed curtains. Your fingers fell to his belt, blindly struggling to unbuckle it, but Roger grabbed your wrist. “Hey, there’s no rush, okay?” “I know but it’s been so long,” it wasn’t a lie, it had been far too long, but that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to speed things up. You didn’t mention that you were nervous about your dynamic changing with the privacy, worried it wouldn’t be as good if you weren’t being controlled or degraded or performing for someone. “So you won’t mind waiting a little longer then,” You whined as his lips brushed over your neck, his hands still holding your wrists, “Please, I need you,” “Patience, love. First time I’ve had my slut all to myself, can’t blame me for wanting to take my time.” Your breath hitched at the name and the casual way it was said, not expecting to hear it when you were so closed off from the world and he was being so deliberately, infuriatingly, slow. It made your head spin. He let your wrists go, moving his hands to your shirt and pulling it up over your head, fingers trailing softly down your sides to toy with the waistband of your skirt. “Good girl for wearing this, you’re learning.” The praise made you shiver but it was nothing compared to his touch. Every light brush of his fingers made you want him more, had you almost vibrating with need, but he refused to speed up or even touch you where you most wanted him. And you melted into it, hovering on the edge of begging, surprised at how easily he could play you but not really surprised at all. Yes, it was just you and Roger with no one to see or overhear, none of that tension you loved so much that came with the possibility of being walked in on or caught out. But you didn’t miss it.

Your hands once again slipped to his belt and this time he let you undo it, taking the chance to tug his own shirt off  as he kicked the discarded pants across the floor, before he slipped your skirt down your legs, kneeling as he did so, leaving a single big bruise on the inside of your thigh. He leaned back to admire the mark and you stepped out of the material pooled around your feet. For a fraction of a second you thought he was finally going to give you something real, his breath ghosting over the front of your underwear as he leaned towards you, still looking up at you, blue eyes glinting. “Hop on the bed, love,” He chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet, listening to you whine and curse even as you did exactly what he told you to. You didn’t stop complaining until his weight was over yours again, your legs trying to wrap around him and pull him against your throbbing cunt. He just held your legs down and laughed softly, “You’re still just a desperate slut aren’t you. Little bit pathetic how much you want me after a couple of weeks without. But no, you don’t get my cock that quickly. I told you I want to take my time.” “You want me too,” you whined, sounding nowhere near as convincing as you’d hoped, “I can feel how hard you are.” “Yes, I want you. Of course I do, love, been thinking about it since you came over the other morning.” Roger resumed the grinding he’d started out on the couch, dragging his cock along your folds, still too many layers between for you to be satisfied. It was torture, but no matter what you tried he wouldn’t give you more, “But there’s this little thing called delayed gratification, you might have heard of it.” “You’re such an arsehole,” you half whined, half laughed as he chuckled into your neck, doing his best to leave you with another mark. “Well, yeah. That’s not news. Maybe I’ll let you have my fingers though, since you have waited such a long time,” “Please, I need something, anything,” “Add ‘begs easily’ to the list of things I love about you,” he left a kiss against your neck and then shuffled backwards. He paused, glancing down to your underpants and then back to your chest. “What?” “You’re still wearing a bra. Can’t have that.” “Oh,” you giggled, “easily fixed,” you sat up and quickly unhooked the clasp behind your back, shrugging it from your shoulders and adding it to the clothing that littered the once clean floor. “Thank god for easy fixes,” Roger said softly, pushing his fingertips against your shoulder until you leaned back far enough for him to drag his tongue over one nipple. “Hey, you said fingers,” you whined. “You said anything,” he grinned back at you, “but I guess fingers could work too.” You hissed when he pinched your other nipple and pulled on it, gently biting on the first, “Rog, please,” He ignored you in favour of dipping his lips to the inside of one breast, sucking at the skin until another purple bruise formed.

