#it's like a restless kind of boredom

[le-velo-pour-dru]

Duuuuuude I feel so weird :0 I wanna bring myself out of it but I don't know how

[lovelybucky1]

Oooohh i have a request!:

Playing “never have i ever” or something like that with logan and wade (maybe along the lines of a boring friday night with nothing else to do) and you admit to never having an orgasm by anyone but yourself

Flash forward you’re in logan’s arms and wade is eating the fuck out of your pussy, and then they switch 👀👀

i’ve written something similar two the second part here, but i love the never have i ever idea! // divider from @strangergraphics

boredom isn’t something heroes are used to. there’s always something happening somewhere, someone needing to be saved. but tonight, everything is quiet. the three of you were suspicious at first, but you checked every police scanner, news outlet, and all of your contacts and came up with nothing. the bad guys had decided to take an evening off, and now you were stuck with nothing to do.

you, wade, and logan all sit around in the living room with bottles of beer. you and wade stare at the mindless gameshow on tv while logan rests his eyes. you’re definitely bored, but wade is restless. it’s like he’s itching for something to do, like his body is physically unable to handle the inactivity.

“why don’t we play a game?” wade asks, startling logan awake.

the two of you look over at wade. “what kind of game?” you ask.

“i don’t know, ‘never have i ever?’”

logan rolls his eyes, then shuts them again. he’ll deny any “old man” comments, but he really is one. you elbow logan in the side and he opens them again.

“come on, it’ll be fun,” wade pleads.

“it’s not like we have anything better to do,” you say to logan. reluctantly, he agrees.

you reposition yourselves in the living room. you sit on the couch, leaned against the arm with your feet in logan’s lap, who sits on the other end. wade sits on the floor by the coffee table, his beer on the table without a coaster next to him.

“this is your game, wilson. you start,” logan says before taking a sip of his beer.

“no, don’t drink! you only drink if you’ve done the thing i say,” wade scoffs. how can logan be so old and still know nothing about fun? “okay, okay. never have i ever… gotten arrested.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him while logan takes a drink. you’re almost certainly wade has been arrested before. “i don’t think you’re playing this game right,” you say. “you have to say things you’ve never done.”

wade scoffs. “i haven’t been arrested, thank you very much. all the cops who’ve tried have mysteriously ended up with broken noses.”

you roll your eyes at him. “my turn now? never have i ever… cheated on a partner.”

both of them take drinks, wade with more shame than logan. ugh, men.

then it’s logan’s turn. “never have i ever worn a dress.”

you figure it’s targeted at you, just because logan’s a dick, but to your surprise, wade drinks too. logan raises his eyebrow at him, silently urging him to elaborate.

“you wish you saw that, huh, peanut?” he taunts instead. logan makes a face at that.

“i’m thankin’ god i didn’t have to.”

you play a couple more rounds, all three of you exchanging stories and sipping from your bottles. it takes a lot to get them drunk, but you’re starting to feel it. there’s a collection of empty bottles, mostly beer, but halfway through the game, wade decided to up the ante with some liquor.

it’s wade’s turn again and he says, “never have i ever been with two guys at once.”

he means it as a joke. he doesn’t expect anyone to drink. there’s no way logan would do something like that, and you’re too innocent. that’s why his eyes practically pop out of his head when you throw back the shot.

the game turned sexual a few rounds ago, but it was pretty mild stuff. talk about doing stuff in public, kinks, freaky shit like that. nothing as interesting as this.

both wade and logan turn their full attention to you, eager to hear this story.

“what?” you play dumb.

“two guys at once?” wade asks. you shrug.

“it wasn’t anything.”

“nah,” logan says, sounding interested for the first time all game. “you gotta tell us.”

you sigh. “it was a while ago. i met this couple at a bar and they said they were looking for a third. i had nothing better to do and they were both hot, so…” you trail off, shrugging again.

“give us the gory details. how’d you do it? daisy chain?eiffel tower? double cowgirl? triple spooning? come on, tell us,” wade rambles.

“you’re a fucking perv,” you tell him and he doesn’t deny it. “it was just normal dp.”

logan raises an eyebow. “that stands for double penetration,” wade tells him.

“i know that. i’m just wondering how you took it all,” logan says.

you’re used to this kind of talk from wade. the man thinks with his dick so much that you question if he even has a brain. you’re not, however, used to this from logan. he’s no prude, but he usually doesn’t participate in these kinds of conversations with wade.

“must’ve been a tight fit,” logan adds on.

you look between the men and their interested faces. you’re still pretty bored, the game having grown stale a while ago, and now you’re a tipsy. you want something exciting and right now, you’re feeling bold enough to persue it.

“do you wanna see?” you ask them.

wade and logan share a glance, but it only takes a second before they’re replying “yes” in unison.

[randombush3]

recuérdame

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 1185 (treat this like a prologue ok x)

notes: i hope this actually takes off as a new series so i'm posting it now while i think about what comes next xx

There’s something groggy about the darkness in your mind. It’s not an eyes-closed kind of black; not a piece of white paper doused in ink. 

It’s thick like smog. Grainy. 

And all of a sudden, you are awake. 

There’s an incessant pounding in your mind that is sharp and rhythmic. The lights are too harsh, too much. The bed is hard under your heavy bones. 

You blink and even that small movement is strange, harder than it should be. 

The ceiling is peppered with small, grey dots. It’s terribly ugly, but your eyes cling to it as you try to shake off the haze. 

Slowly, the rest of the room comes into focus: sterile whites, beeping machines, tubes splaying out across what must be your body but feels like deadweight. The steady noise draws your attention after a moment, the sound seeming to echo inside your head. You turn, neck stiff and crunching, to catch a glimpse of a monitor, green lines spiking across its screen. 

The tubes aren’t just on top of you. They must be inside you. 

Something twists in your stomach. 

“You’re… awake.” 

…

No one really knows what to say to Alexia when she receives the call. 

Training is running over, the sun is beginning to set, and the girls are getting restless. The drill is nothing special, and the boredom it brings infects their captain, too, despite her valiant attempts at maturity. 

Alexia wants to get home, tonight of all nights. 

Five days ago, a work trip left her alone with a daughter that isn’t quite hers. There has been an other-mother shaped hole in the family ever since. Madrid continues to be evil. Her Catalan pride is vindicated once more. 

So when Pere blows his whistle, she all but sprints into the changing room (much to her coach’s dismay, since training ended because he assumed no one could run at that speed anymore), image of picture-perfect leadership be damned. 

Her shower is fast, clothes are shoved on even faster, and she is just about to walk through the automatic exit doors when her phone rings. 

A location update, she assumes. Or a complaint from an impatient tweenager (god, they seem to be fountains of those). 

It’s to her horror that she is incorrect. 

The nurse on the other line is eerily calm, but does not waste time beating around the bush. Her instructions are clear: come to the hospital now. 

“I think my fiancée has just died,” Alexia tells no one in particular. 

The team isn't sure whether or not she is joking. 

That was a week ago, and now she is here, in the hospital. Her bum is accustomed to the hard plastic chairs, her schedule skewed until the doctors finally wake you up from a medically induced coma. Amaia, her stepdaughter, is at her friend’s house, the boy’s mother insisting she care for her while Alexia makes a rather practical visit to the hospital. 

Alexia’s hands shake as she brings them to her face, rubbing her temples. The past week has been wrapped around her like a noose, suffocating and taut. She’s holding herself together but she is doing an uncharacteristically catastrophic job at it. Her mind is still tangled up in the phone call she’d received – and the many others she’d had to make after the nurse had hung up. Although there has been a swarm of activity (flights landing, taxis to the hospital, meals arriving at her front door with well-meaning notes attached), life has felt still. Stagnant. 

She is stuck in something she doesn’t know how to deal with. 

She closes her eyes for a second and inhales with as much steadiness as she can muster, letting the beeping of your monitor anchor her back to the present. It’s a strange sound to feel grateful for, each pulse a reminder that you are still here. With her. 

They have been gradually reducing the sedatives administered to you, making the answer to her question always ‘she will wake up when she wakes up’. The twitches in your finger have grown old now, and she is becoming very impatient. 

“If you wanted a holiday, we could’ve taken time off,” she tells you with a forced chuckle. “You didn’t need to get yourself into a…” 

You shift slightly in the bed. Alexia’s eyes snap open, her body surging upwards in hope. 

“Come on…” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “Please…”

Your eyelids flutter, hesitant, like they’re testing the weight of the world behind them. She hopes: at least it’s something. 

And it could be more, surely? It should be any minute now, according to the doctors. The wait will be over and she can get you back.

It’s been fifteen days since Alexia saw the eyes she fell in love with. 

Words fall out of her mouth but she barely registers them, staring at you listlessly, unprepared for this moment. She had thought about it, of course, imagining how to go about updating you on what you’ve missed: how Amaia’s match yesterday ended in a draw; how her own was a sizable but unsatisfying win. 

She wants to say things she should say more. Reminders, confessions. She wants to let out the anger that you did this to her; that you left, that you didn’t come back. And how she wants to hold you, kiss you, love you even more.

But the first thing Alexia notices behind bleary eyes is terror. Confusion. And, what she had told herself would not happen: a lack of recognition. 

I’m in a hospital, you think, but I don’t know who is here with me. 

The moment stretches on, thin and frail, and Alexia feels the tautness in her stomach like a rope holding dead weight over a cliff. Her heart – bruised, aching, impatient – is pierced by the way you look at her with poorly-masked indifference. 

“Hi,” she tries, waiting for you to come back fully, wanting to skip the part where it hurts so much. Her hand reaches out, hovering above your own, fingers aching to touch you, but she holds back. “Do you know where we are?” 

