#i genuinely do think this is the best part of the whole thing as it stands. also! it'll be my first 5+1!

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (2/4) | CS55

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

wc : 7.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And therein lies the problem.

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

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

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

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

This was supposed to be simple.

One night. No strings.

But you’re fun. Too fun, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes this. Likes you.

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

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

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

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

The thought itself makes him sick.

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

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

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

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

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

He places the order moments later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there's that thought again.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way.

He barely even knows you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles, nodding.

This is what you deserve.

Lighthearted fun, no heavy emotions weighing you down.

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

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

Because anything more would be unfair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

His muscles feel heavy, his head a little foggy.

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

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

The NDA.

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

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

How could he forget that?

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

He tries to calm himself, taking a deep breath.

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

But still. His PR team would rip him apart.

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

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

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

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

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

His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types out:

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

He deletes it immediately. Too casual.

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

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

Carlos hesitates for a moment before adding:

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

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

Now all he could do was wait and hope that:

1. You wouldn’t be offended.

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You click on his message again, rereading it.

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

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

That makes you smile, your cheeks warming a little.

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

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

But you don’t let it linger for long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You type out your reply:

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

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

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

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

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

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

No drama, no complications.

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

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

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

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

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

You know Charles too well.

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

And if not, well..

You’ll make it work.

—-

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

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

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

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

First stop? Coffee. Always coffee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see it.

carlossainz55 followed you.

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

No, surely you’re still asleep.

That has to be it.

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

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

Carlos’ profile pops up on your screen.

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

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

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

But no.

Apparently, it’s real.

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

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

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

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

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

But the notification doesn’t disappear.

It lingers. Mocking you.

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

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

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

But now... this.

Him following you on Instagram?

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

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

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

Maybe he follows everyone he hooks up with?

But no, he’s Carlos Sainz Jr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, you do.

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

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

A notification.

A message.

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

Nada.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink.

Twice.

Maybe you missed something?

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

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

yourhandle Excuse me? You followed me first

carlossainz55 Details. The silence was deafening

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

carlossainz55 I make time for the important things

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

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

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

yourhandle Wow. I’m honored

carlossainz55 You should be

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

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

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

yourhandle He's practicing

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

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

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

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

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

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

carlossainz55 So… about that night…

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

yourhandle What about it?

carlossainz55 I was just thinking...

yourhandle Dangerous start

carlossainz55 ...we should do it again.

Your jaw drops. This man. This actual man.

Subtle as a brick to the face.

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

yourhandle Excuse me?

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

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

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

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

carlossainz55 Exactly. It’s a tough life

You snort, shaking your head.

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

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

carlossainz55 Because the first round was great. Admit it.

You hesitate, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

But he’s not wrong.

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

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

yourhandle Oh, how generous of you

carlossainz55 I try my best

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

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

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

yourhandle I’ll think about it

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

yourhandle Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz

carlossainz55 Too late

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

You squint at the screen, and sure enough:

carlossainz55 So… have you decided? Sex?

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

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

carlossainz55 I’m efficient

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

carlossainz55 That too. So? Are you free?

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

carlossainz55 Mallorca. Family stuff. You?

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

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

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

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

carlossainz55 I’ve done more for less

yourhandle This is why the planet’s dying

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

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

And, of course, it doesn’t disappoint.

carlossainz55 Phone sex

yourhandle I’m sorry, what?

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

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

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

yourhandle You did NOT just compare dirty talk to racing strategies

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

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

yourhandle Carlos, this is absurd. You’re absurd

carlossainz55 Absurdly charming

yourhandle Absurdly something, that’s for sure

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

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

You’re almost impressed by how persistent he is.

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

carlossainz55 I know. It’s a gift

---

Carlos is nervous.

He shouldn’t be.

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

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

Why is he nervous?

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

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

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

He’s pathetic, really.

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

He remembers every little detail too vividly.

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

It’s seven minutes until your scheduled call.

Scheduled.

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mind is full of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a shaky hand, he answers the call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what they look like.”

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

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

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

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

“Very,” you admit, your cheeks burning.

“Let me hear.”

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

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

You inhale shakily, doing as he says.

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

It’s not enough.

It’s nowhere near enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bossy,” you shoot back, laughing.

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

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

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

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

But he can’t. Not tonight, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are definitely not good for his health.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

His voice softens. “Anytime, baby.”

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

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

—-

series taglist :

@5sospenguinqueen @wadupppp @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting

[vitalverstappen]

The Bolter - L. Norris

summary: as she was leaving, it felt like breathing

pairing: Lando Norris x heiress! situationship! reader

warnings: drinking, swearing, allusions to sex, angst, pining

word count: 5k

masterlist

the tortured drivers department masterlist

Sponsorship events were never your thing. It was a bunch of frumpy old business men with race car drivers glued to their hips, begging for money. Not exactly your ideal Friday night. But unfortunately, having the Hilton name attached to you, you were forced to attend a few every year. 

You never did the negotiations - that was all your father. Your job was to simply be the pretty face needed to help sweeten the deal in the company's favor. The idea of smiling and nodding through endless small talk wasn’t your idea of a good time, but it was worth it for the unlimited free stays, free room service, and much more. 

Tonight’s event was hosted by Hilton, an invitation to show off why the company was the best in the business, and why drivers should want to be sponsored by them. With McLaren being based in England, it was only fitting that the event was held at the Waldorf Hilton in London. 

You didn’t want to be there, but it was a necessary evil. The Hilton name had been intertwined with McLaren for years, and you were expected to show up and play your part. As you made your way through the crowd, glancing around for your father, you could tell it was going to be a long night.

Snippets of conversations - racing deals being discussed, numbers being thrown around like they were nothing - were heard as you scanned the crowd. It was all so transactional, so hollow. But before you could find the man you were looking for, your eyes landed on another. 

Lando Norris, stood near the bar, chatting animatedly with a group of people, his signature grin never wavering. He was easy to spot in the crowd, his messy mop of curly hair now styled a bit, but he still had a mischievous glint in his eye. 

You weren’t sure why, but something about the way he stood there - engaged but not entirely invested - caught your attention. It was rare for someone in the racing world to have such an air of self-assurance without trying too hard. You weren’t usually the type to seek out drivers at these events; they all blended together in the same corporate PR machine. 

But you felt yourself being drawn in. 

“Hey Lando” you said, strolling toward him with a soft smile, your voice cutting through the chatter around you. 

His head snapped around, his eyes narrowed for a moment before a smile spread across his face. “Well, if it isn’t the Hilton heiress herself” he said, his voice casual, but warm. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.” 

You shrugged, tilting your head slightly. “I like to keep people on their toes, I guess.” you replied, glancing around the suited-up crowd. “I’m just here to make the room a bit more interesting.” 

Lando chuckled, clearly amused. “I think you’ve already accomplished that. The room just got a whole lot more interesting.” 

There was something in his eyes that told you he simply wasn’t making a polite compliment. He was genuinely intrigued, or at least, willing to entertain the idea of more conversation. 

“Well, I guess it’s good to know I’m not the only one bored out of my mind.” you said, offering him a knowing smile. “It’s all business. But at least you get to drive the fast cars and make everyone love you. I’m just stuck shaking hands with people I’ve met a thousand times.” 

“Same here, in a way” he said, leaning back slightly, his tone a little more relaxed now. “I’m usually the one doing the handshakes and smiling for the camera. I guess we both get our fair share of small talk.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “So I’m guessing you’re a pro now?” 

Lando grinned, a playful look in his eyes. “You could say that. But I’m always up for some better conversation. You know, something a little more… real.” 

His words piqued your interest. You didn’t need to be in the racing world to know that Lando was a bit of a heartthrob. The media loved him - he was approachable, funny, and charming. But it was rare to see that side of him in a space like this, surrounded by corporate faces and press agents. 

The conversation between you two grew more effortless, as if the world around you had melted away. You exchanged stories about the absurdity of these events, each of you poking fun at the cliches that came with it. But as the night wore on, you noticed something - something about the way Lando looked at you, something that was more than just playful banter. 

It was the kind of look that made your pulse quicken, just a little. You weren’t sure if he was just playing along, or if he was genuinely interested in you, but the chemistry was undeniable. 

For a moment, you considered pushing him away - making some witty comment to keep things light - but you were curious. Curious to see how far you could take it, how much you could toy with him before he realized what you were doing. 

Some people would say you had a problem, bouncing from one guy to the next, as if they were toys you could discard at your own discretion. Your best friends always poked fun at how you dated, getting them hooked, and then leaving, prompting your nickname The Bolter. 

But you liked to think of it as a talent - an art, really. A talent for keeping things interesting, for keeping people on their toes, and for never getting too attached. You weren’t a stranger to flirtation, to games of wit and charm, and this was no different. 

By the time the event came to a close, Lando had asked for your number. You smiled as you handed it over - just another name to add to your list. You’d let him chase you for a bit, see how far he was willing to go, but in the end, you knew how it would play out. 

The next time you saw Lando, it was at a house party. Your house party. You hadn’t planned for it - you didn’t even invite him. But there he was, leaning casually against your kitchen counter, a beer in one hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t. 

It wasn’t until he caught your eye from across the room that you realized he had been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to notice. 

You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes narrowing slightly as you surveyed him from across the room. Your eyes stayed locked on his as he made his way across the room, stopping next to you. 

“You know” he said, his voice low enough to be a private comment but loud enough to be heard over the music, “you throw a good party” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, though there was an edge to it. “I didn’t expect you to be here” 

Lando just shrugged, that infuriatingly charming smile still on his lips “You didn’t expect half of these people to be here. But here we are.” 