Roger shuffled back further and you squirmed at the thought of finally, finally getting what you needed. Just the motion of him hooking his fingers into your underpants to pull them down had your stomach tightening with anticipation. As soon as they were free of your legs he held them up, “soaked,” was all he said before they too were discarded and he was settling into place between your legs. You could feel his warm breath against your pussy as he dragged a single finger between your folds, a whine escaping you as your frustration grew. And then the finger was slipping inside you, so easily it made Roger whine himself. “God you really are soaked. I was just teasing before but Jesus,” “M-more,” was all you could think to say, stuttering it out as you bucked your hips. “Patience, love,” he reminded you but added a second finger, pumping them into you slowly, still not enough. Your back arched as you tried to readjust your position so he’d hit the spots you knew he could but he just placed his other hand on your thigh, stroking you softly until you relaxed again. “Tell me what you want, love,” “More, please,” “More of the same? Just my fingers?” “N-no no,” “Then tell me,” “Your cock, please, want you to fuck me now,” the sentence devolved into a whine as he pulled his fingers from you, pausing to push off his underwear, and crawled back up the bed, hovering over you. Once again you tried to wrap your legs around him, arms around his neck to pull him closer, but this time he didn’t stop you. Instead Roger lined himself up and sunk into you, as easily as his fingers had, his hands slipping up to your sides. He dropped his mouth to your neck and then your jaw and then your lips as he slid his arms under your back to hold you tight. “My good, patient, girl. Fuck your cunt feels so good.” he said softly, quickly finding your lips again as he fucked you steadily. You whimpered at the praise, finally getting what you’d so badly wanted as you clawed at Roger’s back, making sure he wouldn’t pull away too far. Though he’d started off intentionally slowly, deliberately working you up before he’d even finished undressing you, now that he was finally inside you, finally where you both wanted him to be, he’d lost all of his methodical pace. His hands were on your back and then one was on your arse and then your breasts, unsure where he wanted to touch you most. He was kissing you passionately one moment and the next he was whispering filth into your ear, praise and degrading names alike, thoughts broken up by small hickeys sucked into your skin. The second it occurred to him that something might drive you wild he was doing it.

It didn’t take long for you to cum, so much pent-up desire coursing through your bloodstream that you fell over the edge easily when he hitched your leg higher on his hip. It changed the angle he was hitting you just enough to have him rub against your wall, a jolt running through you and stealing your breath. “So pretty when you cum, can you show me again?” You nodded, unsure you’d be able to form words if you tried. Small aftershocks were still making you whimper into Roger’s shoulder and yet you could feel the same tingly warmth building again already. “Oh,” the sharp sound escaped you when Roger’s thumb brushed over your clit, his breath hitching as you clenched around him, “Rog, god, ke- keep doing that,” He brushed your clit again and smiled as your head fell back, a low moan tumbling from you when he began rubbing it properly. All you could hear was rough uneven breaths, not sure they were yours or Roger’s, the sound dulled under your heart beating in your ears. And then suddenly you were there again, moans getting louder as you crept closer to the edge and fell over it. Roger’s eyes were squeezed shut as he thrust into you a few more times, extending the ecstasy you felt until he hit his own climax, coating your walls and gasping in your ear.

For a while neither of you moved, just lay there trying to clear your foggy minds. When he realised he was still laying on you, Roger carefully extracted himself and rolled onto his back, an arm stretched out, inviting you to cuddle up close. You did, humming lightly when he gently rubbed your arm. “So, was that good? Even with the closed curtains?” “Mmhmm, might go so far as to say unbelievably good.” “Any other adjectives you wanna throw out there? Mind-blowing maybe? Or Incredible? The best you’ve ever had?” When the giggles subsided, Roger continuing a little more seriously, “I really liked it too, y’know, having my girlfriend to myself and all.” You’d been expecting to feel anxious when the G word eventually got used. After all, it represented so much of what had made you nervous enough to run away, what still made you nervous about dating and what it might eventually lead to. But there wasn’t really any anxiety or worry when you actually heard it, maybe a small pang in your stomach but you barely noticed it. Instead you could have sworn your heart skipped a beat, “Girlfriend?” “Yeah,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “that okay?” You quickly flipped onto your front, bringing you face to face with Roger, “More than okay. Say it again?” “My girlfriend,” he grinned as he spoke and you felt an equally large smile stretch your own cheeks in response. “My boyfriend,” “Yeah, like the sound of that,” You kissed him hard, not quite believing how far you’d come since he’d first caught you masturbating or how much you liked being with him, dating him. “Y’know, I think we could fit in another round before we need to worry about dinner,” he traced his finger along your shoulder as if he were playing connect the dots with the hickeys he’d left you, “Two maybe. You always cum fast when I use you rough.”