She should really call the nurse in, but she can’t quite bring herself to disrupt this. 

Your eyes flicker, glancing at the tubes and machines. The mattress hasn’t gotten any softer, nor your body any lighter. “Hospital,” you whisper, throat scratchy and hoarse. The word appears in your mind as almost foreign, coming from somewhere deeper than the blankness of the surface. Then your gaze drifts back to her, the hopeful woman at your bedside, brows furrowing as you struggle to place her into a life you can’t quite recall. Not that you’ve tried; you’ve got a screaming headache. 

The question on your lips twists Alexia’s insides. She anticipates it, with an instinctiveness that almost frustrates you. “I’m Alexia,” she says. She doesn’t sound sure. 

You stare through her and the distance clutches at her neck. Her nightmare lands, cold and final. 

“I’m… sorry. I don’t,” and like how she knows the question, she is well aware of the end of that sentence. 

[nemo-writes]

𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖿 141 + 𝗏𝖺𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗌 ; 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 ── .✦

── .✦ 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗉 ; "𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗉𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇."

It’s day three of bed rest, and Soap’s already climbed up the walls of his room and back down again. Injured or not, he’s never been one to sit still, and being restricted to the base with “no hard jobs, no missions”—as the medic had stressed—has left him itching for something to do. Restless, he decides to wander, eventually finding himself at the library-slash-records room, a quiet corner of base he’s never thought to visit before.

He thumbs through a book on the nearest shelf, flipping pages more out of boredom than actual interest, when a voice behind him makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Good choice,” you say casually, glancing over his shoulder at the book in his hands. “I read that one when I was a teenager.”

Soap whips around, wide-eyed and ready to defend himself before he registers you standing there, a bemused smile on your face. It’s not often anyone manages to sneak up on him, especially after working alongside Ghost—but here you are, quiet as a shadow.

“Christ, you gave me a fright!” He laughs, trying to shake off his surprise. “You a ghost yourself, or just a natural sneak?”

“Neither,” you reply with a shrug. “I just work here. Records department.”

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head with a hint of scepticism. “Records, aye? Right, sure. So… what squad d’you belong to, then?”

You laugh, not seeming to mind his incredulity. “No squad. No task force, either. Just a regular base staff member. I make sure all your physical files stay organised, is all.”

“Well, I didn't expect to find a hidden gem like you in here,” he says, putting on his usual flirty grin, expecting some kind of blush or maybe even a shy look.

But you just give another amused smile. “I’m not a gem, just the records keeper. I also stock the books,” you add, gesturing around. “Figured a small library might be good for those interested. We don’t have much, but it’s a nice change of pace for some people.”

The flirting sails right over your head, and Soap’s grin falters ever so slightly before he recovers. “Ah, so you're the one to thank for this wee slice of quiet paradise on base, huh?”

You nod, a touch of pride slipping through as you straighten a few already-tidy books. “It’s simple, but I like to keep things in order here for whoever wants to pick up something to read.”

Soap tries another grin, leaning against a shelf, his tone softening just a bit. “Well, reckon I’ll be a regular if it means more chats like this. Seems like a fair deal, yeah?”

But you only hum thoughtfully, eyes scanning the shelf beside him, clearly cataloguing if anything’s out of place. Soap finds himself smirking, both amused and oddly challenged by how thoroughly you’ve ignored his attempts to charm you. He realises with a quiet laugh that this just might be the break he needed.

. . .

In the quiet of his quarters, Soap lounges on his bunk with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to his mum and sister talk about his childhood. It had started with the usual check-in—hearing how he was healing, how things were on base—and soon drifted into familiar family banter.

His sister, Cait, laughs as she recalls his ‘miraculous’ ability to get hurt every other day growing up. “Remember when you broke both your arms jumping off that shed roof, John?” she teases, barely stifling her laughter. “Mum had to practically wrap you in bubble wrap.”

“Aye, aye, laugh it up,” Soap mutters, though he’s grinning. “Was tryin’ to perfect my landing, is all.”

His mum’s voice chimes in with a fond chuckle, “Perfect it you did, son. Broke both arms and had us all in stitches—not just ‘cause of the casts, but because you couldn’t stop fidgeting.”

“Oh, I remember,” he groans, recalling the itch of the casts and the boredom of sitting still for weeks. “I was goin’ mad with nothing to do!”

“That’s why I read to you,” his mum adds, the warmth in her voice audible even over the line. “You were always restless, even with two arms in casts.”

Soap’s grin turns a bit softer. “I remember that… just not the book itself. Somethin’ about a fox and a forest?”

His mum hums thoughtfully. “It was a sweet story, but I can’t recall the title. Do you, Cait?”

Cait only chuckles, clearly drawing a blank. “Oh, I remember the fuss he made, but the book? Not a chance.”

Soap shakes his head, feeling a little pang of nostalgia. “Wouldn’t mind findin’ it again someday. Reminds me of home.”

A few days later, Soap strides through the hallway, his arm still snug in a sling but his energy undeterred. He greets everyone he passes, effortlessly drawing smiles and laughter from a few soldiers standing by the vending machines. A corporal waves, and Soap flashes him a quick grin, offering a joking salute with his free hand. 

But today, he’s not here to soak up the attention. His steps have purpose, carrying him straight back to the quiet sanctuary of the records room. When he steps inside, the calm hits him like a breath of fresh air. His eyes land on you instantly, tucked in the back of the room, your head bent over something on the desk.

You’re focused, scribbling notes or reading from a thick stack of papers, and for a moment, Soap just watches. There’s something about the way the light catches on your face, the peaceful concentration you exude. He doesn’t even realise he’s smiling until his cheeks ache slightly. He adjusts his posture and clears his throat, strolling over casually, pretending not to notice the way his pulse picks up just a bit.

“Hey, there,” he says, his voice breaking the quiet like a soft ripple on a still pond. You glance up, blinking at the interruption, and he swears there’s a flicker of recognition in your gaze that makes his chest tighten.

“Back again?” you tease lightly, setting your pen down. “Getting into trouble already?”

“Nah, just takin’ it easy,” he says, his tone breezy. “Needed a break from bein’ so popular, y’know? The fans are relentless.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at your lips.

He shifts slightly, leaning his good arm against the edge of the desk. “Actually, I was hopin’ you might be able to help me with somethin’. Feels a bit daft, but here goes.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling the weight of how silly this might sound. “There’s this book. From when I was a kid. My Ma read it to me when I broke both arms once—don’t ask,” he adds quickly, grinning sheepishly. “But I can’t remember the title. Just bits of it.”

That piques your interest. You sit up a little straighter, curiosity lighting up your features. “What do you remember about it?” you ask, your tone genuinely warm.

Soap exhales, relieved you haven’t laughed him off, and starts piecing it together. “Right, so it was about this fox. A scrappy wee thing, always gettin’ into trouble. Lived in a forest, sneakin’ around like it owned the place. There was… a badger, I think? Big, grumpy fella, always tellin’ the fox to stop bein’ reckless. But the fox didn’t listen—bit of a troublemaker, that one.”

You nod, your attention fixed on him, and it spurs him on. “One part I remember clear as day—there was a trap. The fox got its paw caught, and I thought it was done for. Had my heart in my throat. My Ma kept tellin’ me it’d be fine, but I was sweatin’ over it.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as if to brush off the emotion. “Then there was somethin’ about the forest gettin’ destroyed, so the fox had to leave. Find a new home, y’know?”

You lean forward slightly, completely drawn in, and it makes his pulse quicken. “That sounds… really sweet, actually. And a little sad.”

“Aye, it was,” he says, his voice softer now. “Hit me like a brick back then. Think I might’ve cried—don’t tell anyone that,” he adds quickly, wagging a finger with mock severity.

Your smile widens. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But… you’re describing it so vividly. I might know it. Hang on.” You tap your chin thoughtfully, sorting through your mental catalog of titles. Soap watches you closely, his expression softening as you mentally sift through the possibilities. After a moment, you shake your head, regret flashing in your eyes. “I think I know the book, but I don’t have it here. Sorry.”

Soap raises his brows, clearly impressed. “You’ve got a memory like a steel trap, lass. How d’you even keep track of all that?”

You wave him off modestly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “It’s nothing, really. I just like books. Spend enough time with them, and you start remembering the little details.”

“Still,” you say, your tone tinged with determination. “I’ll keep an eye out. If it crosses my path, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

Soap’s grin widens, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes it hard to look away. “Aye, I’ll hold you to that.” His voice softens, and for a moment, there’s a quiet warmth between you that neither of you rush to fill.

“Thanks,” he says finally, the sincerity in his tone catching you slightly off guard. “You’re good company, y’know that?”

Before you can reply, he pushes off the desk with his good arm, the playful edge returning to his expression as he gives you a wink. “Don’t let me distract you too much, aye? I’ll see myself out.”

You manage a small laugh, watching as he makes his way toward the door, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in his wake. But just as he steps into the hallway, he pauses, glancing back through the open door.

For a brief second, his gaze softens, the memory of the fox, his Ma’s soothing voice, and the quiet comfort of your little nook weaving together to warm a part of him he hadn’t realised needed it. With a nod to himself, he turns away, the thought of returning already forming in the back of his mind.

. . .

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual hum of conversation and clatter of trays. Soap, now out of his sling and feeling like himself again, sat among Gaz, Ghost, and a few others from the base, his laughter loud and infectious as they swapped stories and teased one another. His attention was fully on Gaz’s exaggerated recounting of a drill mishap when Ghost’s gravelly voice cut through the din.

“Oi, Johnny. Little mouse headed this way.”

Soap blinked, confused, until Ghost gave a subtle nod toward the figure approaching from behind. Soap twisted around, and his breath hitched the moment he spotted you.