You couldn’t argue with that. The house was packed - people spilled out into every corner. You hadn’t planned for it to be this big, but somehow the word had gotten out, and no one was going to say no to a Hilton party. 

“You never struck me as the type to crash a party” you said, leaning up against the counter. The marble was cold against the bare skin that was peeking out under your crop top. You knew he didn’t just stumble into here. 

Lando leaned in slightly, “What’s it matter to you?” His voice was playful, but you could hear the underlying challenge in it. Like he was daring you to admit that maybe you were glad to see him.

You shifted your weight, crossing your arms as you did so. “Nothing, Norris.” you teased, but your eyes still tracked him, just a little too interested. 

Lando chuckled, unfazed. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to ruin your party.” His eyes scanned the crowd briefly, then returned to you, taking in all of you. “Though I’m sure I could make it more interesting” 

“I’m sure you could” you said, your flirtatious tone returning to your voice. You wanted him to drag you up the stairs. You wanted him to make a mess out of you right then and there. 

But you couldn’t let him. He couldn’t have that satisfaction quite yet. You couldn’t boost his ego that quickly. He had to put in a little bit more work than crash your party. 

Before you could respond, someone in the crowd shouted your name, and you turned away to find one of your friends weaving through the sea of people, clearly looking for you. Without a second thought, you walked towards her, leaving Lando alone in your kitchen. 

Your friend wanted you to be her partner for beer pong, which to the surprise of no one, the two of you dominated. But as quickly as the two of you got to the table and played, you had left it, your focus set for your living room, which had turned into the dance floor, complete with a live DJ. 

Your hips moved to the beat as the bass pulsated through you. The alcohol flowed through your system as you danced, not caring who saw you. The crowd around you blurred into the background, the flashing lights casting everything in almost a surreal glow. The DJ was pumping out track after track, each one pushed the energy higher. 

Then, without warning, you felt an arm wrap around you. Turning, you came face to face with him again. His beer was replaced by a new one, and the same grin tugged at his lips. 

“I wasn’t done with you. I was just getting started.” he said, his voice low and almost raspy. 

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if you were flattered or annoyed. “What does that even mean?” 

Lando’s grin only widened, and he took another step closer. “It means, darling, that I think you’ve been ignoring me for far too long.” 

The simple sentences, spoken so casually, spent a spark of heat right through you. You bit your lip to keep from reacting too obviously, but the tension in the air was palatable.

“I’m not ignoring you,” you said, playing it cool, though the way your heart was racing told a different story. “You’re just not as interesting as you think you are.”

Before you could speak again, you felt his lips crash into yours. You were caught off guard at first, not expecting him to make the move then and there. Lando was intense, wanting to know all of you instantly. But as quickly as he had control, he lost it. He got lost in you, allowing for you to take over.

Your hands found their way to his jaw, fingers threaded through his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. It was raw, and unstrained, an electrifying push and pull that left you breathless. 

Lando groaned softly, his breath hitching as you took the lead, a grin playing at the corners of your lips when you felt the slight tremor in his body. He wasn’t expecting this - he was used to being in control. 

But now, as your lips moved against his with increased urgency, it was clear that the tables had turned. His hands, once firm on your waist, now roamed relentlessly, as if trying to regain some semblance of power. You could feel the struggle within him, the way he fought to take control again, but you weren’t having it. 

You pushed him back slightly, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch your breath. His eyes were darker now, full of desire and a flicker of challenge. “Can’t handle it?” he asked, a smirk forming on his lips 

“If that’s what you want to think” you replied before you disappeared back into the crowd of people that managed to fit into your house, leaving Lando with the remnants of your smudged lipstick on his face. 

You saw Lando again a few weeks later, but this time in a nightclub out in Singapore. The lights flashed in sync with the beat, the bass reverberated in your chest as you moved through the crowded dance floor. It was a completely different scene from the house party, yet Lando still managed to find his way to you. 

The two of you had been texting off and on, but not nearly enough for you to expect him to know where you were. But there he was, surrounded by a few other drivers that you couldn’t name, the same uber confident smirk on his lips. 

But the moment you caught his eyes, the smirk faltered for a moment, briefly being replaced by furrowed brows. The smirk returned instantly, but you definitely caught the slip. 

Lando didn’t waste a second as he cut through the sea of people effortlessly. The moment he reached you, the noise of the nightclub seemed to fade, the beat of the music thumping in the background as everything else fell away. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. 

“We must stop meeting like this.” you teased, shaking your head slightly 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Lando asked, his smirk ever wavering as he leaned in slightly. “Besides, I wouldn’t wanna leave a charming woman like you alone and helpless.” 

You raised an eyebrow, the teasing tone lingered in your voice as you took a sip from your drink. “You’re really starting to enjoy this, aren’t you?” 

Lando chuckled, that glint of mischief never left his eyes. “You have no idea.” He glanced over your shoulder, seemingly scanning the crowd before focusing back on you. “What are you doing in Singapore anyway?” 

You tilted your head, pondering his question, “A bit of fun, a bit of escape.” you said, messing with the straw in your drink. “And you?” 

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking a step closer to you. “Just work. Wrapped up the weekend yesterday, but we all wanted to stay a few extra days.” he explained “Can’t say I expected to run into you here though.” 

You smirked, watching him carefully. “Right, you were just hoping for it.” 

His grin widened at your boldness, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Maybe. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, I’ve been trying to figure out how long it would take for us to cross paths again.” 

As you took in his confession, the smirk on your lips widened. You had him right where you wanted him. Lando’s confidence, the way he seemed so sure of himself, was usually enough to keep people on edge, but right now, just like it had back at your house, only fueled your amusement. He was enamored by you, drunk on not only the liquid in his cup, but on you. 

Your arms crossed over your chest, careful not to spill the drink in your hands. “Well you certainly have a knack for finding me, don’t you?” 

Lando’s gaze softened for a moment, the playful smirk fading into something more genuine. “Guess I know where to look.” 

Before you could respond, he offered a hand. “Finish your drink, let’s get out of here.” he insisted 

You glanced at the drink before looking back at the Brit in front of you. You knew what he wanted, and honestly, you wanted it too. So, you poured the liquid down your throat, ignoring the burn that came with it, and took his hand out into the streets of Singapore. 

Lando expected to wake up with you, the two of you tangled in sheets and memories from the night before. After all, that’s how it happened when he stayed the night at your place a mere few weeks ago.

But his eyes snapped open to the sound of the slam of a door. He shot up, the bed empty, but sheets still warm next to him. 

His heart sank for a moment, confusion mingled with a twinge of disappointment. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the music still echoing in his mind. 

The floor was cold under his bare feet as he stood and walked around the cramped hotel room, looking for any trace of you. But there was nothing. Your clothes had been picked up off the floor, and the McLaren t-shirt he had given you to sleep in was nowhere to be found. 

“Fucking whore.” he muttered as he realized what you had done.

And that’s how it went for the next few months. The two of you would somehow run into each other, leaving with him as the night ended, only to leave his place before the sun rose in the morning. And no matter what Lando said under his breath about you when he woke to an empty bed, you knew he’d always be coming back for more. 

The first time you saw Lando and neither of you took the other home was in New York. 

You were there for work, or at least be the Hilton family representative at all of their executive meetings, as your father was busy doing the same out in London. In between the long, boring meetings, you found yourself tapping through social media, ultimately ending up on Lando’s Instagram story. 

The photo was of Lady Liberty, with the simple location tag carelessly slapped on it. Based on the angle, you could tell it was taken on the New York side of the bay, most likely from Battery Park.

You don’t know what came over you, but you opened your text messages, and typed in Lando’s name. You stared at your phone for a moment, unsure of what you were doing. It had been a while since you last saw Lando, and while you had been fine with keeping it that way, now that you two were in the same city, the urge to see him again crept in. 

You quickly typed out a message, second guessing yourself with every word.

You: you’re in town? How long?

You pressed send before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger hovered over the screen as you waited for a reply. You didn’t expect an immediate response, but a part of you was eager to hear from him, to see if he’d bite. 

Seconds later, your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen, a smirk playing on your lips as you read his response. 

Lando: til friday. Might need a tour guide for the rest of the week. 

You paused, considering your options. It was the last day full of meetings, and you had no places to be until next week, giving you plenty of time to show Lando around the vast city. But did you actually want to. 

You: send me your hotel address. I’ll pick you up at 11am tomorrow

You weren’t surprised to find that he was staying at the Hilton in Midtown, thankfully only a few blocks away from Central Park - taking a taxi or the subway with a famous athlete never ended well. 

When you arrived at the hotel, you spotted Lando standing in front of the revolving doors, looking very much like himself in a hoodie and sunglasses, his usual smirk plastered on his face. The second he saw you, the same cocky grin appeared. 

“You actually showed up.” he teased, arching an eyebrow as you approached 

You rolled your eyes, but a smile formed on your lips. “I’m not that unpredictable” 

Lando raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “I beg to differ” 

“Whatever” you mumbled 

You led Lando through the bustling streets of the city. This place was a part of you, you knew it like the back of your hand. As you walked, you pointed out the places in the city that you held a little closer to your heart, the little corners of the city that tourists passed by with no thought.

“So this place,” you said, pointing to a hole in the wall Japanese restaurant, “serves the best ramen, and they’re open incredibly late. It’s a perfect spot or dinner or after a night out” 

Lando glanced over at the restaurant, eyeing the neon sign above the door. “I guess I’ll have to check it out sometime.” 

You continued down the streets, pointing out the bodega you go to religiously to cure your hangovers, and the coffee shop you stop at when you need a pick me up before meetings. 