[gelo-p]

Cycling Seasons, Fresh Skies: Memories

I knew from a long time ago that if I’d ever go for a T10, this would be it. When the event was finally getting closer, early estimates told me I was 900 flames short; I’d have to buy stars for this event.

(WARNING: A rather image-heavy post)

Perhaps the moment I honestly considered T10 instead of settling for T100.

Definitely the moment I knew there was no turning back. :)))

Believe me, this was not the only purchase I made for this event.

I needed a better Challenge Live team, so I knew getting a 4* Happy Ran is required, to complete my Happy Afterglow team. I’ve never gotten any 4* Ran before, so thank god the 4* Exchange Ticket had the perfect timing.

“WAIT. YOU WERE USING A HAPPY TEAM ALL THIS TIME???”

Yep. ^^ Well, my Multi Live team was Powerful Afterglow-based, but had only 2 4-stars, sooo I knew it wouldn’t cut it.

There she is <3

I’ve always stopped at Skill Level 4, but I really had to pull out all the stops. Ran is my first Skill Level 5 member. ^^ (everyone in my CL team also received the level 5 upgrade)

Alright, let’s do this! Hey Hey Hoh~!

The event has finally begun! I initially found it amusing seeing all sorts of titles being shown off. This one in particular stood out to me. XD

(Looking back, that Sinz person would later turn out to be a serious T10 contender. I think they changed their name to Pyokun after some time)

Here’s a screenshot of a rare T5 GeLö-P. I really wanted to share this with you guys, but I figured I’d jinx myself by revealing publicly what I was trying to do. :>

(I will doubt the existence of God Almighty, but believe in being jinxed. Life is weird sometimes.)

Well, that’s the Grand Room for ya’. Meta songs all the way~

How do you even react to that?

With this. :)))

NEXT YOU’LL SAY FUEEEEE

Home Street...

Home Street.......

HEY HEY HOH~! 

The moment I ran out of large energy drinks, and had to start spending stars. </3 Small energy drinks were still reserved for moments I can afford to wait out the 30-minute refill timer.

The 5 Horsemen of the Apocalypse

My first time doing the “recover waaaaay more than 10 flames” thing

Huhehe huhehe huhehe...

I too would like some of those Afterglow pins. T_T

Baby Shak my as-

Aaaand we have a dodger, ladies and gentlemen. XD

I think this guy needs to be banned.

Home Street? Pssh, that was so yesterday. Jumpin’ is the shit now.

Ganbatte, P5.

Himari~

My 2nd encounter with Ghostkillers (who later become T12..?). He chose Senbonzakura the first time, so when he did it again, I thought I’d save it for posterity. ^^

The “I too would like to live dangerously” gang 8-)

The first time I switched away from my dua T100 titles. I figured I’d stop trying to “scare” the competition.

First time tracking T10 scores. This would later prove to be very useful in seeing if my projection will hold (although I shifted to tracking T3 - T12).

Taking a break, so I watched ads for free flames. :)))))

Moca, Ran, GeLö-P, and a weird name. Huh. Okay.

Kyu~Mai * Flower was released! Played this one on Hard.

...this one I played on Expert...

...and thank fuck I got it first try, because oh boy I’m not playing that beat map again. >_<

“Ban me if you can” ?? Why??

Aaaaand this motherfucker right here was cheating and inflating his score. I personally reported him to the game admins over on twitter, and they’ve informed me that they were already aware of this idiot. Saw him just once more after this.

Yes. That’s 91 million, 798 thousand, 346.

I actually encountered them once before this, but didn’t notice anything off about their score (was already dazed at that time). And then a discussion started over at reddit, so when I met him again, I took screenshots.

Ganbatte :))

Had time for a quick hey hey hoh spam ^^

Which day was this..? Anyway I came up with my brilliant pun. Read the comment, see if you can figure it out. :3

MocaRan and YukiLisa. Sigh. I don’t think we can be friends, P5.

:)))

Told you, Ghostkillers only pick Senbonzakura XD

Tomoe’s Birthday! ^^

Even the game won’t let you have a GF, P5. XD

HEATHCLIFF STOP PICKING BABY SHARK

(almost sure they’re famous in the competitive scene... I don’t know them tho LOL)

I woke up one morning to find there was no internet.

