#ch: mami | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

woso-dreamzzz · 8 days ago

Text

Injured (Alexia's Version) VIII

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You try to help your brother

It's not that being gay is bad, Jaume knows this.

His aunt is gay. His mothers are gay. You, his sister, are gay.

There's nothing wrong with being gay when you're a girl.

There shouldn't be anything wrong with being gay when you're a boy.

But when Jaume's at football, he knows that there is something wrong with it. He can't find boys attractive. He can't look at a boy and think he's handsome.

He has to like girls. He has to look at girls and think they're hot. He has to talk about girls with the rest of the guys. He has to get a girlfriend. He has to prove that he's just another one of the guys. He has to prove that he's just like them.

It doesn't matter if he becomes the best goal scorer in the world.

If they find out he likes guys then all that's he's worked towards doesn't matter. It's all worthless if the team decide he isn't one of them anymore.

The Putellas name, the Putellas legacy means nothing if the team decide he doesn't deserve to be one of them anymore.

You frown as your brother stares off into space, inching out your leg to the other side of the sofa, digging your toe into Jaume's ribs.

He yelps, turning to you accusingly.

"What's up with you?" You say," You're not watching the film."

"It's boring."

Your frown deepens. "You're the one that wanted to watch it."

It's a late evening, just the two of you while Alexia and Olga are out on one of their date nights.

Jaume's just come back from a Spain youth team round of friendlies and a Barcelona B match as well. He's fifteen now, growing into his looks and his talent and just now opening his eyes to why he doesn't get the same fluttery feeling in his stomach with girls as he does with guys.

You're nineteen, still living at home and dancing professionally. There's only four years between you both but somehow you seem so much more worldly and smart than him.

You're settled and comfortable with your attraction to girls and your attraction to girls only. You're open with it. You don't mind talking about it.

Jaume doesn't know if that's because ballet is more open about that thing or just because you're mimicking what you're seen and grown up surrounded with people like Mami and Mama and Tia Ingrid and Mapi and Tia Irene and Lucía.

There's so many women on Mami's old team that are gay and have surrounded you and Jaume as you've grown up.

The women's team are much more open about that thing but Jaume's never met a man who is a footballer and gay at the same time.

It's different.

It's not normal in men's football and Jaume desperately wishes that he was the same as everyone else.

He wants to be able to look at a woman and think she's beautiful. He wants to be able to approach a girl at school or a girl in the crowd and invite her on a date. He wants to be able to kiss a girl and feel fireworks.

He doesn't want to look at a boy on the opposite team and wish he was caged in his arms, wish his were the lips on Jaume's at the end of the day.

He wants to be normal.

He wants to go into the locker room and not hear the jeering of his teammates as they make fun of some gay guy they've seen on Instagram or at school or in the street.

But then he looks at you, his older sister, talk about that girl you hook up with when she comes to Spain. He sees you talk so candidly about your lack of attraction to men. He sees you dance and dance and dance and, at the end of the day, know that you're no less a great dancer as the straight girls that dance with you.

"I'm gay."

You turn to look at your brother, taking in the way his mouth hangs open like he's shocked that he's even said it.

"That's cool, Jaume," You say.

You say it like's it's natural. Like it's normal for him to confess this to you out of nowhere. You say it like he's just told you the weather or that he's in the starting eleven at the weekend.

You say it like it's something that you've always known.

You smile at him like it doesn't change your perception of him, your little brother that climbs into your bed in his sweaty kit, your little brother that leaves his dirty boots all over the house, your little brother who uses you like his personal taxi service now that you've gotten your license.

"No," He says," I'm gay."

Your brows draw together, an amused smile on your face. "I know. You've already said that."

"No." Jaume shakes his head, a sudden pressure on his chest that he's desperate to force out. He stands, beginning to pace the small space as his hand rubs at his chest. "You don't get it. I'm gay. I like guys. I-I don't like girls. At all."

Something wet and desperate pricks in his eyes.

"I...I like guys. I...What's wrong with me? Fuck! There's something wrong. I...I'm..."

"Jaume? Jaume!"

Your hands are on his arms, gently guiding him to sit against the wall. You draw his hand away from his chest, placing it onto your own.

"I need you to match my breathing. Nice and slow. In and out."

Jaume doesn't know how long it is until the roaring in his ears disappear and the crushing weight on his chest turns from rib cracking to manageable. It doesn't disappear but he can breath again and function.

He looks into your eyes.

"You can't tell anyone."

Something in you breaks as you look into your brothers eyes.

He's always been a bit of a goofball. He's always been the extroverted one out of the both of you.

You've never seen him look so lifeless before.

You're not quite sure what to do.

"Should we get milkshakes?" You ask, ignoring the way your own stomach twists itself into knots in outrage," Would that make it easier?"

"With whipped cream?"

"Whipped cream and sauce. Whatever you want."

Your mind runs the whole week. Jaume's face is etched in your mind even as Alexia sits in front of you in the little café you're eating at.

Olga's at work but both you and Alexia have the day off. There's no matches for her to coach for the week and you had a performance yesterday so take today as your rest day before you're dancing for a crowd for four days straight again.

"What's up with you?" Alexia asks," You feeling okay?"

You contemplate just telling her.

Jaume had spilled everything to you as you sat on the beach with your milkshakes. He spoke about realising he only liked boys and the attitudes of his teammates at football and his friends at school and they way that he's had to lie and fake his attraction to girls all year because he doesn't want to be iced out of the group.

Alexia is more equipped to deal with that stuff than you. You're a dancer but Jaume is a footballer. The reception to being gay in your dance company is wildly different to the reception to being gay in a football team.

Alexia would be able to help. Alexia always helps.

But Jaume told you not to tell anyone so you're not.

"Yeah. I'm fine," You say. Just because you can't spill the beans doesn't mean you can't help push your Mami in the right direction.

But Alexia's not the best at picking up hints.

So she takes your words at face value, nodding along as she stirs her coffee.

"And you know that we're coming to watch you on Friday, right?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, Mami. I know. You and Jaume and Olga and Abuela and Tia Alba. Centre of the middle row so your necks don't get crooks in them. I know."

Alexia smiles at you. "Just making sure you know. I mean-"

The ringing phones interrupts Alexia and soon you're abandoning your lunch to get to Jaume's school.

He's sitting outside of the head teacher's office with bruised knuckles and a split lip.

Alexia stalks into the office and you stay outside, gently taking Jaume's hand.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"No. It's-"

"Tell. Me. I can't help if I don't-"

"They said some stuff," Jaume says," You know, stuff about..."

"Oh."

"So I punched him and they all ganged up on me."

"Did you get some good hits in at least?"

The corners of Jaume's mouth turn upwards and he stares down at his split knuckles. "Yeah, I did."

Alexia storms out of the headmaster's office and you and your brother both go stiff.

"Jaume," She says," Get in the car."

"Mami-" You say and she holds up a hand.

"Don't defend him. He knows better than to start a fight."

"Mami..."

"No! He's suspended. You're suspended, Jaume! Was it worth it?!"

Your brother shrinks under Alexia's furious gaze.

You can relate to that. All you've ever wanted is Alexia's approval, in all your actions and you know Jaume feels the same.

Your brother is taller than you like Alexia is but, still, you step between them.

"Mami," You say," Just wait. Hear him out. It's not what you thin-"

"I'm not having this conversation here." Alexia cuts you off, taking a deep breath. "Give me some time to calm down. We'll talk at home."

The car ride is tense with Alexia ramrod straight in the driver's seat and Jaume staring blankly out the window.

Alexia goes in first and you catch Jaume's hand.

"You can tell her," You tell him," You don't have to if you don't want to but you can tell her. She won't be mad at you."

"I...I don't know if I can."

"It won't make her love you any less. It won't make her see you any differently. She loves us. She loves you."

Tears are in his eyes as he looks at you, hands shaking. "Promise?"

"I promise."

He looks at the front door, where Alexia waits for him.

He reaches his hand out for you.

You take it.

"It's going to be okay."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

573 notes · View notes

itsgodepi · 1 month ago

Text

If I lose my mind | Ch. 12

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a couple problem-solving courses would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 5,4k Also on AO3

The sun bears down with an almost tangible weight, each ray a fiery tendril pressing against your skin. What began as a blissful oasis—a magnificent sunbed that cradled you in its warm embrace after your swim in the icy water, rocking you to the rhythm of the lapping waves—has betrayed you. The once-soft fabric and plush cushions have gradually transformed into a stifling grill beneath your back. Sweat beads at your temples, and the tingling heat along your shoulders hints at a sunburn brewing just beneath the surface

With a sigh, you sit up, the teak deck creaking softly beneath you. The Mediterranean stretches endlessly in every direction, a tranquil expanse of sapphire shimmering under the sun’s golden touch. You slip into your sandals, the straps warm against your skin, and head toward the shaded back deck. If you're honest, when Carlos first mentioned his latest "shiny acquisition," you’d pictured a sleek little boat, perfect for a casual day on the water. Nothing could have prepared you for the sprawling luxury of the yacht anchored at the port outside his beach house this morning.

Just another reminder that you and Carlos aren't —weren't?— exactly in the same tax bracket.

The shaded area greets you with a rush of cooler air and the sight of Carlos lounging on a plush sofa, still in his swim trunks. His tanned skin glistens with the remnants of saltwater from your earlier swim, his eyes glued to his phone, a half-played chess game abandoned beside him.

You shake your head, smirking. He and Charles had been bickering all morning over chess strategies like two old men in a park. They’d finally decided to settle it with one last match, and you’d used the chance to escape and catch some sun. Clearly, they’d taken their sweet time.

Carlos notices your footsteps before you even reach him. His face lights up with that familiar grin, and as you approach, he puts his phone down and extends a hand toward you. His fingers slip around yours effortlessly, his thumb grazing your knuckles in a warm, unhurried motion. It’s oddly comforting, a habit of his that’s grown on you.

“Did you lose?” you ask, arching a brow at the abandoned game.

“Never,” he replies, the arrogance in his tone undercut by the grin tugging at his lips.

“Where’s Charles?”

“Talking on the phone. His mummy called,” Carlos quips, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes, leaning in to flick his forehead with your intertwined hands. “Don’t act like you weren’t calling your mum this morning all like, ‘Mami, que nos vamos con el barco, (Mummy, we’re taking the boat)’” you mimic, your voice climbing to a falsetto.

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, though he tries to protest, “I don’t talk like that!”

“Que sí, mamá, que tenemos cuidado (Yes mom, we’ll be careful)” you continue, doubling down on your impersonation, complete with dramatic hand gestures. “Ya me he puesto crema, ¡no traigas más mamá! (I’ve alredy put oon sunscreen, don’t bring more!)”

His jaw drops at your performance, mock outrage lighting up his expression. “Stop making fun of me!” he exclaims, though his laughter betrays him. His free hand darts out to tickle your side, a sudden and ruthless retaliation.

“Hey, stop it!” you yelp, struggling to squirm away, but Carlos is far stronger. His previous grip on your hand prevents any real escape, and with his other hand, he mercilessly tickles you until your resistance falters. You trip in your attempt to escape, tumbling onto him.

“¡Que me tiras! (You’re going to make me fall!)” you gasp, half-laughing, half-protesting as you land awkwardly against him.

“That’s the plan,” he says smugly, locking his arms around you in a triumphant hug

“Carlos, I’m all sticky with suncream and sweating!”

“I don’t care!” he replies, his voice sing-song as he pulls you closer.

Despite yourself, you can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation deflating your protests. The driver’s hold on you is inescapable, his strength far outmatching yours. His next words come as a triumphant whisper against your ear “Por lo menos he conseguido oírte hablar en español (At least I got you to talk in Spanish)”

“Huh?” You pull back slightly, blinking at him. He has a point —you don’t think you’ve ever had a proper conversation with him in Spanish. It’s not a conscious decision, you are always surrounded by non-Spanish speakers, and when he does approach you alone, he usually defaults to English.

It’s oddly endearing how pleased he seems with himself though.

“No tienes que practicar más tu inglés (You don’t have to practise your English no more),” he adds with a grin. “¡Ya sabes más que yo! (Already know more than I do!)”

“Sure, sure,” you reply, skeptical. You don’t really know what he is talking about, when did you ask him to practice your English?

“È meglio in italiano?” he switches languages, his grin widening.

“What did you say?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“C’mon, Charles told me you wanted to practice your Italian before Monza. You can practice with me too.”

Oh, Charles did mention something like that one of the first times you met him, even talked to you in Italian a couple times. You could never really follow the conversations, only understanding half of what he said because of your Spanish, so he didn’t push any further.

“I don’t know Italian,” you deflect, shaking your head.

“Two years in the Ferrari academy, and you didn’t pick up anything?” Carlos teases, his disbelief evident in his tone. His grin is wide, mischievous, and altogether too charming. You try to shrug it off, but his raised eyebrow signals he’s not letting you off the hook “That’s where you met Charles, right?”

You blink. New information. You really should speak Spanish with him more often if this is the kind of intel you’ll get.

“I guess,” you say nonchalantly, feigning indifference. Inside, though, you’re already planning to search about it the moment you get back.

Carlos narrows his eyes, suspicious of your evasiveness. “I guess?” His voice rises in mock exasperation, and then, before you can brace yourself, his hands attack your sides again in a relentless tickling assault.

“Okay, okay, stop!” you gasp, laughter bubbling uncontrollably from your chest as you twist and squirm, your hands blindly grappling for his wrists. His grip falters just enough for you to catch one hand, then the other, but the struggle only lands you in an even more precarious position: half-seated on top of him. “Fine! Yes, I knew him from there, before he was in Sauber. Happy now?”

Guess playing those guess the driver based on their teams challenges from tiktok had to come in handy at some point. You got addicted at those.

Carlos leans back slightly, utterly unfazed, not putting resistance against your hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he teases, his voice as warm and smooth as the sunlit waves lapping against the boat, cradling you from side to side.

One of his hands settles casually on your hip when you let go, the other remaining loosely trapped in your grip.

“Whatever,” you mutter, but your tone lacks conviction. You let out a soft huff of air, trying and failing to suppress the smallest of smiles when he throws you a wink, boyish and entirely too charming.