Eventually, the two of you found your way to Central Park, specifically to the boathouse. After paying to rent a boat, you made your way down to the shore. 

“A rowboat?” Lando asked skeptically 

You smirked as you handed him an oar, leaning back against the edge of the boat with a casual air. “What, you’re afraid of a little manual labor?” 

Lando shook his head before taking the oar in his hands. “I just wasn’t expecting something so calm from you.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him, settling into the boat and adjusting your own oar. “There’s more to me than you know” you said, your tone playful.

The sounds of the bustling city faded away as you rowed out to the middle of the lake, leaving you, Lando, and your thoughts. Conversation with him wasn’t the worst, but as you spent more time with him, you could see the water in the floorboards start to trickle in.  

You had no problem with Lando’s confidence - it was the thing that drew you in in the first place - but it had a tendency to tip into arrogance, and that was something you didn’t tolerate. Maybe it was because you weren’t a stranger to that kind of behavior. You’d been surrounded by it your whole life. Whether it was your father’s business dealings, or the people who ran in your circle, self-assurance often crossed the line into entitlement. 

And so, instead of taking him to that Japanese place you had mentioned earlier, you walked him back to his hotel. You stopped in front of the doors you had met at hours earlier, and Lando faced you, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. 

“Well,” he began, his grin reappearing. “I guess this is where I leave you.” 

You nodded, taking a step back as you gave him a small smile. “Guess so. You don’t need a tour guide anymore.” 

Lando chuckled, the light sound of it echoed in the space between you. “Maybe not. But you’re not as bad as I thought.”

Ouch. 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, masking your hurt with amusement. 

“Maybe,” Lando said with a shrug, his voice much lighter than yours. “But I’m still figuring you out.” 

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. He was never going to figure you out. “Good luck with that.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, you almost expected him to say something more, something that would tip the scale between this complicated, almost-friendship and whatever else had been simmering under the surface. But he didn’t. 

Instead, Lando flashed that trademark grin. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

You nodded, your own smirk playing on your lips. “Maybe. Take care, Lando.” 

With that, you turned and walked away, not looking back as you heard him call out your name once more. The door to the hotel clicked shut behind you, and you found yourself standing on the sidewalk, the sounds of the city closing in once more. 

The last time you ever saw Lando was in Las Vegas. 

It had been a few months since New York, and in the time between, you hadn’t spoken much. Sure, there were a few messages here and there, the occasional “how are you” or drunk “wish you were here” texts, but nothing meaningful. You kept yourself occupied with the next guy you had chosen, some up-and-coming actor no one really knew the name of. 

You were in Vegas for a friend’s birthday, and your group had been bouncing from casino to casino letting your money and the night run wild. 

It was late when you saw him - at a bar on the Strip, a neon-lit, smoke-saturated lounge tucked away in the back of a casino. The crowd was loud, music pounding through the floor, but Lando was easy to spot. Even in the haze of the flashing lights, his smirk was unmistakable. He was leaning against the bar, surrounded by a few faces from Formula 1 that you still couldn’t name if you tried. 

When he saw you, the world around you seemed to pause for a second. His eyes found yours, a flicker of recognition flashing before that stupid fucking smirk retured, like he had been expecting you the whole time. 

Though, as easy as it was to meet his eyes, it was easier to tear your gaze away from them. 

You looked away quickly, engulfing yourself back into the conversation you were having with your friends about the worst name to give a child. Even though your back was turned to him, you could feel his eyes still on you, piercing through you like daggers. 

Your friend made some remark that made your laugh, but it felt hollow. You could sense him closing the distance between you, even though the crowd still swirled around you like an endless blur. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a voice broke through 

You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. You’d recognize that cocky tone anywhere. Slowly, you glanced over your shoulder, just enough to meet his gaze without letting the full weight of his presence hit you all at once. 

His smirk softened just a fraction when your eyes locked. “Thought you were avoiding me” he added, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the music. 

You forced a shrug, turning back to your friends. “I’m just here with some friends.” 

Lando didn’t move. You could feel his eyes lingering on the back of your neck, the weight of them familiar, too familiar. It was almost suffocating, the way he managed to make you feel like the only person in the room, even in the midst of a crowd that seemed to pulse with life. 

“Right,” he drawled, the mischievous smile never quite leaving his face. “Just here for the party, huh?” 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you tried to focus back on your group. They were still talking, but your mind was clearly somewhere else. You could feel the tension between you building, thick and unspoken, and it was making you restless. 

“Look,” you said, finally turning to face him fully. “It’s been a while, alright? I’m just not in the mood for all… this.” You waved a hand in his general direction. 

Lando’s smirk flickered for a second, but he didn’t seem bothered. If anything, he seemed to find your discomfort amusing, which only made the knot in your chest tighten. He was putty in your hand, but he wasn’t something you wanted to play with anymore. The need to have you in his arms made you nauseous. 

“I get it,” he said, his voice quieter now, more subdued. “But you’re still not gonna pretend like we don’t have unfinished business, are you?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his words. “There’s nothing unfinished between us, Lando.” 

For a second, the playful air between you two dropped, replaced by something heavier. His lips parted, like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction. When he finally decided what to say, his voice lowered, as if you two were the only ones in the room. 

“Is that so?” he said, the question hanging in the air, sharp and loaded. 

You weren’t going to do this. Not here, in the middle of the bar. So, you grabbed his hand, and dragged him to a hallway away from the noise and the lights. When you got to the hallway, Lando’s smirk returned, expecting you to make a move now. 

“You don’t get to decide what’s unfinished” you spoke instead, trying to keep your voice firm. 

“But what if I think we do?” he asked, his tone now tinged with something more sincere. It was subtle, but you could hear it. A hint of something almost vulnerable. “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t forgotten what happened between us.” 

“Yeah, well,” you began, keeping your eyes locked on his. “I’ve moved on. I’m not… whatever that was. I had a fun few months, but that’s all it was, just a few months.” you admitted, the words felt a weight being lifted as they came out of your mouth. 

You watched as Lando’s face dropped, for the first time in a while, the smirk that was usually on his lips was nowhere to be found. The silence between you two was overwhelming as he took in your words. You almost walked out then and there, needing to be taken away by the alcohol and music around the corner, but your feet wouldn’t budge. 

“You really believe that?” he asked softly, his voice almost disbelieving, the cocky bravado slipping further away. “You think we were just… a few months?” 

You swallowed hard, your heart beating a little faster, but you held firm. It was never easy to let go of them. No matter how many times you bolted, it was still hard to say goodbye. But you knew that the feeling of fresh air and freedom outweighed the suffocation of staying. 

“Yeah” you said, the words coming out with more conviction than you felt. “I do.” 

And with that, you picked your feet up, and walked away. You let the smoke and neon lights greet you like an old friend as you returned to the bar, your friends still in the same place as where you left them. 

“I have the best story for you guys” you said, excitement filled your voice as you returned to the group.

“Is it another one about a boy?” one of your friends teased

“Maybe…” 

[princess-luvvv]

A GOLD RING AND COLD FEET

Rafe Cameron x fem!exgirlfriend!reader

A/N: (This is lowk 4.3k words I’m sorry) Hey guys lol I literally do not know what I’m doing help. I did not proofread idek how to work this app so if this sucks just don’t tell me bc this thing is the biggest pain in the ass lol. Like I am so genuinely sorry I’m such a grandma. Also this is what I listened to while writing this so feel free to listen as well :)

WARNINGS: AUTHOR CANT FIGURE THIS APP OUT, there’s no smut (not going to traumatize you guys with my brain on the first post), girl reader, marriage (basically the whole theme), cheating (sort of from reader but like it’s fine), ermmm just bad writing im sorry lol. Just a man yearning (like good). Okay Im sorry byeee.

14 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: THE BRIDAL SHOWER

Rafe Cameron was going to be the death of me. I knew it.

We had dated for 7 years. He asked me out when we were 14 after knowing each other since we were 6. He broke up with me when we were 21. He said he “couldn’t be tied down in his 20s”.

After that I thought I was completely broken. I had never even imagined loving anyone else - having to love someone else.

But here I was. 14 days away from my wedding to a man I didn’t love. A part of me felt like such an asshole. Marrying a man who I knew I’d never love. But Jackson had his faults. He raised his voice too much. He never opened my door…not since our third date at least. He worked all the time. He regularly forgot important events like anniversaries and birthdays.

We started dating 10 months, 1 week, and 4 days after Rafe broke up with me.

Even though most people said it was time to move on it still felt too soon to me. 3 years later and it still feels too soon sometimes.

But here I am. At my bridal shower. Wearing a silver ring when I haven’t touched a piece of silver jewelry since I was 9.

I was opening gifts when only one remained. A small black box with no tag attached.

“Who is this one from?” I ask the crowd of giddy women surrounding me. They all share confused looks. Shrugging and comments like “It’s not mine” falling from their lips. This only furthered my confusion as I opened the box.

I gasped.

Inside was a beautiful - gold - ring. It was my dream ring.

“Oh my gosh it’s just beautiful!” My best friend Grace said.

“Jackson must have picked it out for you since yours is missing.” Grace says causing me to furrow my brows.

I looked down to my left hand and noticed the absence of my ring.

Since when was that gone?

“Oh yeah…I guess he did.” I smile and tuck the box away. Making a mental note to ask Jackson later. Even though I knew he didn’t get it for me, a part of me hoped.

As my friends went on and on about how beautiful this wedding would be and how happy they were…I couldn’t help but wish their joy was infectious.

At least someone is excited right?