Springing to his feet far too quickly, Soap’s knee hit the table with a loud clang, trays rattling dangerously. The others shouted half-hearted complaints, but Soap didn’t care. All his attention was on you, standing there with a paper bag in hand, a shy smile gracing your lips.

“I—uh—hi,” Soap stammered, suddenly unsure of himself as you held the bag out toward him.

“I found it,” you said simply, your tone giddy. “Thought you might like to have it.”

He stared at the bag, then at you, before carefully taking it from your hands. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and he swore he felt a spark. Peeking inside, his jaw dropped. There it was—the book. The cover was pristine, like it had just been pulled from a bookstore shelf.

“You didn’t…” he began, but words failed him. His gaze flicked between the book and your face, awe written plainly across his features.

You chuckled softly, patting the hand that held the book. “It’s no big deal. Enjoy it, yeah?”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Soap frozen in place. He watched you go, only snapping out of his trance when Gaz whistled low under his breath. Soap turned back to the table, clutching the bag as if it held a treasure.

Seated back at the table, the book resting carefully in his lap, he barely touched his food, his usual chatter replaced by a soft, distracted smile. He flipped the book over in his hands, running his thumb along the edges of the paper bag, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“Someone’s got a fan,” Gaz teased, grinning.

“Shut it,” Soap muttered, his cheeks flushing.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. One of the younger men at the table, a mechanic who had joined the base recently, leaned forward, asking him about you with a smirk edged with something he didn’t like, at all.

Soap’s expression darkened instantly, his jaw clenching. Ghost, always the observer, grumbled lowly. “Leave it, lad,” he warned, his voice a quiet rumble. The mechanic wisely dropped the subject.

As the conversation shifted back to base gossip, Soap’s focus stayed on the book in his hands. He traced the edges of the paper bag absentmindedly, his mind replaying the moment you’d handed it to him and the warmth of your hand on his. His smile widened, soft and genuine, as he looked the book over again, the edges of the paper bag crinkling beneath his fingers.

Ghost glanced at Soap briefly, noting the faraway look in his eyes. With a barely audible snort, he shook his head and returned to his meal, leaving the smitten Scotsman to his thoughts.

. . .

Soap spent the better part of the next day scouring every corner of the base, peeking into offices, workshops, and even the records room during normal hours, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Each empty space only added to his frustration.

“Sneaky little mouse," he muttered under his breath with an undeniable smile, hands on his hips.

His gripping earned a chuckle from Gaz, who leaned back in his chair and exchanged a knowing look with Ghost. “Maybe you’re just not lookin’ in the right places, mate,” Gaz teased, popping a peanut into his mouth.

Ghost, however, offered a rare bit of practical advice. “Try the rec room. Late hours.” His tone was low, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Sometimes I go there when I can’t sleep. Tea’s decent, and I watch matches on my phone. Could be she’s got the same idea.”

Soap perked up at the suggestion, nodding gratefully. “Aye, worth a shot. Thanks, mate!"

Later that evening, Soap made his way to the rec room. The base was quieter, the halls dimly lit, and the faint hum of a vending machine filled the otherwise empty space. As he approached the rec room, the soft clink of a kettle caught his attention. Peering in, he spotted you by the small kitchenette, the warm glow of the stove’s light illuminating your face as you poured hot water into a mug.

For a moment, he hesitated. His usual bravado faltered as he took in the calm scene, unsure how to approach without disturbing the peaceful air you carried with you. But then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped inside.

“Didn’t think I’d find you 'ere,” he said, his voice low but carrying a playful lilt.

You glanced over your shoulder, surprised but smiling softly when you saw him. “Evening, Sergeant. Tea, late-night stroll, or both?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Both, maybe. Been lookin’ for you, actually. You’ve got a knack for disappearin’, y’know.”

You turned back to the stove, shaking your head lightly as you reached for another mug. “You found me now, didn’t you? Want some tea?”

“Aye, thanks.” Soap approached, watching as you handed him the steaming mug. He cradled it, savoring the warmth in his hands. “Listen, about the book…”

You waved him off, cutting him off before he could continue. “It’s nothing, really. I should be the one thanking you. You’ve shown interest in the books and my little corner. It means a lot to have someone notice.”

Soap blinked, caught off guard by your words. Before you could turn back around to retrieve your own mug, he reached out, catching your hand. His fingers curled around yours gently, his thumb brushing the back of your knuckles.

The contact was warm, steady, and startlingly tender.

“No,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “It wasn’t nothin’. You went out of your way for me, and… it means more than I can say.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat when he lifted your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers. His lips were warm, his expression earnest as he looked up at you, gratitude and something deeper shining in his eyes.

For once, you were the one left speechless, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of his sincerity settled over you. Soap released your hand gently, his fingers lingering for just a moment before pulling back.

“Thank you,” he said again, his voice a near whisper.

You swallowed, your cheeks feeling uncharacteristically warm. “You’re welcome, Sergeant,” you managed, offering him a soft smile.

“Stay a while?” he asked, nodding toward the small table tucked into the corner.

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could overthink it, you nodded, moving to sit down. He followed, his mug cradled in his hands as he eased into the chair across from you. The quiet hum of the room settled over you both, broken only by the soft clink of his mug against the table as he set it down.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it felt warm, almost fragile, like something new and precious was taking root between you.

“You’ve got a knack for this,” he said, his tone low and easy.

“For what?” you asked, taking a sip of your tea.

“Doin’ things that catch a man off guard,” he replied, his blue eyes glinting with something playful yet sincere. “Like huntin’ down a book I barely remembered just to give me a piece of my past back.”

You waved him off modestly, though the compliment made your chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "It's...just a book."

“To you, maybe,” he countered, his voice soft. “To me, it’s somethin’ more. And so’s this.”

He gestured vaguely, encompassing the quiet space you now shared, the table between you feeling more like a bridge than a barrier.

You lowered your gaze to your mug, the steam curling upward as you processed his words. There was a warmth in his voice, an openness you hadn’t expected but found yourself leaning into.

When you finally looked up, Soap was watching you, his gaze steady and filled with something unspoken. You held his eyes, the corners of your lips curving into a smile that matched his.

“This is nice,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“Aye,” he agreed, his voice low. “It is.”

And as the two of you sat there, sipping tea and sharing quiet smiles, the space between you seemed to shrink, the glow of the moment wrapping around you both like a promise of something more to come.

banner credit

[lunarw0rks]

sweet thing | part one

˖⁺‧₊˚ read it on ao3 | masterlist | ask box | next part

price takes a liking to his neighbor. vulnerable, expecting, and in need of his helping hand. it's a good thing he always wanted a family.

john price x pregnant!reader (based on this idea of mine.)

warning(s): MDNI (18+); NOT EDITED, price is touch starved and kinda pathetic, pregnancy, angst/depression, alcoholism, fluff, fem!reader [wc: 1.3k]

Involuntary stress leave, they called it.

But for John, it was just short of decay. Sedentary, bitter—restless. Stuck at home while there's still a fight to be fought, men who need guidance. His men.

Before the stress does him in, he figures boredom will close in on him first, and it would be less merciful than any bullet or blade. Chores are a necessity, and hobbies are nothing more than a temporary soothe to his aches.

Every morning, irony wakes him up cold. Takes its pound of flesh. The world he devoted his adult life to fighting for, has nothing in it for him.

(Stiff fingers, heaving chest, bile in his throat, tremors marring his nervous system.)

It's hours before he can shake the feeling, so he compromises by rising at ungodly hours and fulfilling a rigid routine—still a trained soldier to his core. And by nightfall, he nurses a bottle until he's warm again, ready for the reset at dawn.

As they gaze out the window, his eyes search for purpose. Two fingers parting the blinds. Something, anything, please. But nothing. The sharp sting of cheap booze rushes past his teeth, and he's ready to retreat.

He winces through the taste before he's at attention again. The rumble of an engine cut short right next door. He angles himself to catch a clear view of the person. Instinct yells for him to be vigilant, but the sight in front of him snuffs the bellow.

The flow of a slip dress in the breeze, sticky strands of hair pulled back, glowing skin, a nurturing hand resting on the bump that shows through the fabric.

You look anything but thrilled while you wrangle your bags and fight the wind gusts, and you're well aware of it.

All John sees is bloom. Purpose. Duty.

Before he can gather all his wits, he's closed the front door behind him, his spilled bottle dribbling along the end table. It's not so much your beauty that drives him; he isn't a superficial man and can't afford to be.

A living, breathing person is what quickens his stride. Someone to talk to. Someone to touch and study. As of late, the only people near have been on the other side of the TV screen, fueled by dramatics and in character.

You find yourself stuck in your headspace again, mentally listing all the tasks that await you inside your house. Chores, mostly, some grocery shopping—and loads more of that endless baby planning. Relaxation wasn't an option and you're actively learning to accept that. Although, it's admittedly difficult to feel any other way when you've got another human to consider now.

John clears his throat. "Let me take tha' for you, darling."

He waits until you meet his stare to extend a hand, fingers grazing the flimsy straps of your shopping bags. You freeze, soaking in the sight of him.

"Hm?" Your brows knit together, and it's only then that you catch up with him.

"Your bags."

The man has already taken them before the words finish rolling off his tongue, but he stays in place.

A soft chuckle comes out of you to crack open the sheet of embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it today."

Pregnancy brain, you want to blame it on. But deep down you know it's because kindness is a new taste nowadays.

Most are courteous and accommodating, making way for you. Others look at you like dirt on their shoes. Fatigue draining your features doesn't help, and neither does the absence of a wedding band. Early on, you were naive enough to believe society had moved beyond the stigma. Wrong, more wrong, and a fool is all you are nowadays, even if only in your head.