You still can’t understand how he always manages to turn your interactions into moments like this — moments so tender and charged that they feel almost deliberate, yet completely unspoken. The way your eyes linger on each other, the way you’re so close, sometimes even holding one another. How easily you’ve slipped into this dynamic with the Ferrari driver.

Why doesn’t this closeness feel strange? You’ve known him for such a short time, and yet it feels natural, like you’ve always been this way. The gentle way your fingers trace patterns along his, the soothing circles his hand draws on your side, a gesture so unconscious it sends a quiet shiver up your spine.

‘It’s just Carlos’ you tell yourself, as if that’s enough. Carlos, with his disarming warmth, his easy-going nature and unguarded affection. He seems so comfortable with this closeness, so unafraid to seek it out with you — it’s simply who he is. With you.

And somehow, without a second thought, you let yourself sink into it.

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, his voice soft enough to blend with the gentle crash of waves. His gaze is unwavering, those warm brown eyes studying your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

The wind tousles his hair, leaving it a mess of dark strands framing his face. His bracelet catches the light as your fingers toy absently with the cord, the handmade piece adorned with his initials and the tiny Ferrari badge drawn on little white cubes. It’s a fan gift, of all things, but its presence now, between your hands, feels...

A pang shoots through your chest, the ache of it almost too much.

It’s not... real. None of this is real.

“Nothing, I’m…” you smile, the tremble on your lips so easily noticeable and so difficult to hide. “It’s just..., you know, this, and I’m...” you bite down on your tongue, physically restraining the words from escaping.

Forcing yourself to just shut up.

You take a breath in, trying to push down the thoughts that so easily started poisoning the moment. Your eyebrows draw together and you keep your eyes down, letting go of the cord of his bracelet like it’s burning.

It’s fake. Everything.

I’m scared, you want to say, I’m so fucking scared of this —of all of it. Thirty-six days of living this surreal, impossible life, of being thrust into a world of fast cars, flashing cameras, and unimaginable luxury. Of private boats and breathtaking views, of thinking how nice you fit into the arms of this amazing man. And the quiet horror of realizing how easily you could lose yourself in it.

“Carlos,” you begin, the words spilling out before you can stop them. But what are you supposed to say? That this isn’t real? The boat, this life, him? You glance at his expectant face, the furrowed brows, the quiet weight in his gaze. He’ll think you’ve lost it, that you’re going crazy under the weight of it all. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m… you’re— none of this is—”

The sudden creak of the driving cabin door cuts through your faltering confession, and your head jerks up to see Charles stepping out, his phone clutched in one hand. He doesn’t notice you at first, his thumb furiously swiping at the screen.

He stops just short of the two of you, his gaze flicking up to you, then Carlos, and finally settling back on you. Something lingers in that glance, his green eyes catching the fading sunlight in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

“Think we should head back,” Charles mutters, his voice clipped, as though reluctant to interrupt. “Some weirdo’s been taking photos.”

Guess Charles wasn’t talking to his mum after all. Instead, it was someone from the Ferrari media team, calling to warn him about the photos of you that had been slowly making their way onto social media since this morning. They had just received a fresh batch of unseen ones just a couple minutes ago: a series of candid shots of the three of you, lounging on the boat, laughing, completely at ease, unaware of the long lenses pointed at you from the distance.

Both teams scramble to get the photos pulled, sending messages, making calls, trying to keep the damage contained. But it doesn’t take long for them to see the light. And, as expected, the reactions are far from kind.

_______

“You should stop looking at that” Charles advices, his voice even softer than usual as he sets the pile of plates and cutlery down onto the table on the back patio.

The faint scent of saltwater from the sea mixes with the cool evening air, and the setting sun casts a warm golden glow on everything around you. He moves with practiced ease, placing everything in its place.

You pull your legs from the chair and sit up, stretching as you glance back into the house. Phone left over the table, still displaying the article you found about your ‘escapade’. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Inside, the lights are all on, and the shadows of indistinguishable figures move about the kitchen, the soft clatter of utensils filtering through the open window.

“Are they already making dinner? Sorry, you need help?”

The Monegasque stops you with a swift gesture of his hand, starting to place everything on the table by himself. His hair is damp and unruly from his recent shower, the blue shirt he's wearing showing traces of the droplets that must have been falling just minutes ago. He looks so effortlessly nice.

“Don’t worry, Carlos’ mom warned us not to bother you”

“Is that so?” you chuckle softly, a hint of relief creeping in. But you don’t stop yourself from reaching for the forks and knives, setting them in their places on the table —seven seats in total. Carlos’ sister and her husband are joining you tonight. "You should’ve told me anyway..."

"I don’t think she’d let you help even if you wanted to. She even sent the cook home for the night" he calms you, finishing his task and resting his arms on the backrest of the seat opposite to you

“What is she making?”

Charles hesitates, his gaze darting back to the kitchen before turning to you again. His mouth opens and closes with stray syllables that don’t really make any dish you have ever heard before. “Some kind of fish, I think? They’ve said the name a couple times but I didn't get it” he shrugs lightly, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips. "It smells good though. That’s all I can say"

“It does smell nice” you give him, a grin of your own pulling at your lips. You sit down again as ordered, taking your still light up phone from the table and turning off the screen.

She should respect herself is the last thing you manage to read on it, one of the nicest comment of the hundreds hanging on the comment section of the page. You sigh. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks a few meters away filling in the silence that falls right after.

“Try not to worry about it too much, okay?” he almost whispers, his hand moves through his hair, shaking it out of place “I know it’s hard, but... some people are just assholes, no use in reading the shit they put out there”

A sigh slips from your lips as you lean your elbows over the glass table and glance away, the weight of your thoughts pressing on your chest. "A lot has come up about Monaco too..."

While you can hardly stomach the repulsive comments surrounding the supposed relationship between you Charles, or Carlos, or both of them? Some even asking themselves how your closeness with Lewis might fit into the mix. The constant invasion of privacy, the sense that you’re being watched every second of every day, has been weighting on you lately.

They know where you've been. Where you ate. What you wore. They even managed to snap a picture of that tiny clay hedgehog Charles bought you back at the artisan market —a detail so small, yet so personal, and now it’s making the rounds in social media. It’s all out there now, for anyone to dissect, to judge, to speculate.

One thing is people knowing your hotel back in the middle of a Grand Prix, and another thing entirely is being followed back to Charles’ building entrance. There’s even photos of you carrying the suitcase inside the Sainz’s villa just couple days ago.

The thought of going back to Monaco after this trip to Mallorca feels suffocating. You’re not sure if you can face it. Not after everything. You feel so exposed, like there’s nowhere safe anymore.

Charles’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. "No, I don’t even look at those things anymore," he confesses, the finality in his voice talking of a decision he took long ago. The driver has spent years on the spotlight, for good a not so much "Look, I know we talked about this before, but I really don’t care what anyone says."

His words linger in the quite night, his eyes never leaving yours. "I enjoy this. Being here, with you. Spending more time together outside of racing and being normal, you know?" His smile softens, but there's something deeper in his expression, something you can’t quite put your finger on. "And I loved showing you around Monaco, having you at home. So really, why would I care about what some loser has to say about it? This... this is just me and you. Us."

Oh, that’s...

What?

A rush of warmth blooms across your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest, leaving you breathless for a moment. Your heart flutters, faster than it should, that’s so nice, so comforting in a way you didn’t expect. And the way he’s looking at you, the intensity in his gaze expressing a million things more than he can manage to put into words.

But where is all this coming from? He’s never said anything remotely close to this before. Sure, he’s talked about how great it was spending time with you, how much fun the last few days were, but this?

“I...” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your mind struggles to catch up. You look up at him, heart racing and nerves threatening to unravel you entirely. What are you even supposed to say? His words, his tone, the way his eyes seem to search yours with such quiet urgency. It all feels so much deeper than just this conversation “I had a lot of fun too, Charles”

As soon as the words slip from your lips, you realize with a sinking feeling that you’ve said the wrong thing. The change in the air is almost tangible, as if the moment itself has shifted, taking on a new weight you can’t shake off. Charles’s smile is still there, but it’s different now. It’s more distant, reserved.

You open your mouth instinctively, your mind scrambling for something to say, something to undo the sudden tension. But the words don’t come. They’re caught somewhere, stuck behind the pressure building inside you.

But nothing comes. The words stay lodged in your throat, swallowed by hesitation, and all you can do is watch as he turns and walks away.

“Toma, dale a la cría más jamón, hombre (Here, give the girl some more jamón, boy)” Carlos Senior voice breaks through the chatter, abrupt yet kindly, leaning over the table to take one of the dishes of cut meat scattered around the table and giving it to his son.

You try to wave it off, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, no, no, por favor,” you stammer, already chewing on a bite of the rich, salty meat. But before you can protest further, Carlos takes the plate from his father’s hand and places it in front of you. A bit of heat rises to your cheeks, “Sorry, it’s been a while since I last got to eat it and-”

“No, love, eat some more! There’s cheese here as well, do you want some?” Reyes, Carlos’ mother, swiftly diverts the talk, not waiting for an answer before picking another one of the dishes and sending it down the table towards you.

“Tendríamos pedir más y así se llevan los chicos (We should buy some more, so the kids can take them home)” she suggests to her husband, taking her glass in one hand and turning to the other guest at the table “Charles, do you like it too? And the cheese? We’ll prepare some for you to take back”

You laugh under your breath, trying not to look overwhelmed. The plates seem to multiply around you, the family circling you both in a flurry of food. You catch Charles’ eye across the table, his dimples flashing in an innocent smile. He’s probably not understanding half of the conversation, the rapid-fire Spanish swirling around him too much to keep up with.

Your mind drifts briefly to Nick, he's definitely not going to be happy about this. From the delicate codfish Reyes had spent hours preparing, to the fragrant cake Carlos' sister brought over, you’ve already eaten more than you intended. This time you’re truly not sure if you’ll fit on the car.

Well, the trainer had actually seemed quite willing to ease up on the strictness of the diet when you brought up your conversation with Daniel a few weeks ago. He even programmed a new plan just a couple of days later. For some reason and despite their differences, Nick was oddly pleased that Daniel had discussed the topic with you, even admitted he wasn’t really comfortable with such a rigid calorie count either.

So then, why was it programmed in the first place?

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?” Carlos' sister leans forward, finishing her piece of cheese as she watches the scene unfold around them, her eyes scanning the quiet evening.

“We were going to Palma, to see the market, but now that they know we’re all here...” her brother reclines lazily on the chair, a sigh flowing out his lips “I don’t know, maybe take a trip to Menorca?”

Carlos glances over at you and Charles, his eyes scanning for a response. You nod encouragingly, the idea appealing. It'll throw the paparazzies off for a while, the island not that far from you, but enough to be off the radar for a bit.

His father also supports the idea, instantly taking out his phone to show Carlos a restaurant they visited a few years back as a suggestion for lunch “Your mother loved this one, it had a terrace over the sea and all. And there was this plate of roasted lamb...”

Carlos and his sister both chuckle at the enthusiasm in the man’s voice, exchanging a look with their mother. It’s probably not the first time they’ve heard this story, and judging by the way their father dives into every single detail of it —even in English—, the last time won’t be anytime soon either.

The conversation drifts to other places worth visiting before they leave the island. The family has had this house for years, and while they know Mallorca like the back of their hands, they’ve explored the other islands multiple times as well.

After a while, Carlos’ hand fall onto your knee to gain your attention “Like the plan?”

“Menorca? Yeah, at least for tomorrow” you whisper back, your eyes meeting his. They’re the ones who know how to navigate the chaos of fame, so you better follow along with their advice.

The Ferrari driver nods, his hand giving your knee a reassuring squeeze before leaving it to rest there, calm and steady. The warmth of his touch lingers as the evening stretches on. Yeah, he’s getting too smooth at it, you think —but you don’t mind.

_____

Turns out the Sainz family has an excellent taste, from the restaurants they recommend to the activities Carlos is roped into taking you on. Menorca, it turns out, is even more enchanting than the glossy postcards or travel blogs ever hinted at, with its tranquil waters and the shimmering sun. You spend most of the trip in a blissful haze, thankfully managing to avoid too many encounters with paparazzi or curious fans.

That conversation with Charles from the first evening? It’s not mentioned again, by either of you. The air between you settling back into that familiarity slowly but surely. Still, it lingers in the back of your mind, and you make a mental note to talk things through with him once you’re away from all of this.

The days on the islands vanish like grains of sand through your fingers, blurring into an endless string of sunsets and laughter. You try to memorize every detail —the way the sunlight catches on Carlos’ grin, the sound of Charles’ rare and genuine laugh, the warm feeling being with them bring you. But no matter how tightly you cling, the end still comes.

Your escapade to the Balearic Islands has come to an end, and now you’re heading to Monaco for the last couple of days you’ll get to spend with Charles.

When the time to finally part ways at the airport comes, Carlos holds you tightly. His hug is firm, his arms wrapping around you as if they alone could keep you from leaving. He sways you gently from side to side, reluctant to let go.

“So, you’re coming back every break, aren’t you?” his words, though light, strike a chord deep in your chest.

You want to respond, to reassure him, but the truth lodges in your throat. Because this, whatever it is, probably won’t happen ever again. You won’t get to spend your holidays with the two drivers, won’t be able to talk to them again, to see them, to hug them. This dream, or whatever this temporarily insanity of yours is, will come to an end at some point. Right?

But even as you nod and give him a wry smile, the question haunts you: do you want it to end?

The thought keeps circling your mind over the following days and weeks, as you try to convince yourself of the only sane solution. You have to go back, to your apartment, to your work, to your life –How? You’ll have to figure that one out too. Nevertheless, this feeling reaches its breaking two weeks later, at the afterparty of the Belgian Grand Prix, cradled in his arms once again, this time under the crisp chill of his victory night as you lose yourself in his eyes.

Do you really want this to end?

“Thanks again for coming,” Carlos murmurs, looking down at you in a hug that you both refuse parting from. “I know you’ve been a little anxious about parties and going out lately”

You lean back slightly to look at him, the warmth of his presence anchoring you “I couldn’t miss it.”

“Who knows when I’ll win again, right?” he teases, a sly smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, shut it!” you laugh, swatting his chest. The sound of your voice bounces off the quiet entrance, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

“What? You’re the one who said it first!”