12 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: BACHELORETTE

I was sitting in an expensive restaurant in downtown Charleston sipping a cocktail I’m pretty sure costs more than my salad. Jackson and I had decided to have our Bachelorette/Bachelor parties in the same city in case anything happened. He was out having a guys night while I was out with my girls. I hadn’t had this much fun doing anything wedding related well ever.

“It’s not a coincidence that you think that and Jackson isn’t here” a little voice inside my brain taunts me. But I push it down. Along with the bile rising in my throat. From the alcohol or the impending commitment of forever to a person who I know I don’t love - which, I’m not sure.

“How are you babe?” My friend Ava says as she turns her entire body to face me. I was tracing shapes on the condensation on the outside of my barely touched drink while I tuned out the rest of the chatter.

“I’m wonderful how about you Ava?” I smile and meet her eye. She gives an unconvinced smile and repeats her question: “Come on. How are you really? Cold feet? We can get on the next flight out of America just say the word.” She says with a laugh. And I know she’s joking but part of me is screaming “YES!” Inside of my head.

I laugh and shake my head.

“No cold feet. Just lukewarm maybe.”

Lukewarm. It’s funny cause that’s basically a word that sums up the entirety of Jackson and I’s relationship. I hadn’t felt fire, sparks, passion…any of it. Not since-

“Lukewarm is okay. Marriage is big. But…you’ll be okay.” Ava says cutting off my thoughts. And I can see her trying to hide her real feelings. She wants me to talk to him. Not him. Him.

The him who left me in a hotel room in Key West on what was supposed to be our 8 year anniversary trip. The him who wouldn’t stop sending letters to my house. The him who sent me 127 texts and 87 voicemails since last Tuesday. Which is apparently the day the Cameron’s wedding invitation arrived. I wasn’t going to invite them but I felt I needed to. Sarah and I were still friends and I adored Wheezie. The him who took up every inch of my heart. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself he didn’t.

LATER THAT NIGHT AT THE HOTEL…

I entered my private suite in the hotel. I had gotten my drunk pack of bridesmaids back to their rooms…well the ones that were sleeping in their own rooms tonight. I had my own room this trip. My bridesmaid Lila insisted on it in case Jackson wanted to sneak over from his hotel…that’s what she said. But I knew she secretly wanted to give me my space away from the wedding buzz and events. I was grateful for that.

Until I was not.

Because the second I opened my door and ripped off my crown that said “BRIDE” I looked up and saw a man sitting on the couch in the suites living room. His elbows resting on his large thighs as he hung his head.

He looks up when I walk in.

I should’ve been scared…but I knew exactly who it was.

I flicked on the light. “Rafe what- what are you doing here?” I say in half anger half disbelief. OBX was at least 7 hours from here.

What the hell was he thinking?

“I had to see you…” I shake my head as he stands up and walks towards me. I take a step back.

“No. No. You can’t do this to me.” He walks closer. I put out my hands. Placing them on his chest to keep distance between us.

“Please just hear me out….” He gently grips my wrists that are placed on his chest. He paused for a second. Looking into my eyes to see if I would stop him again. I let him continue.

“I know…I know I have no right to be here. No right to do this. But please just listen to what I have to say…” He sighed before continuing. “You can’t marry him. Baby you can’t….I’m begging you. He doesn’t treat you right. You know that. I have so many regrets in my life…but I’d live them all over a million times if it meant I never let you go. I regret that every breath I take.”

My eyes gloss over. His touch was so gentle unlike Jackson’s. He didn’t raise his voice at me. He didn’t do anything but love me exactly the way I wanted while also being everything I needed.

He sighs seeing my eyes tear up. “Baby don’t- don’t cry….it’s just-….I can tell you’re not happy.” He says as he wipes a tear that escaped my eyes.

“I-I’m happy…” I say weakly.

But I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince. Me or him?

He sighs. Bringing a hand up to my cheek to wipe away another tear. His hand not moving. “You’re not. I can see it. I know you…I see it in your face when you look at him. Those beautiful eyes have never told me a lie.”

“You don’t know me anymore…” another lie. He knew me. He knew me. He knew my coffee order at every coffee shop on the island. He knew my favorite songs and the lyrics to all of them. He knew my favorite movie. He knew my favorite animal.

He laughs softly in disbelief.

“I don’t know you? I know you. I know your order at every Mexican restaurant on the island. I can recite your coffee orders in my sleep. I know every word to your favorite Taylor Swift songs. Your favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast and you love the soundtrack. You love penguins and you’re a dog person. I know you baby.”

I cry harder as he recites everything about me. On surface it’s not much. Small talk topics he could’ve figured out from social media. But it goes so much deeper. He knows what makes me tick. What I need when I’m sad. How to cheer me up even through tears.

If only he could do that now…

“Does that asshole even know your favorite Jane Austen book? Huh? Does he? Cause I do. And it’s Emm-“

“Stop! Just stop Rafe! Just- just go! Why-why are you doing this me? This isn’t fair.” I say wiping my tears. I was full on crying now.

“I can’t just sit back and watch you marry someone who’s not going to make you happy. You deserve so much better. You don’t deserve someone who’s never there for you, or doesn’t treat you well. You deserve someone who treats you exactly how you deserve to be treated - like the woman I love. I know I was stupid to let you go. I was young - and I thought I wanted freedom, but I was wrong. I haven’t known a minute of freedom since you left. I miss you, I miss us. And I need you more than I need air to breathe…”

“Please. Don’t marry him. Please baby…” He’s begging now. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron beg for anything.

“Rafe I’m-I’m getting married in 12 days I can’t-“ I cut myself off with a sob.

He pulls me against his chest. I don’t protest as I cry harder. Pretty much sobbing now.

I clutch onto the end of his shirt. “I have to marry him Rafe…”

“Why? Why do you have to marry him? You know this isn’t what you want.” He says pleading with me. Running a soothing hand up and down my back. Providing me more comfort than I’ve known all of my relationship with Jackson.

“I know.” I say softly. My voice hoarse.

“Then don’t do it. Don’t marry him. I made the wrong choice a few years ago, but I’m here now. I want you not some false pretense of freedom. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I can give you a ring that you actually like, and a house that we build together. I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t marry him. Be with me.” I pause when he mentions the ring. I look down to the gold ring on my left hand. Silently piecing things together.

“Did you send me a new ring?” I look back up him. Brows furrowed. My face puffy from crying. When I meet his eyes I see how utterly heartbroken he looks. It breaks me a little bit.

“I-uh…yeah I did.” He says. And as he confirms my theory I step away from him. Letting out sobs as I turn my back towards him. One hand cradling my stomach as the other covers my mouth.

“Hey - hey what’s wrong. Talk to me.” He says as he walks up behind me placing a soothing hand on my shoulder letting his hands rub me gently.

“Y-you remembered the ring.” I had shown him the type of ring I wanted back when I thought we were going to get married.

I was so stupid at 20. Or maybe I was just naive.

“Of course I remembered the ring. You showed it to me a million times. I know it was your dream ring and I couldn’t bear the idea of him giving you something you didn’t actually want…” He explains with a confused expression. Not quite sure why it was hurting me so bad.

The thought that he had gotten me a ring I wanted even though he didn’t want me marrying Jackson made me want to cry…and vomit.

“I-I can’t-“ My legs give out and I drop to my knees. Rafe immediately goes down with me. Pulling me into his chest. I was now cradled in his lap as he rocked me gently while I cried.

“Please don’t cry baby….it hurts me so bad.”

That night I fell asleep in Rafes arms.

THIRD PERSON POV:

As Rafe brought her to her hotel bed and tucked her in he couldn’t help but feel the urge to get in bed and hold her as she slept. But he knew how awful she’d feel if she woke up next to him knowing she betrayed Jackson. So he left a note next to her bedside and pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving. The words “I love you” mumbled softly as she slept.

ELEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: THE NEXT MORNING.

THIRD PERSON POV:

As Jackson walks into the hotel room of his future wife he can’t help the guilt eating at him. He brings in the takeout bags and starts to place it onto a tray.

He takes out the water and Advil he got from the pharmacy and brings it over to her bedside.

As he’s placing the hangover cure on her nightstand a paper written on hotel stationery catches his eye.

He reads through the paper.

“All my love, R.C.”

He folds up the note and places it back in his pocket before going back to the takeout bags. Ready to act as if nothing happened.

FIRST PERSON POV

I wake up with an empty feeling in my stomach. The same one I’ve had for 3 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days.

I hear someone walking around the suite and as much as I know it’s probably Jackson…a part of me hopes…

Seconds later Jackson comes into my room with a smile. Holding a tray of food.

Odd. He’s never done sweet gestures for me like this.

“Good morning my love…I thought this would help cure the hangover. I ordered breakfast from that place you like downtown. You always talk about how much you wish we had one back at home so…” As he explains his reasoning for being here the sick feeling grows in my stomach. And I wish it was hangover sickness. I felt like such crap. Here he was being so sweet to me and I cried in the arms of another man last night.

I look around the room for any evidence Rafe was here. Feeling slightly disappointed but relieved that I didn’t find anything.

“Have fun last night?” Jackson says as he picks a blueberry off my plate.

“Uh yeah….it was really fun.” I smile and lie. But he can’t tell the difference so he nods his head before getting up and kissing my forehead.

“Well I have to go into work early tomorrow so the guys and I are heading back home but…I love you.” He says. He rarely says those three words. And that itself wouldn’t be weird. We’re getting married of course we tell each other we love each other. But paired with the weird domestic wake-up I had this morning it left an icky feeling in my stomach. But I smiled and nodded. Swallowing my food before replying.

“Okay…love you too.”