Exhausted, not out of it, he analyses, and his heart aches.

"It's alright." His voice is smooth as nectar, leaving goosebumps on your skin that you'll chalk up to the wind. "Shouldn't be carrying all this by yourself, anyhow."

You fight the urge to scoff and instead lead the way to the front porch.

He's right. You shouldn’t be doing any of this alone.

Turning the key, you step inside and let the words spill. “Yeah, I, uh— I didn’t have anyone to call.”

Price should be more shocked by your words, but he isn’t. He is really, and truly, desensitized to all the misfortune around him. And it’s not any different with you. His eyes—conditioned to spot every minute detail of a person—took milliseconds to notice your left hand.

Feel her out. Find out more.

“That so?” He questions softly but doesn’t give you a chance to respond. You’ve painted the whole picture and more.

His words are full of every sensibility possible. “That’s a shame.” Pity. Empathy. Grief. Outrage. All except condescension; none of this is your fault, he can sense it.

You expect admonition.

Leading a stranger inside is bad enough, and walking the fine line between small talk and oversharing is worse.

But you can’t bring yourself to taste it. Outside of some coworkers and your mother, this is your first taste of organic interaction, and it’s been overwhelmingly amicable so far. Not something you can take lightly; loneliness is prevalent.

You let out a tired sigh, letting the silent gesture speak for itself. What else can you say? He's already got you pegged after spending all but two minutes with you. Makes you wonder how you haven't noticed him sooner, though you remember his driveway is usually vacant and the blinds are always closed.

By now, it's obvious that if he had ill intentions, he would've acted on them by now. The silence isn't thick or stiff—it's refreshing, oddly enough.

When his mouth upturns, the crow's feet around his eyes are made visible. They've witnessed things, awful things, no doubt. But he's also got a world of wisdom in them.

This is the part where you find a farewell, something moderately polite so you don't feel awful for kicking him out. (Not your fault you need to rest your feet. At least you get the sense that he'll understand.)

In search for the words, you place a hand on your stomach, "well, it was kind of you to bring that in, uh—"

"—John." He interjects.

Out of habit, you form a clumsy smile and ache to get the proper words out. "It was very kind of you, John. Thank you."

Without any further direction, he's able to pick up on your hints for him to make his exit. The bar is so low these days, it's almost shocking. Shuffling to follow him to the front door, your hand seizes the knob.

There's a lot left unsaid, despite meeting your handsome neighbor only a short time ago. The voice inside urges you to keep it short. Send him off, get out of his hair. He was just being nice.

"I should thank you again," you blurt, almost abruptly. Price turns on his heels with little surprise, a leer written on his thin lips. "Next time, I'll take another trip to carry the bags."

"No next time, love." A purr and a new nickname.

Too smitten to even notice the ruffle of some paper when he reaches a hand in his pocket. Even stole the pen off your entry table (a.k.a the junk-pile-of-mail-table) and you were none the wiser. Dated, the way he scribbles on the crumbled receipt and hands it to you between his index and middle.

Heat rises up your neck and to your face when you inch closer to retrieve the number, somehow finding it within yourself to not break eye contact. John's gaze stays genuine, despite the puff of his chest and the way he breathes your scent in shamelessly.

Albeit frazzled—you weren't born yesterday; he's attractive and extremely luring and you're single and hormonal. Wouldn't take much for something to happen.

And if not, you know you'll have fond daydreams, at the very least.

"You ever need anything, give me a call. 'M good for more than bag carrying."

[calcifiedunderland]

Pride & Prejudice: A TWSTed AU

ft. Overblot Gang x GN Reader

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single leader in possession of power, fortune, and intellect, must be in want of a partner.”

“Pfft-“ you snorted to yourself, flipping through the pages. “What kind of story is this?”

Earlier that day, you and Grim had decided to clear out one of the rooms at Ramshackle. After a brief jump-scare from Crowley (who showed you how to make furniture out of a magic hammer?), the two of you were now on your way to making a ‘Guest Room.’ Finally, gone were the days of your friends groaning about your dusty couch and cobweb-filled living room!

But that also meant that the boxes in the room had to be moved out. Most of them held thread-bare cloth and other dusty knickknacks, but a few held books that looked as though they hadn’t been held in ages. Out of sheer curiosity and boredom (and the fact that Ramshackle had no internet whatsoever), you cracked open one of them and started reading, with Grim snoozing soundly on your lap.

“What are you reading, Prefect?” One of the Ramshackle ghosts wafted to you, resting on the armchair back behind you. You turned the book to read the cover, frowning, “Prejudice and Pride, by Jean August. It’s kind of ridiculous.” You ran a hand over the dusty cover, “I think we had something like this in my world, too.”

The ghost immediately grinned, “I remember this from when I was alive!” He dove in front of you, taking the book and flipping through it at phantom speed. “This was one of our required readings! Ah, you living folk miss out on the classics,” he sighed wistfully. “Here, this was the best part!”

You took the book and read through it. It seemed to be a love confession, where the main male lead was telling the female lead how much he ‘ardently admired and loved her’ and failed miserably.

“Wow, that’s cringe,” you winced, skimming the page. “And also unrealistic. I mean, who falls in love with someone they hate? And who starts a love confession with ‘you suck, but I love you anyway I guess’? Why the hell would they think that would even work?!” You and the ghost laughed, and continued reading together.

~•~

“The Prefect is… interesting, but not enough to tempt me!”

He remembered telling his dorm mates this exact phrase, after bristling at a group of underclassmen gossiping amongst themselves. It was no secret that you and he were close - after several overblots at school, it would’ve been impossible not to be. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. It wasn’t like he laid awake at night, thinking about you right? How ridiculous would that be!

Meanwhile in his room, several hours later, the young dorm leader frowned, feeling restless. It was already close to sunrise, but he wasn’t able to drift off to sleep despite the exhaustions that came with leading an entire dorm. Instead of sleep and his impending responsibilities, his mind drifted.

Over the school year, he’d been able to push down his feelings (Sevens knew it was easy, and his overblot proved it), but now, it was impossible to deny it. This will not do, he thought, huffing irritably and sitting up in bed, absently rubbing his temple.

In vain, he’d struggled. But it couldn’t be denied, and despite his best and fiercest efforts to negate it, his feelings couldn’t be repressed. You’d proven yourself to be an unrelenting figure at Night Raven College - someone who he thought would be insignificant compared to his talent and renown. And yet. And yet.

Somehow you’d wormed your way into his life, to where it hurt to think of you as insignificant. Because how could an extraordinary person like you ever be insignificant? In his pre-overblot days, he was stubborn and yet still too prideful to even consider another way of thinking. But then you came along, and made him question everything, from previous prejudices to his own bittersweet pride.

You, who fell unceremoniously out of a coffin during the sorting ceremony with a little blue fiery cat, and scurried around the school running errands and odd jobs. You, who was once a passing glance, who became one of the things in the school he looked forward to seeing the most. You, with your heart of gold unshaken by the trials and tribulations thrown at you, day after day.

The feeling dawned on him, settling heavily and uncomfortably in their entire being. As the sun began rising, his mind reeled and he closed his eyes, the light bathing his room in a soft, pleasant glow. A warmth enveloped the room, but then a sudden chill ran down his spine. It was then, that he realized it:

He truly and ardently admired and loved you.

Now, he simply had to tell you so.

~

Now, dear Prefect, take his hand:

The Rose Red Tyrant: R. Rosehearts

The Usurper from the Wilds: L. Kingscholar

The Merchant from the Depths: A. Ashengrotto

The Schemer of the Scalding Sands: J. Viper

The Beautiful Tyrant: V. Schoenheit

The Keeper of the Underworld: I. Shroud

The Ruler of the Abyss: M. Draconia

———

notes: i really hope this wasn’t too cringe towards the end with the P&P refs but here we go! Seven chapters to plan AH, I can’t believe I twst-ified jane austen 💀

Chapters are coming soon!! A few are in the works!

Thank you to everyone who was interested in this idea!! What started as some brainrot has become bigger brainrot lmao, I fully appreciate it~

Take care shrimpies!!

———

Taglist: @eclecticprincecollector

@ars-tral @cerisescherries, @thehollowwriter, @twst-eeps,

(If your user is in bold, I wasn’t able to tag you for some reason 😅)

[emjayewrites]

Three Course Meal - LH44

SYNOPSIS: Sometimes going down a rabbit hole on Instagram can lead you to one of the best nights in your life.

PAIRINGS: Lewis Hamilton x black!fem!OC (Scarlett Siren) (faceclaim @/trapezoidmouth)

WARNINGS: sexual innuendos/jokes/mentions, sexual content, cursing.

RATED M/Minors DNI (sex work is work)

TAGLIST: @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @yeea-nah @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @certifiedlesbianbaddie @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @motheroffae @hrlzy @xoscar03 @perfecttrashface @purplelewlew @saturnville @trentswrld

A/N: This is rather long, like almost 10k words. This will only be one part.

The Introduction - Monaco Grand Prix, 2023

Lewis lounged on the couch of his Monaco penthouse, feeling the weight of another grueling F1 season pressing down on him. The glamorous life of a world champion had its perks, but it could also be surprisingly mundane. Tonight was one of those nights – nothing to do, no events to attend, just the persistent hum of boredom and a touch of restless energy.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through social media with a lack of interest, idly liking a few posts here and there. As he navigated through his Instagram feed, his eyes were drawn to a series of suggestions on his For You page. One profile stood out among the rest: @ScarlettSiren.