“Me?! When?” your incredulous glare only makes his grin wider “It’s you who heard that, always thinking the worst of me”

“If that helps you sleep at night”

You push at him in mock indignation, stepping back from the hug to create some distance, but your heel catches on the uneven ground. The world tilts alarmingly, but before gravity can do its worst, his hands are there—firm and steady—gripping your waist and pulling you back upright in one seamless motion “Nope, we’re not having none of that tonight”

“What? can’t a woman fall down with dignity now?” you spurt back, regaining your footing. Your feet hurt with these heels, you thought rich people parties were supposed to be more of sitting down fun, some wine and expensive food. Instead got that undanceable music

“With dignity?” he chuckles, low and warm, letting you adjust yourself but keeping his hold on you. You don’t know if it's in fear you’ll fall again or simply a need to keep you close “Someone just had a little too many daquiris”

You look at him then, big eyes on display and your lower lip pushed out, like a child caught red-handed and whine “They were so good, Carlos, so sweet!”

“I knew you’d like then,” Carlos’ smirk softens, glad you enjoyed the drink he recommended “When I tried the cherry one, I immediately thought of you.”

“Oh, that’s why it tasted like a lollypop!” The revelation feels groundbreaking in your slightly woozy state. His sweets words somehow flying pass you. You point at him accusingly then, wobbling a bit in your heels. “But don’t change the topic, I’m not drunk no more, I swear!”

“No? You’re not?”

“Perfectly fine now. Just the heels, I promise” you nod, you haven’t drink that much and he know it. He is just teasing “I’m, like, tipsy. Fun tipsy.”

“Fun tipsy, you say?” Carlos repeats in a chuckle, voice almost a whisper, and his gaze lingers. The noise of the party behind you fades to a distant hum. He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression makes your chest tighten and your stomach flip in equal measure.

You don’t notice when his hands begin to slide, one moving up from your waist to rest just below your neck. His thumb brushes along your jawline, tentative but deliberate. The gentle warmth of his palm against your cheek is intoxicating, and before you know it, you’re leaning into the touch, your body betraying you.

“Then...” the man’s eyes glimmer, catching the golden glow of the patio lights. His voice is laced with hesitance, searching yours for a question he suddenly feels too shy to ask “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, all you can do is nod, barely aware of the small, trembling movement. The distance between you vanishes as he leans in, his hand cradling your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath hitch.

When Carlos’ lips finally meet yours, it’s like the world stops spinning. The first touch is soft, testing, as though he’s afraid to break the moment. You respond almost instinctively, leaning into him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. The kiss deepens, his lips pressing against yours with a growing confidence.

His other hand finds its way back to your waist, anchoring you to him, steady and unyielding. Your hand clutching his shirt while the other drifts up to his shoulder. The warmth of him seeps into your fingertips, your skin, until you feel like you might melt into him entirely.

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. His fingers graze along your jawline, tracing a path as if trying to memorize every inch of you in this fleeting moment. You’re hyper-aware of everything —his touch, the way his breath mingles with yours, the slight tug of his lips as he smiles into the kiss.

When he pulls away, it’s agonizingly slow, his lips lingering against yours as if reluctant to part. His forehead comes to rest lightly against yours.

“That was really nice” Carlos murmurs, his voice hushed, almost reverent.

“Yeah, it was” you agree, your voice barely a whisper. You lean back, looking up at him with a smile that betrays the fluttering in your chest and can’t help but chuckle “A bit unexpected maybe, but—”

"Unexpected?" he asks with a relaxed laugh, his fingers drawing invisible circles on your waist, his touch light but steady. "You can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted to do that."

Before you can respond, he leans in for a quick, soft kiss, his lips brushing yours one last time, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more.

“Like two hours?” you guess, playfully, as you play with the buttons of his dark shirt, and he shakes his head in denial

The sound of a car approaching cuts through the moment—the unmistakable hum of your Uber arriving. Carlos glances over his shoulder at the car, then back at you, his expression softening “Guess it’s time for you to go, I’ll tell you about it another day”

The Ferrari driver pulls back and reaches for your hand, guiding you down the stairs and toward the car. You pause at the door, feeling a little reluctant to part ways, but before you can say anything, Carlos steps close again. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss, one that leaves you with a small smile on your lips.

"Send me a message when you get there, alright?" he murmurs, his lips still close to yours.

"Yeah, I will," you reply, a little breathless, before stepping back and getting into the car.

"Goodnight, Carlos"

“Buenas noches, cielo”

Author's note: Thank you all so much for reading, any kind of interaction is greatly appreciated! I know it's been way too long

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin @kyuupidwrites @raevyng @lazybot @gills-lounge @hiraethrhapsody @jjkclub @darleneslane @therealcap @aespie

#carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you

63 notes · View notes

mari-thesapphic-lady · 2 months ago

Text

AAA's incorret quotes (+ Original Characters from my AU)

(Why did I do that? I have no idea, but it seemed fun)

Rio: Agatha keeps fucking me and I can't remember the safeword, happily.

Agatha: My skincare routine is not having feelings for men.

Alice: Look guys, I need help.

Lilia: Are you getting enough sleep?

Agatha: Sometimes when I sneeze my eyes close.

Jen: Love help?

Lilia: Financial help?

Agatha: Emotional help?

Rio: Help moving a body?

*Everybody looks at Rio*

Rio: What?

Agatha: I'd kill someone if you asked me to.

Rio: I'm pretty sure you'd kill someone even if I didn't ask.

Rio: And mostly I don't ask.

Tiger-Lily: You look like an angel.

Jen: Really?

Jen: Oh wait. You mean a biblical angel.

Lilia: You remind me of the ocean.

Rio: Because I'm deep and mysterious?

Lilia: No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.

Tiger-Lily: My mom is calling… Ey, mami.

Vidalia: Come on guys, stop. She's trying to talk to her mom.

Stephanie: *loud fake sexual noises*

Billy: EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Lyra: *is asleep*

Lily-Rose: *gets really close to the phone* Ey, mami.

(Lyra is one of Alice's second cousins, and Stephanie is a distant relative of Lilia)

Tiger-Lily: Not since sharing a uterus with my twin sister have I been so unhappy sitting next to someone.

Lily-Rose: The fastest way to a mami’s heart is through ch-

Agatha: Chest cavity.

Lily-Rose:

Lily-Rose: Cheese, mama. She loves cheese.

Lilia: Trust me, just tell Alice that you like her.

Tiger-Lily: Remain CALM! *slaps Billy multiple times*

Agatha: Yeah Jen, what's the worst that could happen?

Jen: I'm glad you asked!

Jen, taking out a huge binder: I've got a million different horrible scenarios in my head and written down a few.

Alice: That’s illegal, right?

Rio: Why do you care? Are you a fucking cop?

Alice: Actually I was but-

Rio: Then shut the fuck up.

Agatha, talking to Tiger-Lily: When I was your age-

Rio, mocking Agatha: When I was your height.

Agatha:

Agatha: Listen here you little shit-

Rio: Wake up, nena! The sun is shining!

Lily-Rose: And...? What do you want me to do, photosynthesis? I'm not one of your plants! *angrily covers her head with blanket*

Billy: Always stay positive!

Billy: *falls down the stairs*

Billy: Wow! I got down those stairs so fast!

Tiger-Lily: I'm not some innocent little witch, okay?! I read romance books from the adult section of the library!

Agatha: You what?

Tiger-Lily: Uh, nevermind, mama, y'know, they're pretty tame, it's not-

Agatha: Let me see your library card now.

Lily-Rose: The real reason Howl kept his castle moving was tax evasion.

Tiger-Lily: This may sounds like a joke but I read the book. This is the literal reason.

(For those who are wondering who Tiger-Lily and Lily-Rose are, they're Aradia and Abelia's middle names, almost everyone they have known since they were little calls them that)

Agatha: Gasp! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A LADY?!

Agatha: I'M A BITCH! Thank you very much!

Rio: Lirio.

Tiger-Lily: Si, mami?

Rio: What’s sexting?

Tiger-Lily: ... I'm not having this conversation with you. ROSE, COME HERE!

Lilia: Breathe, just breathe.

Billy: I’ve done nothing with my life! I’m a failure!

Rio: Awww, that never bothered you before.

Agatha: We can't lose. Because we have this. *points to their chest*

Alice: We have heart?

Agatha: Heart? No, me. I'm pointing at myself. I'm going to win this for us.

Rio: So you like cats?

Agatha: Yeah.

Rio: *tries to impress her by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

Lily-Rose: When you said 'Magic in Bed', I wasn't expecting this...

Stephanie: *pulls out card from deck* Now, was this your card?

Lily-Rose: Oh my-

Rio: I’m not just some trophy wife, y’know.

Agatha: You’re a trophy wife?! What kinda contest did I win?!

Jen: Is there a cactus where your heart should be?

Agatha: What’s up your ass this morning!

Alice: *walks in* ... Hey.

Agatha: Hmm… nevermind.

Tiger-Lily: *stops mug halfway* In front of my tea?

Agatha: Dating me is fun

Rio: Yeah definitely is sweetheart

Agatha: You get a comedian, a mental patient and a pornstar all in one

Rio: I’m lucky, i know

Jen: That's it. Are you done bitching?

Agatha: That was just a warm up.

Tiger-Lily: Good thing I brought some popcorn.

Jen: I just want someone to take me out.

Alice: On a date?

Agatha: With a sniper gun?

Rio: Both if you're not a coward.

Tiger-Lily, seeing the Wiccan outfit: I can't take you seriously wearing that.

Billy: Aw, you take me seriously at all?

Tiger-Lily: Fair point.

Agatha: I wonder who’s ruining my life.

Agatha: *looks in the mirror*

Agatha: So we meet again.

Lilia: Do you take constructive criticism?

Jen: No, only cash or credit.

Billy: It’s beautiful outside this morning!

Alice: It’s 2AM.

Billy: It’s beautiful outside!

Lilia: We’re indoors.

Billy: It’s beautiful!

Agatha: It’s storming.

Billy: It’s!

Agatha: sSSSHIT- I BURNT MY LIP-

Jen: Why the fuck would you even drink coffee with a METAL STRAW in the FIRST PLACE??

Agatha: BECAUSE WE WERE OUT OF THE PLASTIC ONES!

Agatha: Fuck capitalism. it's a rigged system that keeps us poor and it isn't fair. You shouldn't need to work three jobs to afford basic necessities.

Agatha, playing monopoly: sorry, if you wanted to win you should have tried not being poor.

Rio: I think we can be evil, as a treat.

Agatha: We?

Rio: We ;)

Lily-Rose: I cut my finger

Lyra: I can kiss it so it'll get better

Lily-Rose: That works?

Lyra: Yeah? My mum used to do it when I was little

*later*

Lily-Rose: I need you to punch me in the mouth

Tiger-Lily: Fucking finally

Agatha: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming

Jen: Does anyone in this godforsaken group ever think before they speak

Alice: Wait, I thought you could drive.

Agatha: I didn't learn yet. I'm busy witch!

Lily-Rose: I got it covered.

Alice:

Agatha:

Lilia:

Jen:

Alice: You're like, 15.

Lily-Rose: And?

Rio: Where can I get your blood.

Agatha: It's free but you have to catch me.

Lily-Rose: Dinosaurs aren’t extinct! I mean, mami’s still walking around.

Tiger-Lily, fighting back laughter: Pfft! Rose! That wasn’t nice!

Agatha: She isn’t wrong, though, hon.

Rio: *groan of frustration*

Agatha: I'm emotionless!

Rio: Says the person who confessed to me while smiling, blushed while dating, and cried when we got married.

Agatha: Shit.

This a mess. I probably won't post another one of these, because probably almost no one will like it, but, yeah, it was fun.

67 notes · View notes

monster-hunter-comic · 3 months ago

Text

Monster Hunter Comic: Mami #130-133 (Ch. 9, Pg. 1-4)

<<< beginning << beginning of chapter < previous | next >

wanna see my socials? check it. oh, and patrons are 4-16 pages ahead :O

#monster hunter #comic #webcomic #illustration #artists on tumblr #art #monster hunter rise #manga #mh #hunter #takumi

48 notes · View notes

cupcakeinat0r · 1 year ago

Text

Broadway Baby ch. 3

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: Today is your first lesson… and we’re not talking abt the piano lesson you give Gabriella…

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, squirting, mirror sex?, p in v, losing ur V card, unprotected (wrap it n tap it pls), nipple play

Tags: Sugar Daddy AU, Age gap, Soft dom! Miguel, Sub!Reader, reader is a Latina mami (written by a Latina <3), Miguel is a horny dilf (girl dinnerrr), and accurate Spanish translations <3

Word count: 5.7k

Ch. 2

Note: I do use the word ‘small’ but this is not in regard to reader’s appearance, simply a comparison to Miguel’s height :) <3

I promised y’all toe curling smut so I hope I delivered!!! Enjoy!!

That morning, you woke up earlier than normal because you wanted to make sure you showed up to Miguel’s house flawless.

You did your hair, you painted your nails, you moisturized your entire body, did your skin care regimen, and you meticulously did your makeup, hell, you even gua sha’d your face beforehand; a secret Santa gift from a year ago, never taken out of its box until now. It was your nerves to blame for your over-thorough preparation.

For your outfit, you settled on a knitted dress which hugged your body from top to just above the knees paired with a matching cropped cardigan and some close-toed heels. Cute yet professional.

On the way to Miguel’s place, you look over your little lesson planner you created the night before; something to go by as you teach Gabriella. You’ve never taught anyone in your life, let alone a child, but you were looking forward to it. You were technically helping raise the next generation of artists, and that made you feel excited about this opportunity.

Once you get to the location sent by Miguel, you look up to see a house that very much lives up to what you expected Miguel to live in. It was modern with clean and sharp edges. You were having to lean your head back it was so big, your eyes wide as you imagine the pricing on this real estate.

You take in a deep breath, ringing the doorbell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Miguel’s morning was just as hectic.

Just like you, he wanted to make sure he looked good for you. He chose an outfit he thought you would really like. He shaved his face (even though you liked his scruff), fixed his hair, and put on the nicest cologne he owned.

He went as far as preparing a breakfast so that you had something to eat before or after your lesson with Gabriella.

Miguel, standing in the middle of his living room, looked around the house, making sure everything was presentable and clean for you.

“Gabri, casi listo (almost ready)? Your teacher’s gonna be here soon!” He calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Yes, papa, almost done!” She calls back.