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING DAY: THE REHEARSAL DINNER

“Have you seen my gold earrings?” I ask Jackson. Walking around our shared bathroom while he was shaving. We were getting ready for our rehearsal dinner before we left for the wedding venue in the morning.

“Which earrings?” He asks. Not pausing his movements of shaving his face.

“The ones I always-“ I huff in defeat knowing it’s no use. I’ve worn those earrings everyday for the past 9 years. They were Rafe’s 2 year anniversary gift to me.

I walk around the bedroom looking under a few things before my phone pings distracting me for a second. I walk over to it and turn the screen over to see an Instagram DM message request.

“Hey…I want to say I am so sorry to do this to you. I know you’re getting married in 2 days but there’s something you should know…”

THREE HOURS UNTIL WEDDING DAY: THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING

I was pacing around the cabin of my private room on the property of our venue.

The venue was a family owned property on the mainland. It was gorgeous. Jackson was in the cabin across the venue in the Groom’s cabin. I was staying in the Bridal lodge.

I felt nauseous. My throat felt like it was closing and the white matching way too expensive PJ set I was gifted especially for tonight felt like it was constricting my air. The cabin suddenly felt stuffy and like the walls were about to close in at any minute. I was all alone.

I pull out my phone quickly going to the only number I had on speed dial.

He picks up on the first ring - he always does.

RAFES POV

The whole day I had been sulking at home watching football and drinking whiskey. My lab Daisy sitting by my side as she watched me drown my sorrows.

Was she really going to marry him?

I had dozed off for a few hours before a phone ringing woke me up.

I look at the screen and immediately picked up.

“I need you.” I was standing up running to my shoes before the sentence was even over.

“I’m coming baby…I’m on my way just stay put okay?” Her shaky voice was breaking my heart. I grabbed my keys and made an hour long drive less than 40 minutes.

FIRST PERSON POV

I was sitting with my knees tucked to my chest. My eyes puffy and crying, sitting at the edge of the bed when Rafe barged in. He immediately dropped to his knees next to me. Pulling me into his lap. Cradling me as he rocked me back and forth.

“I’m here baby…I’m here.” He repeats the words like a mantra to ease my mind. And it does. But it doesn’t fill the pit in my stomach that seems to have taken a permanent residence.

“Talk to me baby…please you’re scaring me…” I could hear the fear in his voice. And I felt like such a dick. I called my ex boyfriend to help me the night before my wedding to another man.

I’m the worst.

“I-I’m so sorry….I didn’t know who else to call.” I get out between sobs. He shakes his head. Grabbing my face with both of his hands.

“Shhh….I just need you to tell me what you need. I’m right here. Just tell me how to help. Okay?”

How does he always know what to say? It’s ridiculous.

“I need out of this…” And at that sentence Rafe was pretty sure he could’ve cried a happy tear. But he needed to be sure.

“Out of what baby?” He knew. But he needed to know.

“You know what.” I pause before continuing. Sniffling and wiping my tears. “Jackson cheated on me. His bachelor party…she texted me the night our rehearsal dinner. She was their bartender in Charleston. But that’s not even the worst part…” I shake my head in disbelief at myself. “The worst part is I don’t even care. My fiancée cheated on me less than two weeks before our wedding. And I can’t find it in me to care.”

I knew I never loved Jackson. And that’s part of why I was marrying him. Because I knew that if I never loved him he’d never be able to hurt me…not like Rafe did at least.

I continue:

“I’m literally incapable of loving him because every inch of my heart belongs to you. And it kills me. I should be devastated right now. But- but all I can think is that I need you. And it’s so cold and you hate driving at night but this is the second time you’ve driven over an hour for me in two weeks.”

In reality it didn’t take Rafe an hour to get here. But he let me continue anyways.

“I’m terrible-“ He cuts me off.

“No. You’re perfect. I know you think you have to settle for this but you don’t. I’m not leaving you. I’ll always be here. Whether or not you get married in 12 hours I’m always going to be there when you need me. I don’t care what it is or where you are. You call and I’m there. You need me…and I’m right here baby. I’ll always be right here. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

I look at him as he says that. And suddenly nothing about this makes sense. Why am I getting married to Jackson?

He sucks.

I stand up. Grabbing Rafes hands pulling him up with me.

“We need to leave.” I look around the room at my things. Rafe immediately nods and starts packing my things into my suitcase with me.

“Where do you need to go? I’ll take you anywhere baby. Car? Train? Plane? Boat? Fuck I’ll swim across the Atlantic for you baby.”

I pause and glance up at him from across my suitcase that we’re both knelt over. I meet his gaze. His eyes show me nothing but seriousness. Standing 10 toes behind his words. I wrap an arm around his neck and place an arm on his shoulder to steady myself as I lean in and kiss him.

He’s so taken aback but he kisses back after realizing this isn’t another one of his dreams that have felt like nightmares these past 3 years.

I pull away and he slightly sighs at the disconnect.

“Anywhere that’s not here. Just need to be with you. Please.”

2 HOURS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: AN HOUR LATER ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT

I look around the room once more to make sure I have everything.

“You got everything you need baby?” He asks me and I nod.

“I’m gonna take this to the car.” I was carrying my pillow and blanket I had brought. Rafe insisted on carrying my bags. He nods but stays in his place before speaking up.

“Okay I’ll be there in a second I’m gonna take one last look around.” I nod before walking to his truck and getting inside.

THIRD PERSON POV:

Rafe pulls the object out of his pocket. Placing it on the dresser.

He grabs her bags taking one last look at the wedding dress hanging on the closet door before shutting the door behind him.

The silver ring shimmering in the moonlight sitting on the dresser where he left it.

FIRST PERSON POV

Rafe gets back in the car and looks over at me.

“If you change your mind I don’t mind-“ I cut him off.

“I’m not changing my mind. Now drive.” He smiles before putting the truck in reverse.

As we drive for a few minutes a question plagues my mind: Why didn’t he say anything the morning after the bachelorette party?

“Can I ask you something?” He glances over at me. He had a comforting hand on my thigh as he drove.

“Anything.” I smile at his answer while look at my lap before continuing.

“Why didn’t you say anything the morning after that night in Charleston? Not a text or a note or anything? I know you didn’t have to I just…hated waking up with no evidence that you had even been there.” Rafe’s brows furrow.

I did leave a note. He thought to himself.

“Baby I left a note on your dresser…didn’t you see it?” He says confused.

“No…the next morning I woke up and Jackson was…” I trailed off. Suddenly piecing everything together. Rafe seemed to as well. His grip on the wheel tightened and his jaw clenched.

“I left a note. I promise. But it’s not anything I won’t tell you to your face everyday for the rest of our lives. So don’t worry about it, pretty. Okay? I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Rafe.” And I truly meant it.

On the way to the airport we sang along to Taylor Swift songs we both knew. And suddenly the pit in my stomach was slowly being filled with laughter and the way he didn’t even ask me what I wanted when we stopped at McDonald’s.

To be loved it to be seen. And I had to have been invisible to Jackson.

23 MINUTES UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: AT THE AIRPORT 11:37 PM

“Flight 237 is now boarding. This is the final call for passengers to LaGuardia Airport.”

Rafe looks at me as we get ready to board the plane.

“You ready?” He sticks out his hand. I smile at him.

“Yeah…I’m ready.” I take his hand and lean up and kiss him as we walk onto the plane.

I glance down at the gold ring on my finger. And I realize no one will ever see me as clearly and perfectly as Rafe sees me. And that’s all I could ask for.

“Hey” he looks back at me. Glancing up from his sports magazine. His brows raised waiting for me to answer.

“I love you.” I continue and smile. His gaze softens and he pulls me into another quick kiss. I hated PDA but I didn’t care. Not with him.

“I love you more than I can even describe.” He pauses before continuing. “If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more.”

I don’t know a lot…but I know I’ve found my person. And everything’s okay. And for the first time in 3 years, 7 months, 4 weeks, and 2 days…I felt like I could breathe.

[aprillikesthings]

So this is somewhat of a continuation of my "you could headcanon Catra as demisexual based on canon" post, but I wanted to write a new post for this.

So there’s a fascinating conversation to be had about why, in fics where Catra and Adora aren't together (yet), so many of us have written Adora as…not a prude per se, but far less likely to hook up with other people—and have written Catra doing that, instead. (I mean, I have an unpublished WIP that includes that; I'm not throwing stones at glass houses here.)

And I do think some of it is that Adora is awkward in that way that’s so often some combo of a sheltered upbringing/ADHD/autism; whereas Catra is in fact more openly flirtatious.

(Disclaimer: In this post I'm using "slutty" in a neutral-to-positive sense.)

But the irony is that One, plenty of people who share those qualities with Adora are in fact hella slutty*; and Two, Catra clearly doesn’t intend to follow through on all that flirting.

ANYWAY time for my actual thesis of this post:

The real reasons, IMHO, that it's easier to see Adora as less slutty than Catra:

Adora is so visibly uncomfortable in her skin, and Catra is not

Adora doesn't even realize when she's attracted to other people

Catra however is aware of when people find her attractive (and changes how she interacts with them based on that)

The tweets aren't connected; they weren't part of the same thread. But ND's made no secret of the fact that he gave Adora a bunch of his own traits**, and it was after s5 that he started coming out as trans--which isn't to say Adora is intended to be read as dysphoric. But the way Adora never thinks of herself or what she wants carried over into not thinking about her physical body as anything other than a tool, and not feeling comfortable in her body, and not feeling like she owned it. (Which....is probably related to ND's religious trauma, considering how many conservative/fundie Christians straight-up tell women and girls their body doesn't belong to them. In those words. Literally.)

And I think that's part of why Adora reads as so awkward. The idea of someone wanting her and finding her attractive is just bizarre to her to the point that she doesn't even see it.