FUCK ME

I knew mobile data was going to result to multiple disconnects, but thank fuck I had lots of challenge points to spare. I passed the time productively, and by the time I was done, internet was back. Whew.

Rank update: currently T8. ^^

More of Ghostkillers x Senbonzakura and JFC that name tho P2

Shitpost comment XD

First time seeing 2 other T10 contenders in the same room: Itsuki and Ghostkillers.

Probably the point where I started spamming Tokimeki Poporon instead of Home Street.

Also there’s a looot of interesting names in Bandori.

As a YukiRan / MocaLisa shipper (well more of SayoLisa nowadays), it is my job to destroy players 1, 3, and 5. >:(

Wallet: IT’S NOT POSSIBLE

Me: NO, IT’S NECESSARY

...aaaaaand I immediately threw away 10k stars hoping for Megane Ran, but got shit. (This would later force me to make 2 more purchases XD Seriously though, I could have saved a lot of money with a better star purchase plan)

I got Loli Rinko tho. <3

Which day was this...? I think this was the moment I knew Ghostkillers has given up. I was laughing my ass off reading the comments. I think everyone of us was half-dead at this point. XD

And so we’re down to the final 11.

I’ve started considering the possibility at this point that I might be the final one to bow out.

OMG I CAN’T SEE PLAYER 2

BUSHIDO~!

I was feeling the despair at this point, and thus started singing Komm Susser Tod

I do mini-sprints in the morning, so I’m T6 here. I usually fall back down to ~T9 in the afternoon.

I usually level up once per event. I started this event from Rank 193. :)))

(well it was technically 192, but I was like 2 games away from leveling up)

XD

There are no experts in this room :v

Jumpin = NO FEVER, but picks meta song anyway. Okay. :v

Hey! All Random!

Game: DID SOMEONE ASK FOR A META SONG

I have a lot of friend requests at this point (probably from people seeing me on the T10 list), but I don’t have enough space to accept them all :((

Bread-themed profile!

Poppin’ Party, Puff n’ Pastry... get it?

Itsuki started spamming BOF at this point.

Doki doki~

HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME~ ♪ ♫

P1 is an IRL friend :))) I’d later tease her about how slow she is picking songs LOL

Some Initial D reference for overtaking :P Of course I was badly falling behind at this point (T9 is hella dangerous), but I had no choice but to continue to believe in the math (and that early overtaking is a bad choice).

“Early moves lets your opponents recover from mental shock.” - Ryosuke Takahashi, Initial D 3rd Stage

No seriously, that’s exactly what I was thinking of. And also “Not yet, not yet, now” from Ford v Ferrari.

P1 & P5 get married already...

FINAL NIGHT.

I’m down to T11, and everybody else already did 2.3M-sprints some hours earlier, and have considerably slowed down.

I, on the other, was about to go to sleep. Yes, I, the current T11, was about to let the others pull away. All I could do was believe in the Math at that point, because let me tell you-

I had 105k challenge points left. That’s 3.4M event points I had yet to sprint.

This was during the final morning, 9 hours before event ended. When I woke up that morning, my heart was pounding like crazy. What if everybody has pulled ahead?

When I finally checked, most of the T10′s were still in the 17M-range. Itsuki was on T10, and he was only 500k away. I knew at that point that my chances were pretty good; however, I shut up about it, set my comment to “Now Playing: Running in the 90′s”, and got to work.

There was nothing else I could to but consume all the CP I had left. No more tracking. A literal 5-hour non-stop sprint to 19.2M points. If they can still catch up even after they’ve already expended their CP yesterday, then maybe I don’t deserve this T10 after all.

All I need to do was beat one of them. It was me or them.

Holy shi-

I wasn’t out of the woods yet, had to make sure at least one of them didn’t overtake me. Of course that was more up to them, since I didn’t have any strength left (my thumb stopped working at that point, no seriously, it’s still not working properly even today). I also didn’t have any significant stars left.

I managed to sneak in a few songs, but that was it. I was done. The others managed to close the gap, but I stayed in T6.

And then the event was over.

I fucking did it.