Miguel then goes to his phone when he hears a notification.

Omw!! Just got in the car!

Great 👍

And what is omw?

It means ‘On My Way’!

Oh LOL 😂 Getting

too for old this I guess👴🏾

Jajajaja ay, no pa tanto,

(Not so much) you know What they say,

32 is the new 22!

Jajaja you’re too sweet.❤️

Bueno, te veo pronto.😌

( Well, see you soon.)

See you soon!!! So excited

to meet her!!!

Miguel reads the last text with a soft smile. You truly were just the sweetest human being he’s ever witnessed. Sometimes, he just wanted to cup your face and smother you in kisses. Or smother his face between those plush thighs of yours. Either way, he’d be a happy man.

He’ll be able to give into those fantasies. Soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stand on his doorstep, waiting after you rung the doorbell. Your heart drops as you hear the door unlocking.

It’s just Miguel. The man of your dreams, but he’s just a guy. Chill out.

When the door opens, there he is, standing 6 foot 9 inches, a beautiful latin man, clean shaven, wearing a compression shirt, gray sweats, some house slippers, and smells of teakwood and vanilla. He opens the door wide open, giving you his signature smile. “Morning, beautiful. Ven, ven.” (Come in, come in) he says, ushering you inside his home.

You always forget how actually beautiful he is until you see him in person. You swallow down hard as you look up at him and offer him a tight smile as you step inside. You can already feel your cunt flutter and a sticky warmth form in your underwear at just the sight of him as you step inside, stealing a glance at his ripped body underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. And those sweats were a size too small on him. Damn him.

Miguel was no better. When he opened that door and saw you, smaller than him and wearing a dress that accentuated your waist and ass, cleavage teasing him through the neckline and cardigan, his breath hitched. He had to hide his arousal with a smile, but goddamn, you looked delicious. If you weren’t here to teach his daughter how to play piano on her 7th birthday, he would’ve pulled you inside the house, bunched your dress above your tits, thrown you onto the sofa and fucked you missionary style until you were a panting mess.

“So How was the ride here, sweetie? Were you comfortable? Can I get you anything to drink? Agua, jugo de china…?” (Water, orange juice) He starts the conversation as you both step into the living room, his hand on the small of your back.

You chuckle at Miguel’s thoughtful questioning. “Don’t worry, it was very nice, and thank you so much for doing that, you didn’t need to!”

“Oh, please, I wasn’t gonna let you pay for an Uber to my house. And the subway was out of the question. Pretty girls like you don’t belong there, anyway.” He smirks, which makes you blush in return. “Muchas gracias, Miguel. I may actually do that glass of water, please.” As soon as you ask for it, Miguel is already in the kitchen fixing you the drink.

“Here you go, sweetie. I also made some breakfast, so please, help yourself. ” You blush at the name, taking the glass from him. “Thank you, this all looks so delicious! I’ll probably eat after the lesson. You look comfy, by the way!” You compliment Miguel before taking a sip. He smiles, looking down at his outfit before responding, “You could say that. I’m working from home, so no suit today. As for you, you look beautiful, but that’s old news.” He flirts before taking a sip of his own glass of water. You smile as your gaze retreats to the cup in your hands, “Oh, stop it, you’re too much.”

“What? I’m just telling the truth.” He says with a shrug and his brows furrowed. You can practically feel his eyes grazing over your body. Miguel loves the way you blush at his advances; practically lives off of it, your cute little bashful self. You look up to give him a smile, looking to change the subject or else you’ll become the color of a tomato.

“So where’s the birthday girl?” You set the glass down on the counter top, Miguel leaning against it on the other side. “She should be coming down any minute now. She’s been going through the roof about these lessons, but she doesn’t know that you’re teaching them, so you’ll be the surprise.” Your mouth drops in awe, your hand going up to touch your chest, “aw, oh my goodness, that just made me even more excited! Ugh, I’m a huge fan of hers already. ” Your smile is wide enough that your dimples become visible, Miguel taking note of them and wondering how you can be so hot and adorable at the same time. Miguel starts to lean closer toward you over the counter.

“Well, she’s a huge fan of yours,” Miguel says, getting even closer to you as he props himself on his elbows, his muscles on full display as he looks at you with a flirtatious gaze, “and I don’t blame her.” His words make your smile fall slightly as your eyes go down to those tempting lips, your insides crying for you to just lean over and kiss them. Miguel’s eyes follow yours, something primal unleashing in him when he sees your lips part. Then you hear the patter of small feet rushing down the stairs, the two of you looking at Gabriella as she comes down.

“Papa, is she here yet-“, her face drops when she sees you in the kitchen. Her idol was in her home. “Feliz cumpleaños, Gabriella!” (Happy Bday) You say, reaching your arms out when you see run up to you. She hugs you, her cheek pressed against your stomach as she squeals, then she looks up, “You’re gonna be my teacher?!” “That’s right, and we’re gonna have so much fun!” Your response makes her jump with joy. “This is the best birthday ever!!!”

Miguel looks at the two of you with a grin before speaking, “She’s gonna teach you piano today, mija, so listen carefully and follow her instructions, you hear me?” “Yes, papa! C’mon, papa got me a big piano yesterday for us to use!” She says, your hand in hers as she leads you through the house and into a smaller room. You shoot Miguel a giddy smile before being pulled away by the seven old.

“Do you have a piano like this?” She exclaims, sitting up on the bench of the piano. You place the lesson planner on a nearby table and sit next to her. “Oh, well, I’ve never actually had my own piano. I always played with pianos that belonged to my teachers or the theater.” You respond.

“Oh. You can play with mine anytime you want, then!” She says with a toothy smile. You giggle at her adorable generosity in return, “Thank you, mamita, I appreciate it.” Miguel leans against the doorframe watching you two talk to each other a little more and he’s living for how happy Gabriella is to be with you. Sure, she was daddy’s girl, and loved him to death as any spoiled little girl would, but he’s never seen her like this. She was usually so shy with people but with you, Gabriella was an open book.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two ladies to it, then. If you need me, I’ll be in the study.” He says, closing the glass door behind him.

“Okay, ready?” “Ready!” Gabriella says, and with that, the lesson had started. “Tell me everything you know about the Piano, mama.”

“Ummm…”, her eyes travel across the black and white keys. “In music class, Mrs. Smith showed us how to read music!” You perk up in surprise. “Awesome! So, let’s see… if I pressed this key, do you know what letter this is?” You say, pressing the middle white key. “Oh! Um, um, that’s a… C?” “Yes! Oh my goodness, you’re such a smart girl! Do you know what this one is?” “Uh… G!” “Right again!” You joyfully laugh at your young pupil’s intelligence.

“I only know these ones though, I dunno the black ones.” She says, discouraged. “Oh, don’t you worry, mamita, I’ll show you. By the end of today, you’ll be a pro at these black keys! Watch…”, then you use your right hand, gently pressing the keys to explain to her their assigned letters. Miguel is able to take a peek into the piano room from his study, occasionally peering over his computer with a smile. You were the cutest lil teacher for his daughter.

He wasn’t getting any work done, too busy admiring your patience and gentleness with Gabriella anytime she wasn’t able to get something right. You were so encouraging and uplifting, and that’s exactly what Gabri needs. It’s what Miguel was looking for in a partner. You were beautiful. You were kind. You were intelligent and strong. All those things were bonuses, but this right here, what you were doing in that piano room, was what set you apart. This wasn’t just physical attraction anymore. He was falling deeply for you. He needed you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was about 15 minutes left in your hour lesson with Gabri when she asks, “May I use the restroom?”

“Of course, mama, you don’t ever need to ask that! I’ll be right here waiting.” You say warmly as she hops off the bench and leaves. You’re left alone with the most beautiful piano sitting in front of you, and your hands itch to play on it. Not able to fight back the urge, you begin to play some Debussy.

Nose deep in his work, Miguel’s head bobs up from the sea of papers in front of him when he hears the melody. The corners of his mouth lift, and he walks toward the piano room. He sees you playing through the open door, watching as you get lost in the music. Still playing, you take a quick glance to the side, feeling as though someone was at the entrance of the room, finding that you were right. You stop playing and pat at the bit of open bench next to you.

“Wanna learn?” You wholesomely prompt, but he chuckles, shaking his head in apprehension. “I’d rather not, I wouldn’t understand a single thing.” “Ay, no seas asi (don’t be like that). C’mon, let me show you at least a little bit! Please?” You plead, tilting your head to the side as you persuade Miguel, and it works. With a sigh, he sat down on the bench, straddling it so that he’s facing you.

You immediately regret the decision when you can feel his large body just mere inches from your much smaller stature. You clear your throat, “The song I was playing just now was in the key of D flat Major, meaning I only press these keys…” you start explaining the music to Miguel, but he’s completely lost in how your lips move, the way your voice sounds like honey, how your eyes look from the piano and back up to him. You begin to crack under his intense gaze.

He isn’t getting a single word of this.

You knew he wasn’t really listening, but you kept talking about the song anyway, scared of giving into his seductive look. He was so close to you right now. He was all up in your business. You were quivering from the tension in the air, your only refuge being all 88 of the keys in front of you. Due to your nervousness, your voice had grown softer, slightly wavering. You swallow down before rambling on, “and, um, this here is a… is a harmonic scale…and, uh….”

Miguel sees your hand tremble as it hovers over the piano. He then grabs it lovingly. You stop talking, your nerves easing from the warmth of his hand. His thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand reassuringly, his hand completely engulfing yours. With the palm of his hand against the back of yours, he intertwined his fingers with yours, bringing it up to his face.

“So soft…”

he whispers, breathing in your scent as he places a kiss on the palm of your hand, making a small smack when he pulls away. “So sweet…” He then slowly brings his mouth to your neck, your skin prickling with every brush of his breath. “Miguel…” you murmur when you feel his lips and tongue suck at the flesh of your neck, the low vibrations of his voice against your skin sending shivers down your body.

He moves up to the shell of your ear, whispering with strain, as if he’s been holding this back for far too long, “You drive me crazy, you know that? sabes cuanto te necesito?” (you know how much I need you?). He puts his head back into the crook of your neck, planting small kisses there and his hands wrapping around your waist, squeezing the clothed flesh. As Miguel’s touches become fervid, you let out a small moan, trying to use your hands to stop him, “ay, M-Miguel, no puedo (I can’t), what if Gabriella-“

“por favor, cariño, (please, sweetie) I can’t… Mm… I can’t wait…Mngh… any longer, bebe…(baby)” he begs in between kisses that make their way up your jaw and to your cheek. He completely wraps his ginormous arms around you, his fragile doll, caged by his burly build.

“I need you so badly, sweetheart.” He coos breathlessly, brows knitted as he pouts like a lovesick puppy.

When he’s about to kiss you on your lips, he stops to drink in your face. Your lips pouted and parted. His eyes, the color of sweet, dark wine, looking down at them, imagining how soft they’ll feel in about a second… or how they would feel wrapped around his massive dick. One of his hands cups your face, the other wrapped around your waist to pull you in even closer to press against his thick, toned body. You look up at him with those same big, round, doe eyes; that same innocent look that never fails to make his dick throb. You don’t look down at it (as much as you wanted to, but you were occupied by his now even more plump and wet lips), but you can feel it against the side of your thigh… and he’s big.

“So pretty for me…,” his thumb swipes at your bottom lip, “You’re so good… so fucking perfect… fuck, c’mere-“ he hungrily smashes his face against yours, lips entangled, his tongue probing at your entrance before you eagerly let him in. You snake your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. What began as a sweet, tender kiss quickly turns into a heated one, the room filled with the smack of y’all’s lips and soft sighs of pleasure. His hold on you tightens with each pleasured whimper you send into his mouth, his own growls and tongue going down your throat and igniting the heat between your legs. You feel the warmth of his hand on your cheek leave, returning on your inner thigh after he lifts your dress, his hand going up higher and higher…

Your make-out session was cut short by the sound of a distant sink being turned on. Must’ve been Gabriella washing her hands, which means she would be walking back in here any second now.

You both pulled away hurriedly, having to catch y’all’s breaths and fix yourselves. Miguel stood up from the bench, a shit eating grin on his face as he looked at how hot and bothered you became. “perdón, hermosa (sorry, beautiful), just can’t control myself around you,” he leans down to catch you in one last, tongue-eating kiss, pulling back with a big pop!, “Let me know when you two are done, yea?” He whispers again, and you nod at him, your eyes still hooded and lips bruised from his kisses. After he kisses your forehead, you watch him leave the room at the same time Gabriella comes in.

“I’m back!… Are you ok, Miss. y/n?” She says, her cute face contorted in genuine concern.

“Oh! Uh,” you say, fixing your hair and finally catching your breath, ”I’m fine, mamita! Never been better… So where were we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aww, do you have to leave now?” Gabriella pouts. You brush a strand of hair behind her ear when you bend over to face her, the three of you standing in the living room near the front door.

“I’m sorry, mama, but I have to. We’ll have another lesson tomorrow!” You say softly, trying to make her feel better.

“Yea, but… but… I like being with you a lot.” You could’ve exploded from the cuteness overload. You felt so bad for leaving her, especially on her birthday.

“Say what… I have to be in the theater in a couple hours to get to my curtain call, however… I coulddd give a certain birthday girl a private tour of the stage…” you tap your chin and act mysterious.

Gabriella gasps, her mouth agape, “You can do that?!” You laugh at her shocked expression. “If your papa is okay with it?” You say, looking up at Miguel. “That would be great. What do we say, Gabri?” “Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!!!” She hugs you, you embracing her tiny form. “You’re so very welcome, mama, I’ll see you tonight then, okay?” You cup her face when she looks up at you.

“Okay! I’m gonna go pick my outfit! I’m so excited! I can’t believe I get to see the show again!” She says, pulling away and running up the stairs. You stand back up, smiling at Miguel. Miguel looks at the top of the stairs to wait for Gabriella to be in her room until he walks up to you, placing his hands on your hips. “That was very generous of you, sweetie, but you’re already doing so much for her by giving her these lessons.” He says, his hand under your chin, his thumb caressing it.

“Well, the lessons are your birthday present to her, so this is my present to her.” You say cheerily. “Thank you for the food, by the way, it was all delicious. Not as good as my cooking, pero… casi casi (but almost),” you say half jokingly. Miguel lets out a chuckle, “Oh, I’m taking that as a challenge. I’ll have to try it to believe it.”