She does clearly find other people attractive! But I don't think she realizes she's doing it--she reminds me a bit of when I was 15 and stared at women in bikinis on the beach and tripped over my own feet because I was looking at them and not where I was going lol, and had literally zero idea I was doing it until my best friend told me about it later.

Adora didn't even know she wanted to kiss Catra until just before it happened--if Glimmer had pulled Adora aside in the Crimson Waste and said "lol you want Huntara so bad," Adora would've been genuinely confused!

And that's all before you get into the whole She-Ra thing, and you could write a long-ass essay about Adora's sense of identity and the degree to which she sees She-Ra as herself or not. But the fact is that She-Ra has a different body than Adora! Taller, stronger, a lot more hair lol. And the people around her clearly value She-Ra differently than they do Adora. So that's a whole. Thing.

Meanwhile: Catra just feels comfier in her body. She does try to tamp down her cat-like qualities to some degree, especially in s4, but a lot of it was just that her ears and tail tended to give away her emotions, and she was trying to hide them. She stops suppressing that at some point after Save the Cat. (And then the Universe gave her a mood ring alien cat, lol.) Catra's got her own pile of Issues, but her body is just not one of them.

There’s a scene at the end of The Coronation (s4ep1) where Catra is in her s4 outfit for the first time, and she basically does the “I’m in charge now” thing at Hordak, and I’m sorry but it’s...not NOT sexually charged, even leaving aside that her new outfit has thigh slits and a boob window. She’s sitting in his throne and purring (loudly!) and then purrs out a "Hey, Hordak."

She basically forces him to his knees, taunts him, and then we see from his POV as she sits back in that throne and crosses her legs. If she’d done that in a scene with literally any non-male character it would be seen as ship-bait!

Is she intentionally flirting with Hordak? Lol no.

But you'll notice: She doesn't do it with Scorpia, when she's mean to Scorpia. With Scorpia she's just...biting and cruel. So she clearly has some idea what she's doing when she taunts people, enough that she knows Scorpia would take it differently. She knows Scorpia finds her attractive and is trying to push Scorpia away.

Catra also doesn't do it with Double Trouble! Double Trouble flirts with Catra, but Catra gives none of it back, and as noted in my previous post, is even visibly uncomfortable with it at times.

Which isn't to say Adora never does the "flirtatious taunting" thing:

But like, where. Where do you think she learned it from.

(this post is once again relevant)

EDIT: another example of Adora learning it from Catra, taken from a "She-Ra Crack" video:

(*Me. In my 20’s. Just remember kids, lots of neurodivergent nerds are hella slutty.) (**iirc that's how he got diagnosed with ADHD. Everyone just like "hey is Adora intentional ADHD rep" and he was like "no, I wrote her like me?? ...oh. shit.")

(Lastly: anyone reblogging this to shame people for writing/hc'ing/shipping whatever they want will get blocked. I'm not even sure I hc Catra as demi and I wrote a whole post about it lol.)

[stellamarielu]

Your Declan fics and blurbs!!!! 🤤🤤🤤

You can ignore if this isn’t your thing, but can’t help but think Declan would have a raging breeding kink and he would love to start a family with his new wife 😶

this is NASTY 18+ you’ve been warned🫢

you found yourself underneath declan, him grinding deep into you, thrusts impassioned and starved. his pace methodical, each plunge audible with the slap of skin on skin.

the pleasure was almost blinding as you felt his palm find its resting place on your stomach. his hand gently caressing your belly reminding you of the conversation that took place no more than 20 minutes ago– the reason you were now sprawled out on his bed, the subject of declan’s desire.

-

he had entered the room, towel around his waist and wet curls still stuck to his forehead, steam following him from the bathroom doorway. you were curled up in bed getting ready to drift off when declan walked in opening his mouth and bringing up an unexpected subject.

“do you ever think about havin’ kids?” his voice is soft and filled with genuine curiosity.

the question came out of nowhere and had you frozen in thought. the two of you had never really talked about this before. you always just assumed declan had already done the whole family man thing and was ready to settle down into a different kind of lifestyle with you.

“not really.” you answer him.

it’s not a complete lie. before declan you truly never thought about having kids. being a mother just wasn’t a dream of yours like it was for other girls your age. then you met him, and you found yourself watching him with his own children and admiring the kind of father he was, wondering what it would be like to start a family together.

“never? you never think about havin’ children? havin’ a little family?”

“i have a family. i love you and tag and patrick and caitlin.” you smile reassuringly at him.

you did love his family and you loved him. you were happy with the simple life you had created together.

“but a baby of your own. our baby. you never think about that?”

you could see a hint of sadness in his eyes, or perhaps longing. you began to wonder if declan thought about it too. if he thought about having children with you.

“i do. i do think about it.” the truth leaves your lips.

you have the thought quite frequently actually… having a baby with declan. a little being that shares the best parts of you both, the idea brings a small smile to your face.

“yeah?” he sighs out seeming relieved by your confession.

he's taking steps toward you. his voice is heavy and low, the same way it gets when he's whispering filthy things in your ear while he fucks you. as he gets closer, it's impossible not to notice the way his arousal is swelling underneath the thin material of the towel covering his crotch. is this turning him on? is the idea of getting you pregnant making him hard?

“i’d like that you know? gettin’ to see you be a mother.” he’s smiling sweetly at you but there’s a smirk following closely behind it.

“does my pretty girl think about havin’ my kids?” he’s sauntering over to your side of the bed, towel hanging dangerously low on his waist.

you can’t deny the warmth stirring in you at his words.

“do you want it sweetheart?” he’s hovering above you, fingertips at your chin.

“want me to give you a baby?” the look in his eyes is almost animalistic— predatory even.

before you can even process your own movements you find yourself desperately nodding at his words.

“yes.” your voice timid as it leaves your lips.

-

now you're pinned underneath him as he’s buried deep inside you, his hand pressing on your stomach.

“can you feel me sweetheart? feel how badly i wanna fill you up?” he’s maintaining eye contact as he slides in and out of you at an agonizing pace.

his words are so vulgar and greedy. all you want is for him to keep talking, to keep telling you how badly he wants to cum in you. you're mewling in pleasure, using every ounce of energy to encourage him to take and use you in any and every way he sees fit.

“god you’re so beautiful.” he's speaking low and rough the frenzy of his climax catching up to him.

“gonna look even prettier with my baby inside ya”

you’re clawing and gripping at his back attempting to feel him deeper and deeper with each stroke, until finally he’s groaning and grunting and spilling out inside of you. his arousal warm and heavy, coating your walls and filling you to the brim. you're bucking your hips into his, desperate to feel every last drop of him.

"that's it sweetheart." his words are strung together as he comes down from his high, still rutting into you.

he pulls out and you can feel his spend seeping between your legs.

just as you feel it dripping from your core– thick and hot, declan brings his index and middle finger to your entrance, collecting the cum leaking out and pushing it back inside. his fingers are curling deep in your heat eliciting a moan from your lips. you're both looking down watching the sinful scene play out.

"declan.." you sigh out his name in protest or pleasure you're not quite sure.

there's a slight grin on his lips as his eyes flick up to you,

"gotta make sure it takes, yeah?"

masterlist

[hugherin]

I CAN SEE THE END AS IT BEGINS.

when zaya decides to spend her vacation in Davos to escape from reality, but ends up crossing paths with Nico Hischier, who has the same goal. pt. 2, pt. 3.

pairing: nico hischier x reader

warnings: none <3

With the end of the university period, the first thing that crossed your mind was: vacation. A well-deserved vacation. Spending the summer in Davos to escape the chaos of the big city and the problems that insisted on following you was everything you could ask for if a genie in a bottle asked. You just wanted tranquility, hikes through the Alps, and time to reorganize your mind. Thus, you decided to embark on the trip alone, without any friends. It had been a while since you decided to be more independent, considering you had spent your whole life under the watchful eye of your parents or even relying on the opinions of your friends, no matter how cool they were.

It was through this decision that you found yourself in a small town in Switzerland. A cold place, with no familiar faces bringing past problems, and the best part: no academic activities.

Everything seemed perfect: your cappuccino at the perfect temperature, your gloves finally warming your hands, an amazing book on the table (an autobiography of your favorite artist about how to deal with adult life without going crazy). The snow falling and contrasting with the sun made everything even more fantastic.

Until your attention, focused on the tranquility of the trip, shifted to the man who had just entered.

Nico Hischier — a face you recognized from one of the sports tabloids your dad watched, but who seemed much more human under the soft light of the Swiss summer. You took another sip of your cappuccino, observing the harmony of his face. Usually, you didn’t tend to observe people like that, especially men.

Given your history, you couldn’t say you had made the most of your adolescence or even the early years of university, having only gone out with one person. It didn’t last as long as you would have liked, but two years were enough for you to understand that sometimes, trusting destiny is the best way to avoid problems for yourself.

Nico was also wearing gloves like you, a very thick navy blue jacket, and a black beanie, which matched his rosy skin tone — probably due to the cold.

He discreetly made his order and then seemed to bend down to pick up a thin rectangular piece of paper. Looking around the café and noticing that, among the few people, you were the only one with a book on the table, he quickly assumed it was yours, walking over to you.

“I think this is yours.” he handed you the flowery bookmark, making you look up, somewhat surprised.

“Oh, thank you. I'm not usually this clumsy."

“Well, at least you didn’t spill the coffee too. That would’ve been a complete disaster.” His comment brought a small smile to your lips.

“Considering my luck, it’s a very likely scenario.” you crossed your legs. He glanced briefly at the book’s cover, seemingly trying to remember something.