------

I would later learn that this was the bloodiest (Challenge Live) event in the history of ENdori. In one redditor’s words, I “ ...sure picked a hell of a time to go for it.”

I had no choice. This is Megane Ran we’re talking about. <3

I had some idea tbh, because I managed to read a tweet in the middle of the event, that “this was one lit T10″. Apparently we were on track to beat the previous record-holder, which was Sayo’s Umbrella event.

I’m... really glad to have been part of this event. I feel so darn proud of myself. >:3

But I couldn’t have done it without the help of the Grand Room. Seriously, I only played in the Grand Room.

Remember this?

I don’t have (competitive) friends. :))) So thank you, all. *bow*

I’d like to thank IRL-friend otearaisu over at twitter for putting up with my excessive score projection updates. XD I have a really detailed excel sheet to check if I was on track or not, and whenever there were developments, I’d always tell him about it, even in the dead of the night. XD

------

Would I ever do this again? Probably not. This was the only event that I knew I really wanted to go for, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Maybe I’ll get a couple of T100′s in the future, but that’s it. ^^

See you in the lobby~

[740parkhq]

*  lawless  paparazzi  flashed  photos  of  a  1961 ferrari 250 gt california spider  pulling  into  the  sparkling  gates  of  quincy  park  ,  indicating  that  camilla  of  the  prosperous  kerby  lineage  has  returned  home  .  college  ended  for  the  transgender nb  in  2017  ,  but  they’re  already  flourishing  in  their  field  , proclaiming  that  their  bachelor's  degree  in  fashion design  is  being  put  to  prolific  use  .  the  general  public  may  be  unworldly  enough  to  believe  that  their  accomplishments  were  earned  honestly  ,  but  the  people  of  new  york  city  are  painstakingly  aware  that  it’s  impossible  to  snag  a  top  paying  position  as  a  fashion designer  right  out  of  university  .  the  family’s  been  tormented  with  a  well  -  known  rumor  that  they  fabricate  news  stories  in  service  of  their  own  agenda  for  years  ,  so  it  was  news  to  no  one  when  the  kerbys  made  local  headlines  claiming  the  only  reason  their  self - absorbed  progeny’s  career  is  what  it  is  because  they  have  found  a  way  to  silence  all  the  claims  of  camilla  stealing  other  artists’  work  .  marie antoinette  has  done  a  splendid  job  of  keeping  the  bloodline’s  furtive  truths  confidential  ,  but  their  reputation  of  being  fun  &  gaining  a  postgrad  inheritance  of  $450m  hasn’t  been  enough  to  cease  the  counter  blast  from  new  york’s  angry  civilians  .  if  they’re  not  heedful  ,  not  even  quincy  park’s  sturdy  golden  gates  will  be  capable  of  keeping  out  the  city’s  vengeance  .  (  indya  moore  ,  25  ,  the opulent  .  )

henry here with my second muse — camilla !! as alway yall can reach me here or over @ discord @ a hundred years rick and morty#9146 !!

STATS —

content warning for: /

name: camilla vivien kerby

nickname: camilla

titles: marie antoinette

age & dob: 15th march 1994 ( twenty - five )

zodiac: pisces sun / taurus moon / leo rising

gender id: transgender nonbinary

pronouns: they/them

sexual & romantic orientation: bisexual biromantic

mbti: esfp-t

enneagram: 2w3 7w8 8w9 ( the free spirit )

temperament: sanguine-melancholic

more  stats  (  HERE .  )

BLURB —

extravagant rococo ideals and values flying in stuffy new english brownstones. new money midwestern bourgeoisie encroaching on a kingdom filled with waspy stalwarts of the old vanguard. ennui in the flavour of unending listlessness in a city that never sleeps and never changes. the banality of morality, of existence, of everything and anything. romanticism to fill the gap, romanticism to survive, romanticism to make it all mean something—and never mind the tragedy at the end of the chapter. opulence at the cost of authenticity, hedonism in search of an identity. always forgetting people, never forgetting stories.