The profile picture showed a captivating woman with striking features, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of allure and mischief. Curiosity piqued, Lewis tapped on the profile. The grid that appeared was a visual feast – a stunning array of provocative photos, each one more tantalizing than the last. He hesitated for a moment, remembering the countless times his friends had warned him to steer clear of OnlyFans models and pornstars.

"Man, you don’t need that kind of drama in your life," they’d say. "Stick to the models and escorts if you must, but stay away from those girls."

But something about @ScarlettSiren was different. There was an undeniable magnetism that pulled him in, a sense of raw, unfiltered sensuality that set her apart from anyone he’d encountered before. Against his better judgment, Lewis began to explore her profile more deeply.

He found himself captivated by her presence – the way she moved, the way she looked at the camera as if she were looking right through the screen and into his soul. Her bio mentioned that she was an OnlyFans creator, and Lewis felt a rush of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness.

Without thinking too much about it, he clicked on the link to her OnlyFans. The page that loaded was an extension of the allure he’d felt on Instagram. Exclusive content, private messages, and the promise of a more intimate connection with the enigmatic Scarlett.

Lewis’s heart raced as he subscribed, a sense of anticipation buzzing through him. Almost immediately, he received a welcome message from her.

ScarlettSiren: "Hey there, handsome! Thanks for subscribing. Let me know if there’s anything special you’d like to see or chat about 😉"

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he started typing.

Lewis: "Hey Scarlett, just wanted to say I love your content. You’ve got an incredible presence. What are you up to tonight?"

He hit send and waited, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. It didn’t take long for her to reply.

ScarlettSiren: "Thanks, babe! I’m just chilling at home, enjoying a glass of wine. How about you?"

Lewis smiled, feeling a strange sense of connection with this woman he’d never met.

Lewis: "Same here, just winding down after a long day. Can’t stop thinking about your posts though. You’re amazing."

ScarlettSiren: "You’re sweet 😊 Maybe we can have a little fun tonight? I love getting to know my subscribers better."

His pulse quickened at her words, the possibilities swirling in his mind. He knew this was uncharted territory, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of it all.

Lewis: "I’d like that. Tell me more about you."

And so, their conversation flowed, an intoxicating mix of flirtation and genuine connection. As the night went on, Lewis found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t expected, sharing stories, and listening to hers. There was an electric chemistry between them that was impossible to ignore.

By the time he finally put his phone down, the boredom and restlessness had been replaced by a sense of excitement and anticipation. He knew his friends would disapprove, but for once, he didn’t care. Scarlett was different, and he was more than willing to explore whatever this was, no matter where it might lead.

Text Threads - Singapore Grand Prix, 2023

The conversation between Lewis and Scarlett continued to flow effortlessly over the next few days. They talked about everything from their favorite movies to their childhood memories, gradually peeling back the layers of their lives. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and Lewis found himself looking forward to their chats more than he’d anticipated.

One evening, as he lay in his hotel room in Singapore, waiting for the start of the next race, his phone buzzed with a new message from Scarlett.

ScarlettSiren: "Hey, handsome! How’s Singapore treating you?"

Lewis grinned and quickly typed a response.

Lewis: "Hey Scarlett! It’s hot and humid as always, but I love it here. Just finished some practice laps. How about you? What’s new?"

ScarlettSiren: "Not much, just finished a photoshoot. Speaking of which, want to see some behind-the-scenes shots?"

Lewis: "Absolutely. Send them my way."

Moments later, his phone buzzed again with a series of photos. Scarlett looked stunning in each shot, her sultry poses and playful expressions igniting a fire within him. He sent her a few compliments, which she graciously accepted.

Lewis: "You look incredible, Scarlett. Seriously, these are amazing."

ScarlettSiren: "Thanks, babe 😊 I have more, but maybe I should save those for a video chat? What do you think?"

Lewis felt a surge of excitement at the prospect.

Lewis: "I’m game if you are. How about we video chat tonight?"

ScarlettSiren: "Perfect! Give me an hour to freshen up, and I’ll call you."

The anticipation built as Lewis waited, imagining what the call would be like. When his phone finally rang, he eagerly accepted the video call, his heart racing.

Scarlett’s face appeared on the screen, framed by soft, wavy hair. She looked even more beautiful in motion than in her photos, and her smile lit up the room.

"Hey, Lewis!" she greeted cheerfully, her voice warm and inviting.

"Hey, Scarlett. You look amazing," Lewis replied, unable to hide his admiration.

"Thanks! You’re not looking too bad yourself," she teased, making him chuckle.

They talked for a while about their day, the conversation flowing easily as usual. Eventually, Scarlett leaned closer to the camera, her expression turning a bit more serious.

"You know, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Lewis," she said softly. "It’s not every day I meet someone I connect with like this."

"Same here," Lewis admitted. "You're easy to talk to."

Scarlett’s smile widened. "I’m glad to hear that. So, what’s it like being an F1 driver? Must be pretty intense."

Lewis nodded, launching into a story about his latest practice session and the challenges he faced on the track. Scarlett listened intently, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"You’re really passionate about what you do," she observed when he finished. "It’s inspiring."

"Thanks," Lewis said, feeling a warm flush of appreciation. "What about you? How did you get into modeling and OnlyFans?"

Scarlett’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "It’s a long story, but let’s just say I love expressing myself and connecting with people. Plus, it gives me the freedom to live life on my terms."

They continued talking, sharing stories and laughter. As the conversation grew more intimate, Scarlett leaned back, her gaze turning sultry.

"You know, Lewis, I’ve been thinking about you a lot," she confessed. "Especially when I’m alone…"

Lewis felt his pulse quicken. "Yeah? What kind of thoughts?"

Scarlett’s lips curved into a suggestive smile. "Why don’t I show you?"

She moved the camera to give Lewis a tantalizing glimpse of her outfit – a lacy piece that left little to the imagination. The sight made his breath hitch, and he quickly reciprocated, adjusting his camera to show his lean, toned physique.

The air between them crackled with electricity as they exchanged photos and compliments, the tension building to a fever pitch. Finally, Scarlett’s voice turned soft and inviting.

"Want to take this to the next level?" she asked, her eyes dark with desire.

Lewis nodded, unable to resist. "Absolutely."

Scarlett propped her phone on her vanity then sat at the foot of her bed.

"Hi," she purred, her voice husky with desire.

"Hey there," Lewis replied, his eyes devouring her full image.

For a few moments, they just looked at each other, taking in every detail. Then Scarlett moved closer to the camera, giving him a better view of her body.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked coyly.

Lewis could only nod and let out a low groan. Scarlett laughed, pleased with his response.

"Well then, let me give you a proper show," Scarlett said with a coy smile.

She started to move seductively to the music playing in the background. Her hands roamed over her body as she swayed and danced for him. Lewis couldn’t take his eyes off of her, feeling himself getting lost in the moment.

Scarlett’s movements were mesmerizing, her body fluid and graceful as she moved to the beat. The muscles of her glutes flexed impressively, her skin rippling like waves in an ocean. Lewis could feel his own desire building, his heart racing in anticipation.

As the song ended, Scarlett lay back on the bed and smiled suggestively at Lewis. "Your turn now," she said.

Feeling emboldened by her actions, Lewis stood up from his chair and started to slowly strip off his clothes while keeping eye contact with Scarlett. He could feel himself becoming more aroused with each piece of clothing he discarded.

When he was completely naked, he stepped back into view of the camera and for Scarlett to admire.

Lewis' body was sculpted, toned, and tattooed, every muscle rippling under his tanned skin. His broad shoulders and defined chest were on full display as he stood confidently in front of the camera.

"You look amazing," she breathed out appreciatively. “I know you probably get told this all the time but…Jesus Christ, you’re fine as fuck!”

Lewis chuckled at her comment as began to move his hands over his body, caressing his chest and stomach before slowly trailing down to his erection. Scarlett's mouth went dry as she watched him stroke himself, imagining it was her hand instead.

"Tell me what you want," Lewis breathed out, his voice strained with desire.

Scarlett licked her lips before answering, "I want you to touch yourself for me."

Without hesitation, Lewis followed her request and started to pleasure himself while Scarlett watched intently. Her own need was growing by the second and she couldn't resist joining in.

She leaned back on the bed, moving her phone closer so that he could see her as well. As she began to touch herself in rhythm with Lewis' movements, their moans filled the virtual room.

There was something thrilling about sharing this intimate moment with someone she had just met online. It added an element of danger and taboo that made everything more intense.

As they pleasured themselves together, their eyes locked onto each other through the screen. It was like they were making love without even physically being in the same room.

The tension continued to build until finally, they both reached their climax at the same time. Sweat glistened on their bodies as they lay there panting and smiling at each other.

They spent the next hour talking about their fantasies, their voices hushed and intimate as they shared their deepest desires. The connection between them felt almost tangible, and by the time they said their goodbyes, Lewis was left feeling more alive than he had in a long time.

"Talk soon?" Scarlett asked, her voice a seductive whisper.

"Definitely," Lewis replied, his heart racing.

As he ended the call and lay back on the bed, a satisfied smile played on his lips. He knew this was just the beginning of something intense and exhilarating – something he was more than ready to dive into.

NDA or No-Dick-Fil'-A - Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

Lewis lay back on his hotel bed, phone in hand, staring at the blank screen. His mind raced, thoughts darting back and forth as he wrestled with his feelings. He had paid for sexual favors before, but this entire situation had him feeling out of his element. Scarlett was different. She was sexy, yes, but she was also smart, witty, and engaging. Their conversations and video calls had started to become the highlight of his days, and he found himself genuinely looking forward to their interactions.