“This book is my sister’s favorite. She’s obsessed with this artist." he said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Really? She’s amazing. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but she’s extremely intense.”

“My sister said something like that too. Something about how she talks about life’s flaws being different. More real. Is it really that interesting?” You were genuinely impressed by the genuine interest.

Honestly, you didn’t hate men. But seeing one interested in an artist’s autobiography was surprising. They do say that men with sisters have a real heart.

“Definitely! She doesn’t try to seem perfect. It feels like you’re on a therapist’s couch hearing the best life advice.”

“That sounds like something that keeps you hooked. My sister even tried to convince me to read it so she would have someone to talk about it with, but honestly, I didn’t make it past the cover.” He said, and you quickly looked at the book cover. It was half of the woman’s face, with her blue eyes staring at the reader. Honestly, it didn’t look that attractive.

“Well, if you change your mind, I can lend it to you once I’m done.”

“I’ll consider it. She will be thrilled; I think she’d kiss your feet for convincing me.”

“If that happens, we could start a book club to discuss it.” you said, with a complete sense of humor.

He laughs in response, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes also close.

“Deal. Just don’t let the bookmark fall again. Maybe I won’t be quick enough to save you.”

Maybe? So he’s from here? — you thought.

His name is called by the barista at the counter. He quickly waves goodbye, grabs his drink, and leaves the café.

You wouldn’t exactly consider yourself a friendly person, it wasn’t for a bad reason — it was just in your blood. With Nico, it felt like you had known each other for decades.

Intrigued, you kept drinking your coffee and opened the book, resuming your reading.

The day was clear, with the sun shining brightly in the blue sky, but the cool breeze from the Alps softened the heat, making it the perfect weather for a walk. The trail wound through tall, sturdy trees, creating small tunnels of shade along the path. Further ahead, open fields revealed a sea of wildflowers in shades of yellow and white, gently swaying with the wind. It was truly paradise.

The sound of rustling leaves and distant bird songs echoed in the air, interrupted only by the occasional snap of twigs beneath your feet. The fresh scent of earth and pine was comforting, filling your lungs with every deep breath.

The view widened as you climbed the trail. Snow-covered mountains appeared on the horizon, contrasting with the intense green of the vegetation around. In the distance, a small lake sparkled under the sunlight, looking like a natural mirror.

You then pulled out your phone to take a photo. It was almost impossible to leave without wanting to capture a piece of this to remember when you were gone.

livelyzaya has made a new post.

liked by mayalively, ceciadams and 53 others.

livelyzaya: just fantastic.

ceciadams: what a beautiful view, i miss you :(

mayalively: glad you're having fun, sweetie! take care. <3

You were so immersed in the beauty around you that you almost didn’t notice the sound of footsteps coming behind you, firm and rhythmic, until a familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“I thought I’d be the only one here today. Looks like we underestimated Davos." Nico said, smiling. He wasn’t wearing a beanie this time, just his loose hair — it seemed recently cut but still maintained a slightly long appearance — a red jacket, and a hiking backpack.

“And it seems you have a talent for showing up in the right places." you said, smiling. It wasn’t flirting; it was genuinely curious to find him in the café and then, a few days later, in a completely different place.

“Or maybe I’m just following you." he said, smiling, quickly shutting down when he noticed you didn’t smile back. A woman alone, in the middle of nowhere and out of her home country; what could go wrong, right? “I’m just kidding.” he added, looking worried.

“I thought I’d have a peaceful day. Now, unfortunately, I’ll have to share the view." you said, humorously.

Nico made a dramatic gesture, typical of a royal court member, clearing the way for you to go ahead.

“I promise I won’t disturb you. I’m great at silence, if you prefer." you raised an eyebrow in response.

“I don’t know if I believe that, but you can join me. Just hope you’re not terrible at uphill walks.”

Nico gave you a look of extreme indignation. You had completely forgotten he was the captain of a team in a sport that demands extreme physical conditioning.

“Terrible at uphill walks? I play ice hockey. Uphills aren’t a problem for me.” you smiled, walking ahead and starting the climb.

“That’s what we’ll find out.”

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Nico pointed to your backpack, correctly guessing you were carrying the book you’d talked about last time.

“Did you finish the book, or is it still dragging on?”

You laughed, a mix of humor and exhaustion. Unlike Nico, although you enjoyed hiking and walks, you handled scalpels and medicine much better than methods of how-to-climb-a-mountain-without-having-a-heart-attack.

“Almost done. I’m just postponing it because I don’t want it to end. But I know I’ll reread it, so it’s not that bad.” Nico looked at you with a curious gaze, still walking behind you.

“Do you always reread books you like?”

The question made you thoughtful, showing in your expression as you tried to remember how many times you had done that (many).

“If they’re good enough to leave a mark, yes. I think some stories deserve to be revisited.” Nico slowly nodded.

“That makes sense. I think I do that with some memories, instead of books.”

“Good analogy. Too bad some memories aren’t as kind as books.” Nico paused briefly and stared at the horizon behind him. It was beautiful.

“Yeah, but sometimes you don’t have a choice. They stay there, even if you don’t want them.”

Whoa. Deep. You quickly tried to break the mood.

“Maybe you should write about that. Who knows, an autobiography to rival your sister’s favorite.”

Nico laughed, eyes closed, going back to walking behind you.

“I don’t think I’m that interesting. But if I need a co-author, I’ll let you know.”

When you reached the top, you were speechless. You were absolutely amazed by what the view offered.

“You were right. This view is amazing. I can’t believe we’re the only ones seeing this right now.” you said, out of breath but enchanted.

“I told you it was incredible. This is real.” Nico said, smiling at you instead of at the landscape. His act made you feel a small shiver down your spine, but the cold made you doubt the reason why.

You shared a moment of silence, with the soft breeze of the Alps around you. For the first time in a long time, you felt that the present was stronger than any memory or worry.

"We've been talking all this time and I don't even know your name." You make an offended expression.

"Wow, what a gentleman. First you invade my trail, and only now do you notice that?" you say, placing your hand on your chest dramatically and with a tone of indignation. Nico laughs and defends himself.

"Technically, you invaded my trail. I was just polite enough to follow." you shrug. That seems fair.

"Good point. I'm Zaya."

"Zaya." Nico repeats your name, as if he likes the way it sounds. "It suits you. My name is Nico." he says innocently.

"I know who you are." You let out a small laugh, noticing his slightly confused expression, but still seeming to enjoy the situation.

"Oh, so you knew who I was? Are you a stalker or something?" he says, making you laugh again.

"My dad is a huge hockey fan. I think he knows more about the New Jersey Devils than about me." you say.

"And you?" Nico looks at you with a curious gaze.

"I hate hockey." you say with a more serious expression, while Nico quickly makes an offended face, this time looking real.

"Hate it? Is this personal? Seems offensive. How can someone hate the greatest sport in the world?"

Nico still keeps the offended expression, but can't hide the corner-of-the-mouth smile that appears as soon as he realizes you're joking.

"I just don’t get the fascination for a sport where people push each other on ice and hit each other with sticks."

"Hockey is much more than that. You should try it."

"Skating?" you shake your head, seeing the offer as something totally unacceptable. "No, thanks. I could never keep my balance on asphalt, let alone on ice."

Nico laughs because he actually finds it funny, but changes the tone of the conversation to something genuine.

"That's all you need. I can teach you. Believe me, you're going to love it."

"Teach?" you look at him with suspicion, but with your eyes still sparkling with possibility. "Not convinced." Nico shrugs confidently.

"Well, since you don’t like it, maybe I have to show you what you're missing. How about a bet?"

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by what could come next. "A bet? On what?"

Nico gets closer, you could swear you've seen that challenging expression on the ice during the games your dad begged you to watch with him on holidays.

"You’ve never learned to skate, right? We can try. If you like it, promise me you'll at least try to watch a game, but if you don’t like it, you’ll join me on one of the hardest trails in Davos. What do you think?" he says, crossing his arms.

"Sounds tempting..." you say, with an ironic tone.

"I'm serious. Just one day. I won’t pressure you to fall in love with the sport. If you still hate it afterward, I’ll read the autobiography."

You’ve always been the most competitive kid at school, and to be honest, that hadn’t changed in adulthood. A challenge? It was like Nico was swimming in a sea of sharks, and you were the hungriest shark in the school. You look around, as if contemplating, before finally giving in.

"Okay, you’ve convinced me. But if I don’t like it, besides reading the autobiography, you’ll have to join me on a trail harder than anything you've done before."

"Deal." Nico says with a big smile. "I’m not going to miss this."

"Just don’t ask me to become a fan of the Devils. I’m still not on that team." Nico laughs at your audacity.

"Talking like that to the team captain is crazy. We’ll see how you do on the ice. If you don’t fall, I’ll put you in to replace Jack Hughes." You smile at the thought of a possible new job.

Still talking about the amazing view, you both start heading back to the flatland. Nico mentions the city’s frozen lake, setting the "private lesson" for tomorrow at 3 pm.

Arriving at your initial destination, the sun is lower now, painting the sky with golden and orange hues. The soft sound of footsteps on the freshly melted snow blends with the light breeze that continues to caress the trees. You walk side by side, the conversation now more laid-back, as Nico talks a bit about what it’s like to deal with hockey and the crazy pressure placed on athletes of the sport.

When you part ways, you feel that, despite the teasing, there’s something more peaceful and sincere between you two now. The fresh mountain air and the sound of nature around you reinforce the feeling that maybe that summer in Davos could be more than just a random encounter.