“Someday you will.” “I look forward to it, hermosa,” he winks at you as he opens the door. “See you later then, cariño (honey).”

He’s confused as he watches you give him a small wave and take one step outside, but you’re stopped when he grabs your hand, turning you back toward him.

“You didn’t think you were leaving without a goodbye kiss, did you?” He pulls you back into him, wrapping his arms around you once more and placing his lips on yours. This one was much more sweet and tender compared to the ones shared in the piano room. Fireworks went off in your head, along with the smell of his after shave still lingering. “There. Now you can go.” You giggle as he gives your butt a light squeeze, “See you later, Miguel.”

Miguel watches with gratification as you walk into the car he had ordered for you. Now he was the one who couldn’t get his eyes off your ass. You sit in the car practically glowing from what had just happened.

That wasn’t too bad for your first kiss. Well, kisses, to be exact.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The show went as programmed, another successful performance for the books. Once you entered your dressing room, you found a gigantic bouquet of flowers and a box.

Hmm, I Wonder who sent them.

In the middle of appreciating the flowers, you hear a knock on your door.

“Just a second!” You fix yourself in the mirror suspecting who it was, patting a napkin on your face as to take off any performance sweat and reapplying perfume.

You go to open the door to find Miguel, “Good Evening, Mr. O’Hara.” “Good evening, y/n. Mind if I come in for a moment?” You two play the parts of patron and cast member convincingly, holding back mischievous smiles as other crew and cast members hurry by for the resetting of the stage and whatnot.

Miguel steps in, and you close the door behind him. While you’re locking the door, he grabs you by the waist, you squeal in surprise.

“You did so good up there, baby,” he wraps his arms around you, your back against his torso, smothering you in kisses anywhere he could get his lips on, “eres tan chula,” smack!, “tan talentosa,” smack!, “Mm, y tan deliciosa”, smack! You break out into a fit of giggles. (So pretty, so talented, and so delicious)

You reach your hands up to his face, running your fingers through his silver fox hair, “gracias… y Gabriella?” (Thank you, and Gabriella?).

“She’s with her grandmother. I invited her to come with us since it’s Gabi’s birthday. You like your present?” He motions at the box. “Oh! I didn’t even get a chance to open it!” He frees you from his grasp to let you grab the box, and you open it. Your mouth drops.

“Miguel, this is…” your face goes from surprise to worry, ”ay dios mio, (oh my god) how much was-“ “Shh, don’t worry about that, princesa. Ven, (come) lemme put it on you.” You give him a scowl before turning around and letting him put it on.

You had to admit, this diamond necklace did look gorgeous on you. You tried to not think about what quadruple-digit number he spent getting you this. You both stand in front of the vanity mirror.

“Look how pretty my girl is,” his voice drips with seduction, his hands falling down your body. His lips find your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. You get goosebumps from the way he calls you ‘my girl’. You sigh as his lips work their magic. He sits down on the velvety stool behind him, pulling you down with him, “Don’t even lift a muscle, sweetheart, just sit there n look pretty for me.”

You let out a small yelp when he lifts your legs, using his own to spread them. You can feel himself harden against your lower back, the sensation instantly making you wet. One of his hands steadies you on his lap, the other one palming your now pulsating cunt, clothed by a pair of booty shorts and fishnets. His hand snakes into them, finding your wet and gushy pussy. He finds your throbbing clit, rubbing tiny circles on it. You bite your lip, holding back moans. “Aw, mi nena tan chula is so sensitive” (my pretty girl), Desperate for his touch, you grind against his hand, your mouth falling open and hands squeezing onto his thick thighs for dear life. “Coño, mami… so ready for me, aren’t you? Hm? Toda mojada para mi? (All wet for me?)”, Miguel slides the shorts down your legs, and using both hands, he rips a hole in the fishnets so that he can have a first-class view of your 5-star pussy, the mirror showing a leak of arousal flowing down your entrance and onto his pants, causing you to whine.

“Awww fuck, it’s even prettier than I thought.” He breathlessly growls in your ear, his middle and ring finger finding your clit again.

“Ay, M-Miguel, yes, Ungh~ feel s- s’good,” you try to form a sentence, but it’s difficult with the way Miguel’s calloused, thick fingers rub against your womanhood, his other hand playing with your nipple. He gently plays with the erected nipple between his index and thumb, occasionally pulling it and rubbing it, sending yummy jolts down to your pussy.

He then inserts the two fingers, feeling around your walls and going in and out, “Gotta get my pretty girl ready for my cock, hm? Don’t wanna hurt her, oh nooo.” He coos, kissing his teeth with a ‘tsk tsk tsk’.

Miguel sees your hips stuttering against his fingers, taking that you’re close. His dick is already leaking from how much your hips were moving against it. There’s no doubt there’s a wet spot on his pants. He quickens his speed, your juices beginning to squirt out from your drenched cunt, droplets landing on the mirror before you.

“Ay, Miguel! Oh my god!” You whine out, head falling back on his shoulder. Miguel lets out a sigh as you squirt out your climax, rubbing your clit side to side as it sprays. Once you finish, he displays his hand in front of you, which glistens under the vanity lights, “mira mami, look what a mess you made… fuck.” (Look, mami)

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ “Aw, sweet heart, you’re so cute… no necesitas disculparte (no need to apologize), I love that you can do that,” he purrs into your ear as he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them, tasting them.

“Mm, Sabes tan dulce…” (you taste so sweet).

He gently picks you up and sits you on the vanity. As much as he wanted to go to town on your pussy and feast until he drank up every drop, his dick was basically hurting, that’s how much it ached to be inside you.

Your gaze follows the sound of a zip! And your eyes widen at the sight. Miguel bunches his briefs right under his heavy balls, a long, thick, angry cock springing against his happy trail. He sees your obvious concern, bringing a hand to your face.

“Everything alright?” He looks at you, brows knitted together and his voice is soft.

“Yes, it’s just… this is my first time.” You nervously chuckle.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks, “please know it’s okay to not be ready. I want you to be comfortable.” He places a kiss on your forehead. You look up at him, using those doe eyes of yours on him, “Please, Miguel… I want it.”

“Are you sure?” He asks again. “Yes, Miguel…” you say his name sensually, your hands traveling down his chest, down to his erect cock, giving it a stroke, your thumb teasingly swirling the precum on his tip.

“I need it.”

Miguel bites his lip, jaw clenching from the softness of your hands against his pulsing length, his auburn eyes growing hungry.

“I’ll go slow, honey. If it hurts too much, just let me know, m’kay? ” You give him a soft smile, and you both kiss tenderly. He takes a second to take your shirt off, ogling at your perfect tits. You then pout and tug at his shirt, which he follows along, revealing his god-like body. You didn’t care that you drooled. He then looks down, your legs already wrapped around his slutty waist, leveling himself to your entrance. Holding it in his hand, he slaps his fat cock against your pussy a couple times, the wet noises making both of you even more turned on. Your mouth falls open again, his plump tip spreading your lips with ease. Miguel hisses as he goes in deeper, trying his absolute best to go slow and not ram you right then and there. Your pussy tightens around him, feeling his veins pulsate against your walls.

“Fffuck, so tight, baby…o-oh fuck-“ Miguel bottoms out, staying there for a second, allowing you to adjust. The pain was short, quickly turning to pleasure as he slowly began a rhythm. He makes love to you slowly and deeply, each thrust hitting the deepest part of you. “Taking me so- Mmfuck! So well, sweetie, you’re doing s’good,” he says, his forehead against yours. He was so big, you could’ve sworn you could see a bulge in your stomach. He placed a hand on it, making you whimper from the sensation. “Look at that, baby, look so good all filled up with my cock.”

You blush, wanting to cower and turn your face away. You bite on your bottom lip again, muffling your screams and cries. “Mi amor, no hagas eso (don’t do that), breathe, baby, breathe. Need you to relax, mkay?”

You turn back to him, trying your best to maintain eye contact. He brings his thumb down to rub your puffy clit, the sensation relaxing your weeping, abused cunt, “Atta girl, thaaat’s a good girl. Look at me, baby. Aw, yea, wanna see that pretty face.” His cock was able to slide in and out, your pussy greedily sucking him in. Your high-pitched moans were music to his ears.

“M-Miguel, p-please,”, you’re barely able to get out your words, your voice trembling, “si, bebe, que tu quiere? Anything you want, baby.” (Yes, baby, what do you want?)

“Mas rapido.. mas duro, por favor, please, just- just use me, please, daddy?” You were able to finally get it out. You wanted nothing more than for Miguel to just pound you and use you like his toy. (Faster, harder, please).

“Whatever you want, baby girl, daddy’s gonna take care of you, gonna make you feel sooo good.”

Without another second to spare, Miguel pulls back with just his tip inside, and pounds back into you like no other. You scream, tears running down your face as Miguel has his way with you. He kisses those tears away, murmuring, “I know, I know”’s and “I’m sorry”’s into your ear. The vanity shakes vigorously, hitting the wall repeatedly, almost breaking in the process. You hold onto his broad shoulders like your life depended on it. Your bouncing tits catch his attention, and without hesitation, takes one into his mouth, sucking and licking like a wild man.

“God, daddy fucking loves these tits. Look so fucking pretty getting railed while wearing the necklace he gotchu.” you hear muffled against your chest. As if you weren’t stimulated enough, he adds his finger back on your clit, making your eyes roll back from all the different points of pleasure. He lifts his face from your hardened nipple and says, “This pussy’s mine. This juicy ass is mine,” and you feel a loud smack! of his hand on your ass, letting out a whimper,

“You’re all mine. Who’s this pussy belong to, hm?”

“Ugh, you, daddy, I’m all yours! Please, don’t stop, please please please-“ you start sounding like a broken record, muttering ‘daddy’ over and over. “Ay, papi, estoy cerca… i'm gonna come…” (I’m close) you cry, the name fueling Miguel’s drive, so he quickened his pace, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass and your cries filling the room. He growls into your neck, biting there,

“That’s right, sweetie, come on daddy’s cock.”

You could care less if the whole theater heard you, your virginity was being taken by the man of your dreams. Plus, it seemed to be getting Miguel riled up even more. He adored your cute sounds.

Once you reach your orgasm, you let out a long whine, your mouth in an o-shape, but Miguel keeps going, riding out his own high, “fuck…almost there baby, just a little longer, I promise… you can do that for daddy, yea? Ohhh I know you can, sweetie.” He coos, drowning you in lazy, sloppy kisses.

When Miguel feels he’s about to burst, he pulls out. It isn’t long before you feel his warm seed spill onto your stomach, Miguel’s groans clouding your mind as he empties himself onto you.

He stands up straight, taking in the gorgeous view of his kid on your lower body, your pussy still crying from his massive cock, and your face in total euphoria. You try to sit up, but he stops you, “no, princesita, déjame limpiarte primero,” (let me clean you first), he goes to grab a few napkins on your vanity, wiping you clean of his and your juices.

“You ok?” He caressed your face, brushing your hair away from it. You managed a weak, frail smile.

You poor, sweet thing.

“Yes, I’m okay,” He smiles before placing a sweet kiss on your lips, “Not sure if I’ll be able to walk, but I’m more than okay with that.” He chuckled.

“You did so well. So proud of my girl.” He says with a smirk in a low, husky tone, then playfully licking your lips which makes you giggle. He takes you into his embrace, your chests rising and falling together as he plants kisses on your shoulder.

You both flinch when you hear a knock at your dressing room door and the voice of a little girl right outside.

Y’all almost forgot about Gabriella and her grandma.

Oops.

——————————————————————

Still feral abt this man. Also, can y’all tell I’m a music major? ☠️☠️☠️

Hope you liked it! <3

Until the next chapter <3

Mwah <3

Ch.4

The Cutie Patootie Tag list:

@honey-eyed-munson

@migueloharastruelove

336 notes · View notes

miss-howletts · 1 month ago

Note

Zaj3bista jesteś, kocham twoje konto💕

Dziękuję. Cieszę się, że są tutaj ludzie, którzy są moimi wypocinami na blogu zainteresowani. Dziękuję każdemu z osobna i wszystkim, którzy tu zaglądają. A teraz daily:

꧁𓊈𒆜19.12.2024𒆜𓊉꧂

Brat wyjechał wcześnie bo o 6.30. Ja nie spałam już od 4:00 rano bo bałam się, że przegapię pożegnanie bo nie będzie chciał mnie budzić czy coś. Uwieżycie, że prawie się popłakałam? Dopiero za rok się zobaczymy. I tak, oczywiście mamy stały kontakt online ale to nie to samo. Zadzwoniłam do C. się pożalić i on zapytał, czy chciałabym się spotkać. Nie byłam pewna, ale się zgodziłam tylko zapytałam, czy przyjedzie do mnie, bo nie mam ochoty nigdzie wychodzić. Przyjechał i...przywiózł mi prezent na gwiazdkę. Mieliśmy dać sobie w poniedziałek przed Wigilią, ale dostałam "na pocieszenie". I...jebaniutki ma chłop poczucie humoru. Mam tatuaże, on też ma. Obydwoje uwielbiamy. I wiecie co mi kupił? Tę koszulkę co mówiłam, że ją chcę sobie zamówić (i zamówiłam interaz chui będę mieć dwie XD) z napisem "Tattoos are Trashy" - "Tatuaże są beznadziejne/do dupy ect." Tylko że ja zamówiłam L a on wziął mi M i...jest k*rwa dobra tylko cycki mi w niej mocno podkreśla.

Oprócz koszulki dostałam też cute skarpetki w donuty i pizzę. U mnie skarpetek nigdy dosyć bo albo się zgubią albo pralka zeżre...you know. Do tego dwie książki - "Baśniowa Opowieść" S. Kinga w pięknym wydaniu oraz najnowsza część Wiedźmina aaaaa!! "Rozdroże Kruków" i to w kolekcjonerskiej wersji! Ch*j że mi nie pasuje do pozostałych, jaram się jak głupia!! I lizaczka serduszko też dostałam na osłodę życia. Kocham tego chłopa 🩷

Ja C. dałam ten zestaw do pielęgnacji tattoo, który kiedyś wstawiałam, kupiłam jego ulubione słodycze (michałki białe i takie pseudo korzenne ciasteczka do kawy, on to tonami może wpierdzielać) i figurkę funko ze Strażników Galaktyki.