Despite the sexual nature of their relationship, Lewis appreciated how straightforward everything was with Scarlett. There were no games, no hidden agendas, and no drama. His friends had joked about the potential for scandal, warning him about getting "Celina Powell'd," but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was worth the risk.

He decided to call Scarlett again, eager to hear her voice. After a few rings, she picked up, her face lighting up the screen.

"Hey, handsome," she greeted with a playful smile. "How was your day?"

"Hey, Scarlett. It was good, just busy with race prep. How about you?" Lewis asked, his eyes scanning her face.

"Same here. Just finished a little... demonstration with the new toy you sent me," she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Lewis chuckled, feeling a familiar warmth spread through him. "You know how to make a guy's day, don't you?"

"I try my best," Scarlett replied with a wink.

They talked for a while about their days, their conversation flowing easily. Eventually, Lewis leaned back against the headboard, feeling a bit more serious.

"Scarlett, can I ask you something?" he began, his tone thoughtful.

"Of course. What's on your mind?" she replied, tilting her head slightly.

"Have you ever signed an NDA before?" Lewis asked, watching her closely.

Scarlett's expression shifted to one of understanding. "Yeah, I have. I had to sign one at my old job before I changed careers. Why do you ask?"

Lewis nodded, feeling a sense of relief. "I like your answer. I was thinking... I'd like to fly you out to Las Vegas for race weekend. Would you be interested?"

Scarlett's eyes widened with surprise and excitement. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," Lewis replied, his voice steady. "I want to meet you face to face. I think it could be really fun, and I promise to make it worth your while."

Scarlett bit her lower lip, clearly considering the offer. "I'd love that, Lewis. Really, I would. But you know this is just a casual thing for me, right? I mean, I'm not trying to get into anything too serious..."

"I know," Lewis said, his voice earnest. "I like you, Scarlett. I like talking to you, I like our time together, and I want to see you in person, but I need to be cautious, you understand that, right?"

Scarlett nodded, her eyes softening. "I understand, and I appreciate your honesty. I want this to be as straightforward as possible, too."

"Great," Lewis said, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I'll have my team send you the details. We'll arrange everything, including the NDA."

Scarlett smiled, her excitement palpable. "I can't wait, Lewis. It's going to be amazing."

Lewis grinned, feeling a surge of anticipation. "Yeah, it is. I'll see you soon, Scarlett."

As they ended the call, Lewis felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. He knew this was a step into uncharted territory, but he couldn't deny the pull he felt toward Scarlett. She was different from anyone he had ever been with, and he was ready to explore whatever this connection could become.

The Meeting (Amuse Buche) - Las Vegas Grand Prix, 2023

Scarlett adjusted herself in her seat on the private jet, still in disbelief at the turn her life had taken. Growing up in the northside of St. Louis, surviving off government assistance, she'd never imagined she'd be flying in such style. She'd started her OnlyFans page to regain confidence after a failed relationship and being laid off. What began as a way to boost her self-esteem quickly turned into a lucrative career. Now, she made more money from OnlyFans and endorsements than she ever had from her previous job, though that didn't mean her life was easy. Being a content creator required countless hours of planning, shooting, posting, and promoting her content.

There were good days and bad days. The bad ones included dealing with creepy guys who were borderline obsessed with her. But there were good days, like meeting Lewis. She knew she was getting a bit over her head meeting a client in person, but Lewis had complied with all her safety regulations and had her sign an NDA. Now, she was on her way from St. Louis to Las Vegas in a private jet he'd chartered for her, noting that seats on other airlines were booked due to race weekend.

Scarlett took a deep breath, marveling at her surroundings. She settled into the plush seat and began to worry about whether she'd packed the right clothes. When she arrived, a chauffeured car picked her up and drove her to the Wynn Hotel. Checking in and making her way to Lewis's suite, she received a text from him saying he would be there later on—he was having dinner with some drivers.

Using the facilities to wash off the flight from her body, Scarlett applied her favorite body butter and spritzed on some of her expensive perfume. She pulled on a purple teddy, knowing that purple was Lewis's favorite color. The color purple symbolized royalty, power, and ambition, all qualities that Lewis embodied and that Scarlett admired.

Scarlett spent some time looking at the breathtaking view of the city from the suite's window before she heard the door unlock. She quickly rushed to the bed, arranging herself sexily on it. She heard Lewis pad through the suite and into the bedroom, where he gave her a welcoming smile, exposing the set of grillz adorning his teeth.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "Hi, gorgeous. Welcome to Las Vegas."

Scarlett was rendered speechless, feeling a mix of starstruck giddiness and excitement at finally being within mere inches of him. No longer just a face on a screen or a voice coming from her phone, Lewis was now real and present. He was devastatingly handsome, more so in person than she'd imagined.

Lewis outstretched his arms and said, "Can I get a hug?" beckoning her for an embrace.

Scarlett obliged, getting up and wrapping her arms around him. She inhaled the scent of his cologne, a blend of spices and wood that exuded manliness. His body was warm and solid against hers, making her feel safe and exhilarated all at once.

"I'm so glad you're here," Lewis murmured, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes. "I've been looking forward to this."

"Me too," Scarlett replied softly, feeling her heart race. "Thank you for bringing me out here."

"Thank you for coming," Lewis said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine affection. "Let's make this a weekend to remember."

Lewis pulled Scarlett closer, his hands beginning to caress her body, enjoying the way she felt in his arms. She felt right, perfect, her curves melding seamlessly against the hard planes of his body. Their eyes connected, and Scarlett smiled at him, making him smile as well before he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. He kissed along the column of her neck, causing her to elicit a moan.

"I want to take my time with you. Is that okay, baby?" Lewis murmured against her skin.

Scarlett nodded her head, feeling a rush of anticipation.

"Can you use your words, love? I want to make sure you understand."

"Yes, Lewis," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Good girl," he praised, nipping at her pulse point, making her yelp and then giggle.

"Tickle spot, huh?" he rambled against her skin as he nipped at her once more, then licked the spot. "I have to make note of that for later."

Scarlett's body responded to his touch, every nerve ending alive with sensation. She felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness, but the way Lewis was taking his time, ensuring her comfort, made her feel safe and cherished. His hands roamed gently but with intent, learning the contours of her body, the soft dips and curves that he found so enticing.

Lewis pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes with a tender yet intense gaze. "You’re so beautiful," he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Scarlett's heart fluttered at his words, her cheeks flushing with warmth.

He kissed her, slowly, savoring the feel of her lips against his. Scarlett melted into him, her hands sliding up his back, fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, creating an intimate rhythm that left them both wanting more.

Lewis moved his kisses down her neck again, trailing them over her collarbone, taking his time to explore her skin. Scarlett's hands roamed over his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of him. She moaned softly as he found another sensitive spot, his lips and tongue working magic against her skin.

"I could do this all night," Lewis whispered, his voice thick with desire. "I want to learn every part of you."

Scarlett's body trembled with anticipation, her breath hitching with every kiss and caress. "I want that too," she admitted, her voice filled with a mix of shyness and boldness.

Lewis gestured for Scarlett to get on the bed, and she complied, slipping backwards on the bed and crawling to the headboard. He followed behind her, kicking off his shoes as he did so. His whiskey-brown eyes shone with lust but also a hint of appreciation. He genuinely liked her, enjoyed the conversations and intimacy they had shared over the last few months. Now, with her here in Vegas, he intended to savor every moment. He didn’t want to rush and have sex on the first night. No, they had all weekend, and Lewis planned on giving her bit by bit of everything he had to offer, saving the finale for after Sunday's race.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her body, his gaze filled with admiration. He leaned down, starting at her ankles, planting soft kisses on her skin. Scarlett's breath hitched as his lips made contact, sending shivers up her spine. He continued his journey upward, kissing her calves, her knees, and then her thighs, taking his time to explore every inch of her.

Scarlett's moans spurred him on, the sound music to his ears. He could feel the way she responded to his touch, her body arching towards him, silently begging for more. As he kissed the soft skin of her stomach, Lewis felt a surge of desire, but he managed to maintain his self-restraint. It wasn't easy, especially with the way Scarlett writhed beneath him, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

Lewis moved higher, kissing along her ribs, the underside of her breasts, and finally, the swell of her breasts. There was no skin left untouched by his lips. He paused to look up at her, seeing the pleasure and longing in her eyes. It was a sight that made his heart pound and his resolve weaken, but he held firm.

He hovered above her, staring in silent admiration until he opened his mouth to speak. "Take off the teddy," his voice was gruff, eyes half-lidded with need.

Scarlett slowly removed the straps from her shoulders before reaching behind her to unclasp the top, allowing the material to slip off and reveal her breasts. With his eyes still on her, Lewis bent down to take a nipple into his mouth.

A shiver of pleasure ran through Scarlett's body as his warm mouth enveloped her sensitive skin. She moaned softly, arching her back to press herself closer to him. Lewis's tongue swirled around her nipple, teasing and tasting, while his hand moved to cup her other breast, kneading gently.

Lewis looked up at her again, his eyes dark with desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against her skin before switching to her other breast, giving it the same attention and care.

Scarlett's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as he lavished her with his mouth and hands. The sensations coursing through her were almost too much to bear, and she found herself lost in the moment, completely at his mercy.

As Lewis continued to worship her body, his own arousal grew stronger, the evidence pressing against her thigh. He wanted her desperately, but he was determined to take his time, to savor every moment of their first night together.

"Do you know how long I've imagined this?" Lewis whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "How many times I've thought about touching you, tasting you?"

Scarlett's breath hitched at his words, her body responding with a fresh wave of desire. "I've thought about it too," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I've wanted this for so long."

Lewis groaned softly, his lips trailing kisses down her stomach. "I'm going to make you feel so good, baby," he promised, his voice filled with conviction. "I want to hear you moan my name."