HISTORY —

ever since the mid-19th century, the pulitzer family consolidated news in the midwestern region of the united states. they were wielders of the truth and proud journalists, dedicating a great deal of their money to the polish of their craft. unfortunately, in a capitalist system, money wins out and they were soon left beggared by their commitment to their integrity. it wasn’t until the 1950s that they experienced a resurgence through the help of a wily businessman who married into the family and used the prestige of the name to build a profitable news empire, building onto the foundations that was set and setting forth these new innovations.

these new innovations were less than popular, but it was very profitable: camilla’s grandfather pandered to populism and demagoguery, splashing front pages with sensational headlines and less-than-truthful speculation about certain personages. they worked closely with government agencies to shape the narrative in the midwest, engineering much of the red scare during the cold war. soon, the pulitzers themselves began to espouse much of the politics that was being peddled by their papers.

with their influence cemented, the pulitzer family at the ending of the 20th century wanted to expand their empire and decided to break into new england, a veritable fortress populated by well-established newspapers such as the nytimes, wapo, and wsj. although their fortune was considerable, it wasn’t enough to combat the foundation that the establishment papers have built—so they began to look for allies. they found it in multi-billionaire marcos edwin kerby.

and so they peddled off a daughter and a position at their company in exchange for substantial funding. the union, though not an overly joyous one, was one that was built on mutual respect for one another. lucy genevieve and marcos edwin were frank with one another: two children and then they’d be free to do whoever they want, an open marriage that resolved much of their issues and led to a happier-than-most upbringing for the two children they had, even if it was a bit unorthodox at the time.

camilla was born into this setting. the younger of the two, there was never really any expectation on them to pick up a career in news—which they didn’t resent as they found the politics and dynamics of it despicable, thinking that the company was a toxic presence in the political landscape. however, they kept their opinion to themself and kept their mouth shut, not wanting to cross their parents for fear of stoking their anger and becoming disinherited.

their passion, instead, was drawn to the arts. they were very artistic and would often scribble cartoons and the like—but their true love was fashion design. they fell in love with the designs of christian lacroix and dolce & gabbana, the extravagant clothes of the two fashion houses falling in line with their own personal aesthetics. it wasn’t long before they themself tried their hand at fashion design, and they found they had a knack for it.

with their father’s social manoeuvring, they launched their first show at the tender age of twenty-one while still in college. their collection was hailed as one of the best of the season and they were branded as a rising star in the world of fashion.

however, when next season came, they found that the pressure had got to them: they were blocked as what to design and, as the deadline day came nearer and nearer, the panic made them shut down even more. this led them to stealing a fellow student’s designs and showing them off as their own. of course, since they copied it wholesale, the plagiarism was blatant, but due to their family’s influence, the story was suppressed and camilla was now confirmed to be a genuine landmark moment in the world of fashion.

though they still make some of their designs, they find it easier to copy and modify to their heart’s content. at first, they excused themself saying it was only nerves; but as time passed, they had to admit that it was the lifestyle of constant partying that distracted them, taking up precious time that they could have put into working instead. camilla would often be seen at a club, luxuriating with fellow sybarites, and never minding the time. when time to sew up designs came, they’d resort to stealing and modifying others’ work, not wanting to cut down the time for their hedonism.

PERSONALITY —

electric dreams for a twenty-first century virtual teen, watching period dramas as a personality trait, watching marie antoinette (2006) and only noticing the pretty dresses, thinking you’re better than your family for being liberal and thinking you’re better than other liberals you’re not, like, an extremist or anything, actually being politically apathetic bc you couldn’t be fucked to follow politics, not knowing how much a banana costs, not knowing if you’re a millenial or a gen z and not even knowing the difference between the two, wouldn’t eat a tide pod but has that characteristic gen z despair at the experience of life itself, why bother doing anything when the world’s going to end anyways? might as well eat cake!

PARALLELS —

marion kerby (topper), marie antoinette (marie antoinette 2006), francis abernathy (the secret history), lord henry wotton (the picture of dorian grey), roman roy (succession), oscar wilde (real life: 19th century)

WANTED CONNECTIONS —

content warnings for: drug mentions

best friends , friends , someone they stole art from , party friends , druggie friends , drug dealer , drug buyers , trip sitter , art heaux friends , pretentious friends , fellow members of an art collective , book club friends , indie music friends , concert - going buddies , travel buddies , drinking buddies , hole - in - the - walls exploration buddies , someone they go to museums with , lovers ( current & former ) , online friends , associates of their family +++ their older bro i have yet to sent the wc of !