Potem jednak pojechaliśmy na miasto ale to w sumie na mini zakupy. Byłam w Dino i zrobiłam zapas gum do żucia.

I to tyle na dzisiaj. Dzięki za przeczytanie. Trzymajcie się 🩷

50 notes · View notes

tremordusk · 2 months ago

Text

Divergent Love - Ch. 1: I don't let myself "surf" on the Web, or I would probably drown.

“Yo entiendo, Mami.” He gives her a toothy grin as he exits the car with a small wave.

Rio waves back and watches him go. She sighs quietly to herself.

“Excuse me.” An unfamiliar voice stirs Rio from her moment.

“Hm?” Someone knocks at the glass on her side of the door. When she opens the window and looks up-- she feels her breath leave her.

There’s a woman with brown locks of hair falling loosely from her bun. Glasses sit lowly on her face, but Rio finds she can’t look away from those blue eyes.

“Ma’am, hello?” The woman snaps her fingers in front of Rio twice. She blinks quickly realizing that her attention went somewhere else.

“Uh, yes?” Rio bites her lip casually, blinking innocently.

“You need to move your vehicle,” The woman huffs. “Your kid is already inside, there is no reason for you to be any longer on school grounds.”

“R-Right.” Rio clears her throat. “I’ll be going now.”

“Yeah, you do that.” The woman walks around her car without another word.

“Fuck.” Rio mutters. I should have asked for her name--

(Want more? link below)

21 notes · View notes

pozartaa · 5 months ago

Text

03.09.24 UTRZYMANIE WAG1 dzień 551. Limit +/- 2100 kcal.

Wybrane posiłki:

Nie liczę kalori1 od: 57 dni

Hej wczoraj na kartach było fajnie ale była jedna drama. Kolega - Mistrz Gry miał załamanie nerwowe. Można pominąć ten akapit jeśli kogoś nie interesuje Magicowa drama↓

W naszej mini grupce mamy takiego chlopaczka - już o nim wspominałam, który ma 17 lat ale jest nad wiek dojrzały mentalnie (nazwijmy go Baby Face, bo twarz na jak 10-latek) a przy okazji jest bardzo inteligentny i trochę taki klown... Ale gra w MTG od 11 roku życia - co daje mi 6 lat przewagi nad nami. No... i zawsze nas równo rozjeżdża. Dla mnie to nie jest akurat problem. To tak jakby się złościć na ładną osobę, że jest ładna bo wygrała w genetycznej loterii.

Zdjęcie poglądowe

W pewnym momencie kolega Mistrz Gry pierdolnął w stoł i rzucił kartami krzycząc, że ma tego dość : " Kur***, wydaje na te karty w CH***, składam decki, czytam i inwestuje ten czas i ciągle dostaje w pizdę!" Ja się na prawdę przerazilam, bo to był prawdziwy rage...

(Chciałam powiedzieć, że mata za 400 zł nie zrobi z niego lepszego gracza...ale się powstrzymałam ) Kurde, mimo wszystkoja go rozumiem - bo sama nie raz się podłamałamałam do łez.

Przecież też ciągle przegrywam ale dostać w pizde od dobrych graczy to nigdy nie jest wstyd... Tym bardziej, że Baby Face nie jest "sapaczem" i nie ma z tego jakiejś strasznej frajdy - po prostu jest od nas lepszy.

Później Baby Face mnie odprowadził do domu i sobie trochę pogadaliśmy. Wiecie, ja się cieszę, że przez tą karciane poznałam tylu fajnych ludzi.

Powiedział mi, że za jakiś czas będę wymiatać bo jest postęp i mam "ciekawe pomysly", a o moim S., że gdyby grał więcej to zawsze byłby w czołówce (No to akurat wiem, bo mój "małż" ma łeb stworzony do takich gier)

***

A dziś nadal wolne. Ale tradycyjnie przygotowywałam sobie posiłki na dwa dni. Zrobiłam też mały spacerek przy okazji załatwiłam pare sprawunków. Mam wrażenie, że bez S. w domu mam jakby więcej czasu... "Małż" zadowolony z pracy (Firma serwisująca sklepy Kaufland).

Wysyła mi zdjęcia obiadów, które gotuje jeden z ich kolegów dla wszystkich - mejn gott - porcje jak dla górnika 😆

Ale mój "małż" jest z tych co jedzą w stylu "raz a dobrze". Ja mam styl jedzenia "mało i często".

Strasznie smali mam nadzieję, że to ostatnie podrygi lata 😝. Dziś idę też grać ale na 18:00 do sklepiku czyli competitive. Koleżanka ( jedyna babeczka poza mną, która gra - bardzo fajna) też postanowiła złożyć deck na jaszczurkach... No gra lepiej ode mnie, więc będę mogła zobaczyć jak mi dopierdziela "moim własnym pomysłem"... Trochę mnie to zmartwiło.... Ale Baby Face powiedział - miej wyjebane - to mam (na tyle na ile mogę).

Dziś więc post znowu wcześniej. A jutro - ponieważ będę w robocie i nic ciekawego się pewnie nie będzie działo - napiszę o czymś na co pomysł podsuną mi wczorajszy post @anjinho-sem-pes0 .

Dobrej nocy wam życzę!

#utrzymanie wagi #pro revovery #ed recovery #ed18+#chce byc piekna #edadult #foodbook #food log #zdrowe jedzenie #gotowanie #nie liczę kalori1

24 notes · View notes

dustfromangel · 4 months ago

Text

23.09.24r

Dziś było spoko w szkole, dostałam 5- z kartkówki z informatyki i napisałam też z matmy ale średnio mi poszła…. Jutro mam geografię kartkówkę ale łatwe więc git, miałam dziś tenisa i nigdy się nie czułam gorzej w moim życiu (no może tylko po zjedzeniu czegoś) bo mamy grupę, że połowa to średniozaawansowana a druga połowa to ci co są pierwszy raz i mamy w tej pierwszej za dużo osób, więc mnie wysłała do tej dla początkujących i no chyj cn ale mówiła że będziemy się zmieniać, nie zmienialiśmy xd i lost my shit na końcu i mama na końcu weszła na kort a mi było głupio więc szybko wyszłam bo już się rozbeczlAm, dużo osób będzie to uważało za dziwne ale no z dużej ilości osób akurat ja, poczułam się zmieszana z 💩 bo jednak trenuje 3 lata :/ mama była wcześniej niż zwykle więc podeszła i z bratem mnie widzieli przez takie okienka w wejściu, mama powiedziała że widziała że coś jest nie tak bo na końcu samym już zaczęłam ocierać łzy, powiedziałam sobie że jak się rozpłacze to nie zjem jutro tylko idę na liquid fast 😜😜 dziś zjadłam ok 1200 nie jestem zadowolona z siebie :( ale no ch, mama napisała do tej trenerki i ta trenerka mnie przeprosiła ale no słabo się czułam. ALE MAMA POQIEDZIALA ŻE WYGLĄDAM DROBNIUTKO 😄😄😄 YAYAYAYAY. po tenisie zrobiłam zdjęcie sobie i bodychecku i oba wyglądają bosko ale no nie wstawię bo nie chce body checkow wstawiac narazie, a twarz to nawet jakbym na ig wstawiła to nie chce być atencjuszka bo tam widać rozmazany tusz

I’m insane but in a poetic way

goodnight motylki pewnie jeszcze coś powstawiam 😜

23 notes · View notes

fat-butterflys · 7 months ago

Text

Motylki,gąsieniczki po co my tutaj tak naprawdę jesteśmy ?

Mam wrażenie,że co niektórzy są tu zdecydowanie dla atencji.

Co niektórych tak naprawdę nie wiedzą co to znaczy być motylkiem.

Chyba nie każdy wie z czym to się "je".

Ja tak naprawdę poznałam całe to miejsce gdy byłam już na skraju załamania nerwowego,gdy pewna osoba (moja niby przyjaciółka tak mi się bynajmniej wtedy wydawało ) chciała mnie zrujnować psychicznie i prawie jej się to udało. Doprowadziła mnie do takiego stopnia ,że uwierzyłam jej jak beznadziejna,okropna osoba jestem. Zaczęłam czuć do siebie tylko i wyłącznie nienawiść i tak naprawdę sama nie wiem dlaczego. Myślałam że niezależnie co zrobię to i tak czynię źle.

Kiedyś byłam zwykłą nastolatką. Nie myślałam nad tym jak wyglądam,czy jestem ładna,gruba czy czegoś mi brak.

Niestety czasami w życiu trafiamy na nie odpowiednie osoby i albo potrafimy sobie z tym poradzić albo idziemy na dno.

Ja byłam już w takim stanie,że chciałam odejść.

Czułam ,że nie pasuje do tego świata,że każdy będzie zadowolony gdy mnie po prostu nie będzie.

Ale poznałam to miejsce i wszystko się zmieniło. Czy na lepsze? Czy na gorsze ?

Zdecydowanie na lepsze.

Trumblr jest dla mnie a przynajmniej na początku był dla mnie taka "mała odskocznia" od codzienności. Teraz to zupełnie mnie pochłania w całości. Jednak czy mogę nazwać się motylkiem?

NIE! NIE! NIE!

Pragnę nim być ale wiem ,że przede mną jestem długa,wywoista droga. Wiele wyrzeczeń,napewno też potknięć. Ale wiem dlaczego tu jestem. Jestem tutaj przede wszystkim dla samej siebie,dla tego by w końcu poczuć się piękną dla samej siebie.

Nie potrzebuję atencji innych,czy jakiego kolwiek zainteresowania moja osobą to nic nie zmieni. Chce sama widzieć,że potrafię,że jestem coś warta!!!!

Jeśli myślisz , że nie dasz rady,że się nie nadajesz to wybacz ale będę surowa!

WYNOŚ SIE!

To miejsce nie jest dla mieczaków! Trzeba mieć jaja nie zależnie od wszystkiego! Nikt nie wykona za nas roboty ,to MY musimy się ogarnąć a nie wiecznie szukać wymówek.

Dlatego od dziś biorę się w garść! Skończyło się słuchanie po raz setny innych,dostosowywanie się do innych by im było lepiej. Może to samolubne ale niestety życie nie zawsze jest piękne i kolorowe.

Dlaczego to zawsze ja muszę się na wszystko godzić,być tą potulna,miłą?

Mnie się nikt nie pyta jak ja się czuję tylko jadą po mnie jak po " szm*cie..."

Mam dość chowania głowy w piasek bo wiem,że niezależnie od wszystkiego nikt za mnie nie przeżyje tego zjebanego życia.

Szczerze ???... Nie cierpię go,zwykła codzienność doprowadza mnie do załamania nerwowego. Może mam coś nie po kolei z głową,bo przecież dlaczego jest mi tak źle ? .

Ostatnio tzn wczoraj 🤣🤣 mój partner mówi do mnie że jestem aspołeczna,że nie lubię ludzi,że jestem wredna,podła itd że myślę tylko o sobie. Q ja takie serio? Myślę tylko o sobie ?

Z jednej strony to w CH*j przykre gdy dajemy z siebie wszystko by ta druga osoba miała wszystko a my tak naprawdę mamy swoje dobro w dupie. To tak naprawdę ta druga osoba nie docenia w żaden sposób ciebie.

Skoro i tak każdy uważa że jestem taka czy owaka to to co za różnica czy naprawdę będę egoistką,wredna czy samolubna. Nawet nie zauważa różnicy a może dojdą do wniosku że nie warto cokolwiek robić w moim kierunku...

Moim zdaniem życie jest paskudne. Nie wiem po co się rodziny,po co żyjemy. Dla mnie to nie ma sensu..rodzimy się by później przez większość swojego życia charować a później i tak narzekamy na wszystko. No okej może nie wszyscy ale bądźmy szczerzy sami przed sobą czy podoba się nam swoje życie ? Czy jesteśmy z niego w 100% zadowoleni?

Każdy niby jest kowalem swojego losu ale nie oszukujemy się nie każdy gdy się rodzi ma zajebisty wstęp do czego kolwiek. Niektórzy gdy tylko się urodzą już mają pod górkę.

Mnie np,rodzice nie chcieli,byłam dla nich problemem,którego należało się pozbyć. Zwykłym śmieciem,który trzeba "wynieść" do kosza.

Motylki walczmy,walczmy nie dla innych by coś im udowodnić ale dla siebie samych! Inni jedynie mogą popatrzeć,bo tak naprawdę na każdym kroku będziemy oceniani albo pozytywnie albo negatywnie. Ale to co zrobimy to już nasza sprawa. Nikt nie przeżyje za nas życia. .

Ja już mam dość wiecznego podporządkowywania się innych i udawania że wszystko jest okej! Dlaczego ja ??? .wierzyłam że i nie chcą dla mnie lepiej,chcą mi pomóc ale czy pomogli? Nie! Przez nich przez najbliższych właśnie czuję się jeszcze gorzej!

Moje życie,moja micha. Inni niech się pie*dolą skoro coś im się nie podoba!

A uwierzcie mi ZAWSZE znajdzie się ktoś komu coś będzie nie pasowało!!!

42 notes · View notes

loslentesdepedrito · 1 year ago

Text

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Jack gif by: @coredrive My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Five

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Word count: 4.3k+

Chapter summary: Jack visits Ángel in the hospital, bringing the gifts he bought. During the visit, you find yourself reflecting on your relationship with Jack—both before and after your engagement. Also, your husband, Javi, and your ex-husband, Jack, try their best to not kill each other. (Picks up directly from ch. 5. The flashback scene is bold and italicized.)

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the aviators.

Warnings: Angst, jealousy, light suggestive stuff, pregnancy, divorce, childhood disease, mention of death, mention of the death of a child.

You were abruptly pulled from that memory when you heard a soft “¿Mami?”

Your head snapped towards Ángel, who was awake from his nap, his hair adorably messy.

"We've been calling your name," Javi says, no longer in his chair. He's now pouring some milkshake from a third cup into a smaller one for Ángel.

"Sorry, nomas estaba pensando ([I] was just thinking),” you say as you get up to give your son a kiss.

“¿En que, mami? (In what, mommy?)” Ángel asks, tilting his head to look at you.

Before you can reply, a knock echoes in the room.