Scarlett's heart raced with anticipation as Lewis continued his descent, his mouth and hands exploring every inch of her skin. She knew this night would be unforgettable, the beginning of something incredible between them.

As Lewis's kisses reached the edge of her panties, he paused, looking up at her with a question in his eyes. "Can I?" he asked, his voice husky with need.

"Yes, Lewis," Scarlett breathed, lifting her hips slightly to help him remove the last barrier between them.

With a reverent touch, Lewis slid her panties down her legs, discarding them to the side. He gazed at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her completely bare before him, and then leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her inner thigh.

"You're perfect," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. "Absolutely perfect."

Scarlett's heart swelled at his words, her body aching with need. As Lewis's mouth moved closer to her core, she knew she was in for a night of unparalleled pleasure and intimacy, one that would leave her longing for more of him, always.

As he finally reached his destination, Scarlett's legs trembled in anticipation. She closed her eyes and gave in to the pleasure coursing through her body as Lewis's tongue flicked against her clit.

Her hands clenched the sheets beneath her as he expertly worked his way around her most sensitive area, teasing and exploring every inch of her. Scarlett felt herself getting lost in the sensation, unable to think about anything else but the overwhelming pleasure that consumed her.

Lewis's fingers joined in on the action, sliding into her slick folds and adding another layer of stimulation. Scarlett cried out as he found just the right spot inside of her, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body.

She could feel herself nearing the edge, and she desperately wanted to hang onto this feeling for just a little longer. But when Lewis sucked on her clit while simultaneously thrusting his fingers deeper inside of her, she couldn't hold back any longer.

Her entire body convulsed with a powerful orgasm that left stars dancing behind her closed eyelids. Lewis continued to work his magic even as she rode out the waves of pleasure, only pulling away when she was spent and completely satisfied.

He made his way back up to kiss Scarlett deeply. She could taste herself on his lips, and she couldn't help but moan at the reminder of the intense pleasure he had just given her.

"You taste so good, baby," Lewis whispered against her lips, his voice filled with awe and adoration. "I don't think I can ever have my fill."

"Well, you can have as much as you like this weekend," she told him as they parted.

"Say less."

Don't Play (Appetizer) - Las Vegas Grand Prix, 2023

Scarlett wandered through the bustling paddock, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside her. This was her first time experiencing a Formula 1 race weekend up close, and the atmosphere was electric. Everywhere she looked, there were teams fine-tuning their cars, engineers poring over data, and drivers zipping around on scooters.

Lewis had insisted on getting her a paddock pass, knowing how much she'd been looking forward to this. But they had to be cautious, keeping their distance to avoid attracting too much attention from the media. So, Scarlett explored on her own, taking in the sights and sounds of the paddock.

She watched as mechanics worked with precision, making last-minute adjustments to the cars. The smell of burnt rubber hung in the air, a constant reminder of the adrenaline-fueled action that was to come.

As she wandered further, Scarlett spotted familiar faces among the crowd. Drivers she had only ever seen on TV walked past her, their focus evident as they prepared for the upcoming practice session.

The Mercedes team was a flurry of activity, their focus unwavering as they prepared for the upcoming session. She paused to watch them work, fascinated by the seamless coordination and sheer intensity of their efforts.

Suddenly, a Mercedes team member approached her. "Excuse me, Miss Scarlett," he said with a polite nod. "Lewis wants to speak with you. Would you please follow me?"

Her heart skipped a beat as she nodded and followed the personnel through the maze of equipment and people. They arrived at a door marked "Driver's Room," and the team member gestured for her to enter.

She stepped inside to find Lewis waiting for her, shirtless, with the top half of his racing suit tied around his waist. His toned physique glistened slightly with perspiration, a testament to the physical demands of his sport. The room was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a quiet sanctuary amidst the frenzy.

Lewis's face lit up when he saw her, and without a word, he pulled her into his arms. "How do you like the paddock so far?" he asked, his voice a warm murmur against her ear.

Scarlett smiled, looking up into his eyes. "I'm loving it. It's incredible to see everything up close."

He nodded gingerly, a small smile playing on his lips before he leaned in and kissed her. The kiss quickly deepened, becoming more urgent as their hands roamed each other's bodies. Lewis's touch was both gentle and possessive, and Scarlett melted against him, her fingers tracing the contours of his back.

The intensity of their makeout session escalated, their breaths becoming ragged and mingling in the charged air of the room. Lewis's hands kneaded her breast, and Scarlett felt a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins.

Their passionate moment was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock on the door. "Lewis, it's twenty minutes before free practice," a voice called from the other side.

Lewis groaned softly, resting his forehead against Scarlett's for a brief moment before pulling back. "Duty calls," he said with a wry smile, his eyes still dark with desire.

Scarlett straightened her clothes, her cheeks flushed. "I'll be cheering for you," she whispered, her voice a mix of affection and anticipation.

Lewis kissed her one last time, a quick yet intense meeting of their lips, before he reluctantly let her go. "And I'll be looking for you. Don't go too far," he replied, his gaze lingering on her as he turned to get ready for the session.

Scarlett slipped out of the room, her heart still pounding from their encounter. Feeling a playful spark, Scarlett decided to tease Lewis a bit. She found a quiet corner of the paddock and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her gallery to find the pictures she had taken that morning in the hotel suite — intimate, suggestive shots highlighting her curves and playful expressions.

With a mischievous grin, she selected a couple of the best ones and sent them to Lewis with a quick message.

It didn't take long for her phone to buzz with a response. She glanced at the screen and saw a series of messages from Lewis. The first one read: Fuck....Scarlett. The next: Not making this fair.

Just as she was putting her phone away, she heard a distinct, sexually frustrated groan from within the confines of Lewis's driver's room. The sound was unmistakable even from outside, and it sent a thrill through her knowing she had such an effect on him.

Scarlett couldn't help but chuckle, feeling a mix of excitement and satisfaction. She made her way back to a spot where she could watch the practice session, her thoughts lingering on their next encounter. The anticipation was exhilarating, adding another layer of excitement to the already charged atmosphere of the race weekend.

As she settled in to watch, she couldn't help but admire Lewis's focus and determination on the track. He was in his element, every move precise, every decision calculated. Despite the intense pressure of the competition, she knew he was thinking of her, just as she was thinking of him.

The practice session unfolded with its usual blend of high-speed action and technical precision, but for Scarlett, it was infused with a personal touch that made it all the more thrilling.

After a leisurely dinner in the privacy of their hotel suite, Lewis and Scarlett, retreated to the luxurious free-standing tub. The warm water and fragrant bubbles provided a soothing contrast to the high-octane energy of the day. They settled into the bath together, their bodies comfortably intertwined as they enjoyed the moment of relaxation.

Bubbles floated on the surface of the water, clinging to their skin in delicate, foamy clusters. The scent of lavender and chamomile filled the air, adding to the calming atmosphere. Scarlett leaned back against Lewis, her head resting on his chest, feeling his breath's steady rise and fall. His arms were wrapped around her, their fingers occasionally interlacing beneath the water.

They talked about everything and nothing, their conversation flowing effortlessly. Lewis recapped the day's practice session, sharing his thoughts on the car's performance and his strategy for the upcoming qualifying round. Scarlett listened intently, her admiration for him growing with every word.

"You'll be much more comfortable in the Paddock Club tomorrow," Lewis said, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. "It's a great spot to watch everything without getting caught up in the chaos."

Scarlett nodded, appreciating his consideration. "That sounds perfect. I can't wait to see you in action again."

As they continued to talk, their conversation took a more intimate turn. They shared stories about their lives, delving into personal details that brought them even closer. It was during this moment that Scarlett decided to reveal something she had kept to herself until now.

"My real name is Zakyna," she said softly, watching Lewis's reaction.

He looked at her, his dark eyes thoughtful and intrigued. "Zakyna," he repeated, his voice low and attractive, the timbre sending shivers down her spine. "I like that name. It fits you."

A smile spread across her face. "Thank you. My friends and family call me Kai."

Lewis's expression softened, a tender look in his eyes. "Kai," he said, testing the name on his lips. "I like that. So, should I call you Zakyna, Scarlett, or Kai?"

She leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "Kai," she whispered. "I want you to call me Kai."

"Alright, Kai," he murmured, kissing her gently.

Kai looked at him with a smile. "I like the way you say it," she replied, her eyes shining with warmth.

Eventually, the water began to cool, and they reluctantly decided it was time to get out. They stood, the water cascading off their bodies, leaving trails of bubbles that clung to their skin. Kai admired the way the droplets highlighted Lewis's toned physique, each bead of water tracing the lines of his muscles.

Lewis wrapped a fluffy towel around her, his hands lingering as he dried her off, his touch both practical and tender. She returned the favor, running the towel over his broad shoulders and down his back, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

They settled under the covers on the bed, Lewis pulled Kai close, his arm wrapped around her protectively.

"Goodnight, Kai," he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

"Goodnight, Lewis," she replied, snuggling closer to him.

As they drifted off to sleep, the anticipation of the race weekend mingled with the warmth of their connection, making this night one to remember.

Lemme Cheer You Up (Entrée) - Las Vegas Grand Prix, 2023

Race night in Las Vegas was electric, the city’s neon lights casting a surreal glow over the circuit. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, but inside Lewis’s hotel suite, the mood was tense. P11 was not where he wanted to be, and the disappointment hung heavy in the air.

Kai had been a comforting presence over the last few days, their playful teasing and tender touches helping to keep Lewis grounded amidst the pressure of the race weekend. But tonight, he needed more than gentle reassurances; he needed a way to channel his frustration and find the optimism to face the challenge ahead.