[lakesbian]

ok thank you everyone much appreciated. here's my reviews for fun

scp 1730: didn't care for this one very much, it's in the genre of scps that are trying to be action movies referentially synthesized from other scps. which is not something i think holds very much narrative appeal. additional subtracted points for "the Marxist extremist terrorist attack on the sears tower in 1994"

scp 4991: nothing to complain about here, perfectly fine 2 minute read. imitations of social media posts within scps are always fun when they're done well

scp 6595: the best thing this one has going for it is the part where the scp foundation interviewing muppets that are real and alive as a normal part of the universe is introduced and played completely straight without acknowledgement. apparently this bit was inspired by a predecessor article that also offhandedly includes the muppets being alive for real, but i overall liked this one more than the predecessor for having a more natural (and thus funnier/more interesting) take on it. however i think the most recent comment on it has agreeable criticism re a few factual and plot nitpicks. it doesn't feel like quite the attentive love letter to the source material that it could have, which is a shame, bc that's what elevates these scps referencing a pop culture thing from "not a bad read" to "genuinely quite good." and this just stayed at not a bad read level for me

scp 5999: im bad at mystery scps and scps that reference a bunch of other lore so i can't fairly review this but i thought it seemed well written...the exploration log had personality to it. also i notice a lot of scps just shamelessly casually don't include any female characters/don't include any women in non-stereotyped roles so i was glad that this one at least had women casually on the mobile task force and all that

scp 5031: ive read this one it's cute. i do always think it's funny how a story intended to subvert the idea of murder monster scps for wholesome effect does still textually take place in a setting where the scp foundation is feeding random prisoners to murder monsters lmao. it's a fun one though i like it

scp 2747: ive read this one before as well but i reread it bc it's so good. great concept and execution, by far the best one listed in this post so far. the linked tale is admittedly dense enough i don't have a thoughtful opinion on it but it's really well written too. this type of scp is scp at its best i think, higher concept horror couched in academic language. the fake media snippets are great, reminds me of the library of babel one that i also like

scp 2293: yeah this one's fun, not much to say about an scp that was created by someone online as a meme, but it does what it sets out to do well

scp 2790: i liked this one :) one of those short fun little "SCP affects the documentation" ones. like it's not unique no but it made me smile, it's fun (said in a different tone of voice than prior usages of the word 'fun' indicating that i liked this one more than those other ones but called them fun regardless because i didn't want my picky tendency towards calling things 'Fine.' as a review to sound mean)

scp 7179: agree w what the recommender said, concept is good, execution isn't much of anything. it's a short story about the horror of eternity that doesn't have a grasp on the scale of time or a natural progression of dread. amateur writing

the whole antimemetics division: already read it, my rating of different parts of it varies but overall it's my good friend because there's Urs in there. like from pact. soooo many fantastically fucked moments it's great. like the original antimeme scp is Fantastic in its own right and it's so impressive how the tale revealing what the indescribable object actually is succeeds at making the answer more horrible than whatever you were imagining. like in horror i think oftentimes people shoot themselves in the foot by removing a sense of mystery but here the answer to the question of what it is is terrifying and gripping

scary gatorade: recommender lied to me, it's not bad, it's good

scp 3001: ILL BE REAL. i get why people like this one. but i did not care about it that much i did not find the logs of the dude slowly progressing into madness™️ scary. LIKE I GET IT. but it's not up there for me at all

does anyone have any scp recommendations im in the mood to read scps. not ones that are bad please

[zuzu-romeave]

hi im here to scream abt brad and jo because i love them and i need to yell

theres no way u can convince me that brad thinks that catching a rat is a “delicate mission” that he and jo are the best suited for like i just dont believe that!! like idk i just think its a lil silly how the second jo voices her displeasure with her task he immediately starts to make it into a bigger deal than it is and starts acting like it’s a task that only the both of them could do!! also david only asked jo to take care of it, nowhere in the conversation did he even imply that brad needed to help and yet brad includes himself in it anyway! and jo is immediately happier about the entire situation when brad does that! literally two seconds ago she was calling it a degrading task but once brad makes it seem special n like they r the best ppl for the job she’s so hyped abt it!! anyway i just think they like doing stuff together they r bffs guys

[camellcat]

I need an answer why do y'all hate on s7 like it's in vogue here what is going on I fucking loved that season. like hello? I can't decide if s5 or now s7 is my favourite of the show it was that good of a watch to me

I missed the closeness of the scoobies so bad I didn't even realize until we hit episode three and I was aching for it. oh, god. and the spuffy of it all! I can't even get into it right here but ohhhh. oh. and DAWNIE my sweet girl oh sweet niblet I love her so much. anya's episode? probably one of my favourite episodes of the entire show tyvm. I really liked kennedy and honestly I think she made a great second in command for buffy when she actually listened, though I think she'd be a god-awful leader. almost all of the episodes held my attention that weren't, y'know, bewitched bothered bewildered part two electric boogaloo over there. and DRUSILLAAAAAA ik she wasn't real but IDC I was fawning every time she was on screen both as the first as actually her oh I just adore her I'll never understand her and I don't even care. taking it back actually getting into the spuffy of it all for a second because oh my GOD they had an actual conversation about themselves where she neither ran away nor punched him!! and the montage of everyone screwing, only to cut to spuffy simply cuddling? to show THAT'S their intimacy? 'bout fuckin killed me it did

them kicking buffy out of her house and then literally no one saying ANYTHING about how she was RIGHT except spike ofc really bothered me. and gosh the way they just kinda... did buffy's plan anyways. a little different, but not really? still invaded the vineyard when half the reason no one was listening to her was bc they didn't wanna go back that. but that was like the biggest issue I had the entire season honestly. there was no riley to make me furious, 15 minutes of angel that I hated every second of but is so small it's whatever, and robin wood kinda annoyed me once he turned on buffy and spike there but y'know he gets less relevant so pshh. I'll admit I also got a bit peeved at myself every time I smiled at something andrew said but he grew on me wayyy quicker than I was expecting or wanting I get why he shows up in fics so often now he's entertaining to watch

anyways. I'm sure there's like a billion million things I've missed in my endeavor to simply enjoy myself while watching but as it stands? I love this season. I love it to bits and pieces and I think it was incredibly fun. y'all might just be the biggest haters in the world cause I am SO glad I decided to actually give it a go

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent lounging babey images

[umanta]

My favourite section of the fic I'm working on rn

Shawn is… quiet, even as Lassie sets up the place for forensics and Shawn does his usual amount of tampering with the crime scene. He rifles through bathroom cabinets and Bonnie’s vanity table, through the contents of the freezer. There’s a fudgesicle in there, and he doesn’t even joke about eating it. “What’s wrong?” asks Gus. “Hm?” “You’re acting weird.” Another point in favor of Gus’s hypothesis: Shawn looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says to the carton of molding berries in the fridge. “Shawn—” “Oh look, pineapple!” But he doesn’t reach for it, even though it’s neatly sliced, in a conveniently open bowl (which, ew, fridge smell), and Juliet isn’t even here to look disappointed in him. Gus gently pushes Shawn back and shuts the door of the fridge, moving to put them face to face. “Dude.” “Okay, look, this is one of those ethical dilemmas they’re always talking about on Sesame Street. What would Elmo do, right?” Gus doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

[scoringeffects]

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[onehellofakathy]

Natlan was bad…but not Inazuma bad… I feel like the journey was worth it, but most of the characters sucked, and the one(s) who didnt fucking died… I liked all the war sections, and I did cry, but this didn’t please or satisfy me the way Fontaine or Sumeru did. It’s going above Inazuma, in second-to-last place for worst Archon quest. Maybe Snezhnaya will be better and BRING BACK THE DOCTOR TURN UPPP

[daz4i]

i literally can't think about life or the future for more than a few seconds without getting so distressed that i shut down. surely this is a good sign for things to come

[lucksea]

the two possibilities that might also both happen whenever i watch leo is 1 im going to stop watching before finishing it like i did with return of ultraman because i hate it too much. or 2 im going to have to redraw sydneys "where are you taking me" "i dont know man. just with me for the rest of my life i guess" with me and leo and/or nefariously written seven who was originally supposed to be a completely different character

[spearxwind]

,, and I REALLY dont want people to be weird about him if hes 'weak' " I'm a little hesitant to ask, but what does this mean...? I'm unsure if I'm dense/oblivious/missed something but genuinely can't imagine what it could mean. People trying to (again) romance him? (Even though even if he's 'weak' it wouldn't work since he can't feel anything + they'd get murdered somehow anyway)

Please feel free to ignore and delete this ask if you don't want to discuss this topic.

Oh no worries, I can explain! The romance isnt so much an issue in this case fortunately

The thing is that strangers online love to be funny, and they love to not take characters seriously for the most part. I've gotten a lot of jokes directed at my ocs over the years

All in good spirits, I do like to joke around with people and i love humor! but if I am too lenient with it then people start latching onto that constantly and it gets to a point where its the only thing they will see. It's very easy to see an artist or a writer make a joke at their ocs, or make a joke with their friends, and as a stranger think "I can do this too and one-up them"

With "weak" versions of adri I made in the past, I experienced two things: one was people thinking he should be hurt in that state (as retribution), and the other was them using it as an excuse to amp the memeing up to 1000. I guess what I would describe it as would be "disrespect". Basically turned into a character to punch down to

I can disrespect my own ocs, theyre mine, but I don't really enjoy it when other people who I legitimately dont know come in randomly to drop either a really violent or a really goofy take directed at them 😅

I feel like currently with how I behave on here this will be less likely to happen again because I will cut that shit out immediately if i see it, but I would prefer if it doesnt happen in the first place and I don't want to be mean at people who are just goofin around