"Come in," Javi says, loud enough for the person behind the door to hear.

The door opens, and Jack enters with a blue bag in hand.

"Mr. Daniels!" Ángel greeted him, clearly happy to see him.

"Hi, buddy," Jack responded, glad to see that Ángel was taking a liking to him, even if he didn't know their true connection.

"How are you feeling?" Jack asks, genuinely concerned.

"Good, thank you," Ángel replies politely, lifting his cup to take a sip. "My dad gave me some milkshake," he adds with a small smile.

At the mention of Javi’s name, Jack turns to Javi. "Javier," he acknowledges with a slightly sour tone.

"Hi, Jack," Javi responded without bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"I got something for you," Jack says, placing a gift bag on his son's lap. Ángel's head instinctively turned to look at Javi with big questioning eyes, silently seeking permission.

“Puedes abrirlo (you can open it),” Javi said softly, granting him permission.

Ángel eagerly reached into the bag, pulling out tissue paper and tossing it over his shoulder onto the floor. He excitedly reached into the bag with his small arm and pulled out a boy's denim jacket. It was a dark blue wash with silver buttons and yellow stitching all along the jacket. The jacket had several pockets, and Ángel immediately started sticking his small fingers into them. The most noticeable feature was a deep red patch at the back of the neck area. In the center of the maroon leather, the word "Jean" was meticulously stitched in bold, white thread. The stitching wasn't perfect, nor was it meant to be; it almost appeared as if it had been hand-sewn. Near the bottom right corner of the patch, a quartet of squares appears, not arranged in a straight line, but it looked better that way. Each square bears a single letter, together spelling out "S-H-O-P."

“¡Qué chulo! (so cute!)” Ángel exclaimed in awe as he tried to put it on, getting halfway before realizing that his right arm had an IV.

"I love it! Thank you so much, Mr. Jack!" your son exclaims with genuine joy. It almost makes up for all the Christmases Jack missed with Ángel - almost.

"No need to thank me, buddy," Jack replies, delighted that Ángel liked the jacket. Kids usually prefer toys over clothing, but ever since Ángel met Jack, he's had cowboy fever.

"I have the same one," Jack adds, the idea of matching with his son warming his heart. Jack couldn't help himself but buy items identical to the ones he already had in his closet. "You can wear it when you get out of here and go to the ranch," Jack explains.

Ángel responds happily and giddy, his excitement bubbling over.

"Keep looking, there's more," Jack encourages his son to explore the rest of the gifts, eager to see his reaction.

“Muy bien (very well), Mr. Jack," Ángel says obediently, forgetting Jack doesn't know Spanish. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book.

"One hundred fun facts about Horses," Ángel reads out loud and gasps.

"He loves books," you fill Jack in.

Jack was going to say, he didn't get that from me, but he held back and instead replied, "he got that from you."

"Can I read this now?" Ángel questions, clutching the milkshake in one hand and the book in the other.

"There's still more,” Jack points at the bag.

Ángel seemed astonished, asking as if he couldn't believe it, "More?"

"Just one more," Jack laughs at his son's excitement.

For the third time, Ángel reaches into the bag, his face contorted in confusion as he struggles to pull out the item with one hand. "Ma," he calls out and hands you his drink. You hold it for him, and with both hands, he successfully retrieves the last item from the bottom of the bag.

He takes out a black box with the word 'stetson' printed in white ink. Your son rattles the box, but his eyebrows pinch in the middle; he can't make out what's inside the box.

He finally reads the text and asks, "What is a stetson?" Not waiting for an answer as his curiosity got the best of him, he takes matters into his own hands and opens the box, revealing a layer of white tissue paper inside. This time, he's more careful. With his small fingers, Ángel gently grasps the paper from both ends in the middle and pulls it apart.

"Wow!" he exclaims as he sees a black hat upside down. He delicately removes the hat from its container and flips it over to examine it with wide eyes.

Ángel looks at Jack with a smile that warms Jack's heart, a smile he'd do anything for, even if it meant crawling to the depths of hell and facing Satan himself, just to keep it on his son's face.

He begins, "My grandpa gave me a hat—" but his sentence is cut short when he eyes Jack's own hat. He then turned his attention back to the smaller hat in his hands, his face contorted with intense concentration. "Wait... it's just like yours, Mr. Jack!"

The smile that Jack offers in response is just like Ángel's. He can already envision his son wearing everything he's given him. The prospect of having his son resemble him, even in a small way, fills Jack with emotion. Tears prick Jack’s eyes at the thought of his son looking like a little version of himself, without the mustache, of course. He can’t wait for the day his son will be his spitting image, from head to toe, or more appropriately, from the top of the hat to the tip of his boots. Now he just needs boots, Jack thinks, making a mental note to purchase them soon.

"Do you like it?" Jack asks.

"I love it!" Ángel exclaims.

Without hesitation, he places the hat on his head and grins when it fits perfectly. "My glasses didn't fall this time!"

Laughter envelops the room, and you can't help but wish for this kind of co-parenting relationship with Jack.

“Papi, look, it looks a little like the one grandpa gave me,” Ángel says not resisting showing his dad, as he does with everything.

It was indeed true; Chucho had gifted his grandson a straw hat. The moment Ángel received the hat, he'd given his grandpa a giant hug and then raced to show his dad.

Javi had never shared his son before, so watching him interact with Jack was a bit difficult for him. But he knew it was for the best, and he held onto the certainty that Ángel would always be his son, no matter what.

"Sí, mijo, te ves lindo (Yes son, you look nice)," Javi honestly praised Ángel's appearance, trying to focus on the happiness of the moment.

Jack, in the same boat as Javi, felt his heart chip ever so slightly every time Ángel called Javier "dad." He made a conscious effort to push aside these feelings and to fully enjoy the present.

"It’s perfect, right?” Jack asked, wanting reassurance.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels. Thank you,” Ángel replied, gratitude in his eyes, and he invited Jack to sit down next to him.

Jack complied happily, impressed by Ángel's ability to win him over so quickly.

“Can you tell me more about your ranch, please?” Ángel gazed at Jack with puppy eyes, and Jack couldn't resist.

He chuckled at how quickly his son could melt his heart. "Sure thing."

“Wait! I want a picture first,” Ángel suddenly announced.

“I’ll do it,” Jack offered before you or Javi had a chance to react.

Jack stood up from his chair, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and started setting up the camera. While he was busy, Ángel adjusted his jacket to make sure it wasn't slipping off the shoulder where his arm wasn't through the sleeve.

“Ready?” Jack asked, his finger poised over the top right button to take a picture.

Ángel didn’t reply with words. Instead, he looked up at Jack and said, “Cheese,” remembering to smile. He held the pose while Jack's phone captured several clicks.

“Thank you, Mr. Jack,” Ángel said gratefully.

“Thank you, buddy.”

Jack moved to his gallery to look at the pictures he had just taken and let out a sigh of frustration when he noticed the quality wasn't what he had hoped for.

“Maybe I need to get a newer phone,” he grumbled, slightly annoyed.

At that moment, Javi's voice came from behind him, growing nearer. “Probably because I heard the Smithsonian wants to contact you to make a deal so they could display your phone for their 1930s collection,” Javi deadpanned, handing his own phone to Jack. “Here, use my phone. I'll make sure you get the pictures.”

Jack accepted the phone with an eye roll, gave a begrudging nod, and muttered a terse 'thanks' before asking his son to smile once more. This time, Jack was satisfied with the pictures he took and returned Javi's phone.

A palpable tension lingered between the two men as they settled back into their respective chairs, the strained atmosphere refusing to dissipate but remaining held in check within the confines of the hospital room.

Sipping on their milkshakes, Jack raked his brain for a story to share, while you removed your son’s jacket to allow him to lay back more comfortably.

Once Ángel was nestled against the pillows, Jack began his story. “During nights at the ranch, the stars are beautiful. The most beautiful starry nights…”

starry nights

“And that is The Big Dipper,” you pointed at the sky and traced the constellation with your finger. It was a collection of seven bright stars in the shape of a ladle, its handle stretching out across the sky like a long handle on a giant celestial spoon. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars seemed to shine especially bright.

“Over there is Orion,” you traced with your finger again. Orion was one of the most recognizable constellations, with its three stars forming Orion's Belt.

“and there-” you turned to look at Jack, expecting to find him gazing at the stars as you had been. Instead, he was looking intently at you.

“What are you looking at?” You asked, puzzled as to why he wasn’t following your descriptions. “Am I boring you?” You wondered, a mix of genuine concern and offense in your voice.

“Nunna that,” he replied in his thick drawl.

“So?” You prodded.

“I just love you,” he said, his expression filled with adoration. Jack looked at you as though you were the most incredible thing in the world.

You couldn't help but laugh, maybe at the intensity of the moment, or maybe at the expression that sent your heart racing, or perhaps a combination of both. You reached out, ran your fingers through his hatless hair – a rarity – and pulled him in for a kiss.

A few months later, he proposed to you, and just like that, it seemed that overnight, he had changed.

The night Jack proposed, the air was filled with the scent of love and the promise of a shared future. Bodies exhausted from the intimate celebration, you both drifted into sleep with the utmost excitement for your upcoming wedding and the prospect of spending the rest of your lives together.

As you dreamt sweetly about your wedding day and all the plans you and Jack had lovingly discussed, Jack had an entirely different dream – one that would alter the course of your lives. In this dream, he was visited by his high school sweetheart, his first wife. She came to him, tearful and broken, a ghost of heartache, accusing him of replacing her with you. Over eight hours of sleep, Jack relived every shared moment, each memory etched into his mind, right down to the devastating memory of burying her along with their unborn son.

In his vivid dream, Jack meticulously compared the two of you, scrutinizing and contrasting your every feature, your every virtue. He reached the conclusion that his first wife was his one true love, his happily ever after. He placed her on an unattainable pedestal, and you, unfortunately, received the short end of the stick. In his altered and frantic mindset, still within the dream, Jack reassured her that you could never replace her because you could never be her. Jack decided that you could never measure up to the ideal woman he had built in his memories of his first wife.

Life had cruelly snatched her away, and in a perverse twist of fate, you became a living and painful reminder of everything he had lost and everything he could never regain. The woman he had lost became an unattainable ghost of perfection, and you, no matter how wonderful and loving, were forever held hostage by the shadow of her memory.

As the morning sun streamed into the room, you opened your eyes, anticipating the warmth of his presence beside you. When he wasn't in bed, you thought he might be in the kitchen making breakfast, so you searched for him happily, looking forward to sharing a bath to relive the delicious soreness from the night before, with thoughts of another round lingering in your imagination. However, your excitement turned to disappointment when he wasn't anywhere in the house.

Hours later, when he finally returned home, his behavior was curt, and he vaguely mentioned having something to do. Initially, you brushed it off, blaming his behavior on the stress of work, assuming it was a one-time thing.

Then, a week passed; Jack distanced himself even further, rejecting your touch and avoiding PDA, which he used to love. The warmth that used to define your connection was now replaced by a chilling void.

Conversations about his day once shared openly, became scarce, and when you broached planning your wedding, he conveniently found errands or claimed overtime at work—anything to avoid the topic.

Your once lively conversations dwindled, and the late-night talks on random topics became a distant memory. Your hopeful wishes for Jack to return to his previous self remained just that—wishes. Instead of reverting, Jack's behavior worsened. Thinking back on that post-engagement morning, it was as though a different Jack had awakened: someone you wouldn't recognize in the years to come, leaving you confused about what you might have done to bring about this change.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack had finished his story. You returned from the memory you had tried so diligently to bury, only to realize that Jack was explaining to his son that he needed to leave.

“I’ve gotta go to the pharmacy and pick up my medicine," he told Ángel. Although Jack didn't specify the medicine he needed to collect, both you and Javi were well aware that it was the injections he needed.

Ángel's face fell with disappointment, evident in his now-diminished smile. But he quickly bounced back before Jack could offer more apologies.

"It's okay, Mr. Jack," he said with a brave smile, even though his eyes betrayed his disappointment.

"Medicine is very important," Ángel added matter-of-factly.

Jack smiled at the boy's maturity. "You're absolutely right."

"I'll see you soon, right?" Ángel asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Whenever the hospital allows," Jack replied cautiously, refraining from disclosing his procedure, as Ángel wasn’t aware of the pending surgery, and Jack didn't want to lie to his son.

Ángel accepted Jack's answer and thanked him for the wonderful gifts before saying his goodbyes.

"I'll see you out, Jack. The exit you normally use is closed, so you'll need to go through the sky bridge," Javi offered.

"Sure," Jack agreed without protest.

He was just about to say goodbye to you when Ángel suddenly exclaimed, "Oh-uh…”

All three of you turned your heads, concern etching your features.

“Tengo que ir al baño (I have to go to the restroom),” he said anxiously. Typically, he didn't need assistance, but the IV made it complicated to go to the bathroom by himself.

Javi immediately offered, “Lo llevo yo (I’ll take him).” Given your pregnancy, taking care of Ángel was challenging, and Javi didn't want to jeopardize the well-being of all three of you. So Javi had willingly taken over the physical tasks of caring for him. He didn't mind – he loved looking after his son. Besides, he didn't want you walking Jack out, given that he remembered Jack referring to you as his wife. A part of him would always hold some resentment toward Jack, but his priority was his son.

As you focused on helping Ángel with the sheets, Javi approached Jack, his jaw locked, and in a low tone, he leaned in, warning, "If you try anything..." His stern expression and brown eyes bore into Jack's, conveying a clear threat. The warning only reached Jack's ears, and Jack remained silent, reminding himself to behave in front of Ángel.

Javi then forcefully bumped shoulders with Jack as he moved past him to assist Ángel in the restroom. You missed this interaction, and when you eventually glanced at Jack, he was seething. It had been years since you had seen him so angry – precisely nine years, to be exact. Confusion clouded your mind, leaving you standing there, staring at him, and he did the same. Your attention was drawn away from him when Ángel said his final goodbye.

"Let's go," you told Jack and proceeded towards the door.

Jack gives his son one last look and sees Javi guiding him to the restroom inside the hospital room.

With that, Jack is on your heels. You are five steps ahead of Jack. As you walk ahead of him, you find your mind drifting to your relationship with Jack. You classified your relationship with Jack in two phases: pre-engagement and post-engagement. Pre-engagement Jack would lace your hands together every time you were out in public or have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. He wanted everyone to know that you were his, and he was yours.

Post-engagement Jack underwent a drastic transformation. He no longer held you in public, except for that one instance when there was construction on a street that had forced him to help you across a blocked and narrow sidewalk. He also began to walk ahead of you, not just a step or two, but so far that you sometimes had to wait for the traffic light to change and he would be on the other side of the street. After several attempts of trying to catch up with him, you eventually stopped trying to keep up and accepted this new reality.

Now, ironically, the roles had reversed, and you were walking ahead of Jack, with no intention of slowing down once you crossed the skybridge. Jack used long strides to catch up to you. Fortunately, the two of you were the only ones crossing the bridge that connected the children's wing to the parking lot, or else it might appear as if he were following you. Desperately, Jack wished to be by your side and engage in conversation. About what? Anything, really. He wanted to talk about the weather, the stars (something you once loved discussing but which he had grown annoyed with), or even something as random as worms, as long as it led to a conversation. He hoped to make you smile and laugh, even if it meant discussing the most mundane topics. Jack briefly wondered if this was how you had felt during your marriage – always yearning for his presence and conversation. He was already aware of the answer: yes.

As he rounded the corner, he saw you and swiftly pressed the elevator button. The doors opened with a soft ding right in time for Jack to step inside. You promptly pressed the button marked G1, initiating the descent. Jack's mind raced as he desperately sought the right words, knowing he had only a few precious minutes before you returned upstairs. Once you were outside, he finally summoned the courage to speak, but you broke the silence first.

“I’m begging you, Jack, do not flake on this. You heard Ángel's doctor. If you back out while he’s on chemo-”

“Do ya really think I would do that?” Jack's hands went to his waist, his eyebrows furrowing with anger and surprise. “To my own son?” He sounded genuinely shocked that you would even consider such a possibility.

“No...” After a pause, you decided to be honest, “Yes, Jack. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it's the truth. I don’t know if I trust you. I want to. But I know better. I need to keep my guard up. I can’t risk it, not when Ángel is on the line. I did once, and look how that turned out.”

“Ya think I don't think 'bout that often?” Jack's voice rose. “Okay, I know what I did…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I won’t do that again. I will never abandon him. Ever. I will not fail him again.”

You repeated to yourself, Don't cry, don't cry.

“And you think it was easy for me to forget?” you continued, voice trembling. “I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. After you proposed, you... you changed!”

"I remember that once, I dropped off lunch at your office because I got out of work early, and I wished I never left work." The tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled the painful memory. "I was in your building, on my way to your office, when a guard stopped me before I got to the reception. I explained that I was going to drop off food for my husband, and he asked me who I was married to." You continued, “Of course, I said your name, and you know what he said?" Without giving Jack a chance to speak, you added, "He said he was under the impression that your wife had passed away."

The color drained from Jack's face.

"It was so embarrassing, Jack. I didn't know what to say." You covered your eyes with both hands. "He and everyone on the floor thought I was crazy and making shit up." After a moment of silence, you continued, “At least Ginger was there, and she took me away into a hallway. I begged her not to say anything. I just went back home and cried my heart out."

Jack looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find words.

You pointed your index finger at his face and said, "Yeah, do that for like two minutes with a Tupperware of food, and you'll look exactly like me." Your dry laugh turned into a scoff.

"I'm sorry. Jesus, Sugar, I'm so sorry."

You heard the emotion behind his words and snapped, “Oh, don’t you fucking dare cry.” You were furious that he wanted to cry when you were the one who had gone through this. Years ago, you would've never dreamt of him feeling the burden of your pain, one that he had caused. You would've shielded him and shouldered everything, but you had changed too.

“I already cried enough for the both of us,” you add.

That made Jack want to cry more, but he quickly composed himself and fought back the unshed tears.

He comes closer to you, cupping your face in his hand. You shiver. Not because you feel any warm feelings you used to. Quite the opposite; you shiver because his hand is so cold.

"I'm sorry for hurtin’ you, baby," he says sincerely, looking into your eyes.

“Don’t,” you say, smacking his hand away. “Don’t call me that and don’t ever touch me again.” It's as if the palm of his hand gave you a freezer burn.

Suddenly, you hear heavy and hurried footsteps behind you.

From the corner of your eye, you see one of the security guards from the lobby.

“Is there a problem?” the security guard asks.

Jack looks at the guard annoyed as if he interrupted something. “I’m talking with my wife.”

“Oh my God, stop saying that! I’m not your wife!” you exclaim, frustration lacing your voice.

“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?” The security guard is about to intervene, concern evident in his tone.

“No! He was just leaving, sir.” You manage to give the best smile you can muster to the guard, doing your best to reassure him.

Jack, still looking irritated, takes a step back, giving you some space.

You grab Jack’s jacket and spin him around so he could look onto the parking lot. In a hushed voice, you whisper-yell, “Jack, don’t make a scene. If you get in trouble, you won’t be allowed into the hospital, and then Ángel won’t have a donor.” You didn’t know that would happen if the security guard kicked him out, probably not, but you were just saying things to make him leave.

Shit, shit, shit, why do I keep doing this? he asks himself.

“We’ll talk another day, Jack,” you sound deflated.

“Right now I have to get back and explain everything to Ángel since he’s getting surgery tonight,” you say.

That sobered him up.

“Okay. Call me with any updates. Text me too. It don't matter what time.”

You nod and turn to go back to your family.

A/N: I've created an account exclusively for reblogging my writing: @loslentesdepedrito-library . Feel free to follow me there if you'd like to be notified about anything and everything I write!

This is the fastest I've ever created a graphic (even though it took me a week 😳), yay! The next couple of weeks will be busy for me, but I hope to upload the last chapter before the end of the year. I know! I just have a lot to catch up on since I went on sick leave :(

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

84 notes · View notes

hand-picked-star · 8 months ago

Text

I am writing this highly controversial thoughts only because @featheredclover had recommended me a fanfic about khushi feeling left out during the basket ball game and then my thoughts went wayward. 😁 I haven't watched the last 33 episodes of ipkknd in a very long time, only some snippets of cute married arshi. But I did watch them 2 days ago just to validate the fact that whatever I think about them was what shown on the screen.All of my thoughts don't just exist in my mind.They also match the narrative too.

And I was right with my previous decision to not watch ipkknd past Arnav's birthday,those are horrible episodes.

Anyways, it's my thoughts on the suicide tract and sheetal tract and how khushi ignored the absolute truths that she knew by heart whenever she was hurt and tried to sheild herself from the pain.These tracks are khushi-centric, I just wished they were well written. My poor baby!!!

Suicide track

Khushi knew with absolute certainity that Arnav doesn't believe in God, she even said so.

So, why she came up with that excuse to justify committing suicide? It's this scene.

Arnav was talking to lavanya, there was no romantic vibes,but but but, he was talking to her very nicely . I am not trying to blame La or Arnav here, La deserved every bit of decency from Arnav because of the way he treated her.And just because he talked with her politely doesn't mean that he is developing feelings for her.Arnav had always shown as a character who was sure about his feelings. He was unsure about khushi not because he didn't know how he felt, it was more about him losing control and later their compatibility and his ego.But when khushi saw and hear him talking to her like that it's bound to hurt her. He didn't even talk to her anymore and when he did it was always mixed with vitriol & bitterness. Here her insecurities raised it's head, a doubt settled in. She was seeing a man talking to his ex-girlfriend nicely,who he was going to marry willingly and somehow broke up suddenly for a reason unknown to her.And here she had hoped based on their holi conversation that there was something between them and it would be alright with time when he would forget his pain that she knew nothing about and the six month timeline would never come,coz he had feeling for her right? But she was realizing that probably she assumed wrong, probably he didn't love her,probably he loved someone else and the marriage would end because why would he be with her if he loved someone else. And she didn't tell it but khushi couldn't live without Arnav too. And Arnav loving someone else was equivalent to death for her.

Thus her mind found out the bizarre idea to cope with the pain.I always thought why the showrunners spent so much time in showing how khushi hallucinating Arnav killing her in different method instead of spending time in significant moment? Like Arnav had softened down a little bit toward her, he was concerned about her, kept asking her family what's wrong with her, he brought a glass of milk to her because she didn't eat enough at dinner,wanted her to see a doctor. In a very long time the rajkumar was winning in battle against the rakhsak. The Love of a lover was overshadowing the love of a brother and son.

Sheetal track

Before going into the sheetal track I was just curious about the easy acceptance of Aarav in the raizada family and even to Arnav.That family was preparing to welcome a child in their house that never came. Subconsciously, they might all saw the unborn,lost child in Aarav.Because even mami was so open with the idea of spoiling Aarav. At this vulnerable time they even Arnav formed a bond with Arnav unknowningly.

And also in regards of Arnav, since he knew Anjali was pregnant, he was preparing himself to be the father-figure of that child. Normally, maternal uncles didn't think like that, but he thought right? He planned to throw Shyam out of shantivan after the child would safely be born.After that he would be taking care of the child.He was preparing himself mentally for that duty. He would have been anything the child needed him to be. So, he was already softened with the idea of being a guardian to a child.

And he also could relate to Aarav,as Arnav also missed his father in his childhood. And all of these khushi misunderstood as bond between a father and a son.

Then let's discuss khushi, just like suicide track, in sheetal track, she also know with absolute certainty that Arnav loved her, she herself said that 'he loved me more than himself' and she also knew that Arnav couldn't live without her.

Then why all through the sheetal track she was so afraid of Arnav leaving her? It wasn't Arnav she was afraid of, she was afraid of her own ideology that if this child came out as Arnav's, she had to leave him so that Arnav provide his parental duty toward the child and it's not just name or financial support, it also include a family, a complete family,consists of both parents and she didn't see herself in that family. And that's why she was almost irrational in her pursuit to find out if Aarav was Arnav's child.

And also that's why she was feeling so left out during that basketball game.Till that day,Arnav didn't talk to Sheetal at all,not really.And it was clear Arnav was passionate about basketball in his college days.And for someone who had a bad childhood, college life certainly was a safe heaven for him. College life was a time when he didn't fully adopted his ASR sheild and had a chance to be his most truest self without any past trauma and responsibilities. And being in a foreign land the 3 indian students clearly formed a good bond. And it was cleared by Arnav that he dated sheetal for a very brief time,so brief to form any physical relationship with her and even broke up with her immediately after graduation, clearly she wasn't important enough to try having a relationship post college. But they were friends before they started dating. Basketball was something they played as friends not as couple.During that basketball game that friendship came out and Arnav wasn't completely ignorant about khushi. He inquired about her after coming inside and asked her where did she disappeared after the game and why she made jalebies. He was teasing her to make her relax but khushi never shared anything with Arnav. And that friendship didn't mean anything to Arnav actually, it was just falling in rhymes with an old friend. And when Arnav realized khushi was upset,he even stop interacting with sheetal beyond polite conversation after that.The marriage and relationship stuff was new for both of them.He was not a mind-reader and khushi rarely expressed what was bothering her.On the other hand,khushi didn't know what to do with the overwhelming possessiveness and insecurities that were brewing inside her.

And I think khushi was not really worried about Arnav having a bonding during the game thinking that he might be developing feelings for her or already had feelings for her. When she started to be bothered with sheetal, it started with the doubt with Aarav's paternity and intensified with the knowledge of their past dating history. She just wanted some solid proof that something romantic between them would be impossible in the future so that even if Aarav was indeed Arnav's child, Aarav's mother won't come in between khushi and Arnav. Thus the banter in basketball game made her worried. She was worried about the fact that if Aarav was proved to be Arnav's son, the family she wanted Arnav to give Aarav would be possible, because clearly Arnav and sheetal could have a relationship again for Aarav's sake.

And that's exactly she end up doing. After finding out Aarav was Arnav's, she attempted to leave Arnav so that he could give Aarav a complete family but she was in a way selfish herself too, she left the person she knew couldn't live without her because she couldn't bear the pain of seeing him with anyone else. She forgot all her promises, even promises she made mere few hours ago, just to escape the pain.She left before Arnav had a chance to leave her or tell her to leave. That's why when Arnav got hold of her insecurities he told her 'Arnav aur khushi hamesha saath rehenge' to assure her.

And khushi learnt a special lesson that night.What did loving really mean? Being there when all is fine? or being there no matter what? especially when nothing is fine. After realizing that khushi stood beside Arnav keeping aside her fear.She also learnt what did loving Arnav really mean, that tough guy needed someone to love him as he was and not to abandon him again like his mother did.

And the thing about knowing all the stuff about Arnav that sheetal knew but Khushi didn't. Doesn't that knowledge come with time,with living with the person,one learn new things about their partners everyday, but end of the day,these are all general knowledge, khushi knew the real Arnav,what he valued,what he feared.She helped him brought out the Arnav that he buried under the ASR mask.It wasn't sheetal that brought out the Arnav that played basketball and played drums.No it was khushi, khushi gave him the confidence to be his true self in the middle of his past trauma and responsibilities not in isolation.

I have watched that game very carefully without any bias.The moment that khushi was watching so carefully when Arnav and sheetal was about to collide, sheetal was so aggressive, Arnav was looking at her with a WTF face, I don't know about anyone,but I found it funny. If Khushi actually focused on participating in the game instead of being so worried, she would had noticed how easily Arnav gave the ball up to khushi or the smile he gave her when she was up against him. 😊

I was thinking about the formation of sheetal track similar with the contact marriage track, where in sheetal track khushi did the same thing that Arnav did to khushi during contract marriage track. Here I came to a horrifying theory how the sheetal track could have gone terribly wrong if not the show ended when it ended. We might see a forced marriage or almost a forced marriage again but between Arnav and sheetal, on khushi's request as Arnav was doing everything khushi requested him to do.I am thankful that we didn't have to see that kind of plot and it ended where it ended.

And that also tied around the question of redemption on khushi's side in sheetal track and on Arnav's side in contact marriage track.Khushi forgave Arnav instantly for every hurt he done and similarly Arnav also forgave khushi instantly as they both understand and love each other beyond anything else,a bond beyond anything else, stronger than anything else. A bond stronger & powerful than any bond Arnav could have made by playing basketball and playing drums.

My Scattered thoughts (13/?)

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #arshi #my scattered thoughts

25 notes · View notes