They had about two hours before Lewis needed to head to the track, and Kai was determined to help him reset. She found him standing by the window, staring out at the glowing cityscape, his shoulders tense.

"Hey," she said softly, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Talk to me."

He sighed, leaning back into her embrace. "I just… P11, Kai. It’s not where I should be. I feel like I’ve let everyone down."

She turned him around to face her, placing her hands on his chest. "You’re a champion, Lewis. One bad qualifying session doesn’t change that. You’ve come back from worse, and you can do it again."

He looked down at her, his expression softening as he cupped her face in his hands. "How do you always know what to say?"

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his palm. "It’s because I believe in you. Now, let’s do something about this stress, okay?"

Kai led him to the bedroom, the air between them thick with anticipation. They had been building up to this moment for days, their touches and kisses growing more intense with each passing hour. Now, it was time to let go completely.

Lewis’s hands were on her the moment they reached the bed, his kisses urgent and demanding. Kai responded with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. The frustrations of the day melted away as their bodies came together, the connection between them a perfect antidote to his anxiety.

Kai took her time, teasing him with light touches and lingering kisses, drawing out his pleasure and making him forget everything but the sensation of her skin against his. Lewis’s hands roamed her body with a desperate need, the tension in his muscles gradually easing with every touch.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered, guiding him to lie back on the bed. She straddled him, her movements slow and deliberate as she set the pace, their eyes locked in a heated gaze. She could see the stress melting from his expression, replaced by pure, unadulterated desire. With practiced ease, she removed his clothing, her fingers trailing down his body, igniting every nerve in its wake. She lingered at his happy trail, her touch sending shivers down his spine. Her hands slipped inside his boxers, freeing his erect penis from its confines. It throbbed with anticipation, a single bead of pre-ejaculation glistening at the tip.

She leaned down to capture the droplet with her tongue, eliciting a deep moan from him. She continued to tease him, using her tongue to explore every inch of his length before taking him fully into her mouth.

As she took him deeper into her mouth, he let out a guttural groan, his fingers tangling in her hair. She continued to suck and swirl her tongue around him, building the intensity with every movement. She could feel his hips starting to buck against her, wanting more but also trying to hold back.

She released him from her mouth with a pop, leaving him gasping for air. "You like that?" she purred, running her hand up and down his length.

He nodded eagerly, unable to form words as pleasure coursed through his body. He couldn't help but let out a loud moan as she began to move up and down on him, using her hands to stroke whatever parts of him she couldn't fit into her mouth. Her teeth grazed gently against his skin, sending jolts of pleasure throughout his body.

He gripped the sheets tightly as she worked her magic on him, completely lost in the sensations she was creating. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge with each passing second.

She could feel his body tensing beneath her as she continued to pleasure him. She knew he was close, but she wasn't ready to let him release just yet.

With a wicked grin, she stopped her movements and climbed off of him, leaving him panting and confused. But before he could protest, she straddled his face, positioning herself so that his tongue could reach her most sensitive spot.

He eagerly began to lick and suck on her, one hand gripping her hips tightly whilst the other stroked his erection, trying to push them both closer to the edge. She moaned loudly, grinding against his face as she rode out the pleasure.

Her body trembled as she reached her climax, crying out his name as waves of pleasure washed over her. His orgasm soon followed, coming out in long spurts into his hand yet he continued to please her with his mouth until she couldn't take it anymore, collapsing onto the bed beside him.

They lay there for a moment, both panting and trying to catch their breath. Kai’s presence, her unwavering belief in him, had worked its magic. He felt recharged, his mind clearer and more focused on the task ahead.

"Thank you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I needed that more than I realized."

Kai smiled, running her fingers through his hair. "Anytime, champ. Now go out there and show them what you’re made of."

Lewis nodded, a renewed determination in his eyes. He got up, beginning to get ready for the race, while Kai watched with a proud smile. They might have started the evening with doubt and tension, but now, thanks to their shared moment of intimacy, he was ready to face whatever the night would bring.

As he prepared to leave, Lewis pulled Kai into one last embrace. "I’ll be looking for you in the Paddock Club," he said, his voice filled with warmth.

"I’ll be there, cheering you on," she promised.

With a final kiss, he was out the door, heading towards the challenge ahead.

Need You (Dessert) - Las Vegas Grand Prix, 2023

Kai entered the Paddock Club, feeling rejuvenated and utterly content after her intimate rendezvous with Lewis. The luxurious space was abuzz with excitement, a stark contrast to the private world she and Lewis had shared just hours earlier. Here, everything was designed to cater to the elite, offering an unmatched view of the race and an array of top-notch services.

The Paddock Club was a stunning blend of sophistication and comfort. Large windows overlooked the pit lane, providing a perfect vantage point to watch the teams in action. The interior was sleek and modern, with plush seating areas, elegant decor, and multiple screens broadcasting live race footage. The air was filled with the hum of excited conversation, the clinking of champagne glasses, and the subtle undertones of anticipation.

Kai took full advantage of the amenities available. She started by freshening up in the exclusive spa-like restrooms, where attendants offered her luxurious hand towels and a selection of high-end toiletries. Feeling refreshed, she made her way to the gourmet buffet, where an array of international delicacies awaited. She selected a plate of sushi, some freshly sliced fruit, and a flute of champagne, savoring the exquisite flavors.

As she found a comfortable seat near the window, Kai allowed herself to soak in the ambiance. The Paddock Club was a world unto itself, filled with VIPs, celebrities, and corporate guests, all here to experience the thrill of Formula 1 in style. She spotted a few familiar faces from the entertainment industry and noted the presence of high-ranking executives from major sponsors, their conversations a blend of business and pleasure.

Despite the glamorous surroundings, Kai’s mind kept drifting back to Lewis. He had been an incredible lover, attentive and passionate, leaving her on cloud nine. But she reminded herself that he was just a client. She had a job to do, and professionalism was key. Yet, the connection they had shared was undeniable, and she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of seeing him again after the race.

Kai refocused on the task at hand, mingling with other guests and making sure to be seen by the right people. She networked effortlessly, her charm and poise winning over those she spoke with.

The race was about to start, and the atmosphere in the Paddock Club grew even more charged. Kai settled into her seat, her eyes fixed on the track below. She watched as the cars lined up, engines revving, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. When the lights went out and the race began, the roar of the engines was deafening, a visceral reminder of the power and speed on display.

Kai found herself caught up in the excitement, cheering Lewis on with every lap. She marveled at his skill and precision, each maneuver a testament to his prowess as a driver. Despite his starting position, he drove with determination and tenacity, making up places with each passing lap.

Throughout the race, she remained engaged, taking occasional sips of champagne and sharing animated conversations with fellow guests. But her focus always returned to the track, her thoughts never straying far from Lewis. She admired his resilience, knowing the pressure he was under and feeling a swell of pride for how he handled it.

As the race progressed, Kai's initial contentment from their earlier encounter transformed into a deep sense of admiration for Lewis. He was more than just a client; he was a remarkable individual who faced challenges head-on. She realized that, while her role required a semblance of professionalism, she couldn't deny the personal connection they had formed.

The final laps were intense, the tension palpable as the cars pushed to their limits. When Lewis crossed the finish line, she leaped to her feet, cheering and applauding his performance. Regardless of the outcome, she knew he had given everything he had, and that was something truly special.

The race had ended with Lewis securing a solid P7 finish, earning valuable points for his team. Despite the initial disappointment of his qualifying position, he had driven a determined race, overtaking multiple cars and demonstrating his exceptional skill and tenacity. After the checkered flag, he went through the usual routine of post-race interviews, answering questions about his performance and the team's strategy.

But throughout it all, his thoughts were consumed by Kai. The memory of their passionate encounter earlier in the evening fueled his desire, and he could hardly wait to be with her again. As soon as he was done with his media obligations, he hurried back to the garage, stripping off his racing suit with practiced efficiency.

Lewis quickly hit the showers, the hot water washing away the grime and sweat of the race. He scrubbed himself clean, but his mind was already racing ahead to the hotel suite where he knew Kai would be waiting for him. The anticipation built with every passing second, and he found himself moving faster, eager to get back to her.

When he finally arrived at the suite, his heart skipped a beat at the sight that greeted him. Kai was waiting for him on the bed, her expression a mix of desire and affection. The soft lighting cast a warm glow over her, highlighting the curves of her body and the inviting look in her eyes.

Lewis didn't waste a moment. He shed his clothes quickly, his movements urgent and deliberate. As he approached the bed, Kai's eyes followed him, her breath quickening with anticipation. He positioned himself between her legs, his body pressing against hers as he leaned down to capture her lips in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Their earlier tenderness was replaced by an intense, raw passion. Lewis's hands roamed her body, his touch both possessive and reverent. He kissed her deeply, tasting the sweetness of her lips and savoring every moment. Kai responded with equal fervor, her fingers digging into his back as she pulled him closer.

Lewis trailed kisses down her neck, his lips leaving a burning path along her skin. He nipped at her collarbone, eliciting a soft moan from Kai that only fueled his desire further. His hands caressed her curves, memorizing the feel of her beneath him.

"Kai," he murmured against her skin, his voice husky with need. "I’ve been thinking about you all night. I need you."

"I’m here," she whispered back, her voice breathless. "I’m yours."

His smile was wide and mischievous, baring all his teeth. It was a look filled with confidence and a hint of challenge, making Kai's pulse quicken. She met his gaze, her own excitement mirrored in his eyes.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low and slightly roughened with anticipation.

Kai nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Yes, I am."

"Turn around," he commanded softly, and Kai complied, feeling a shiver of excitement run down her spine. He helped position her on the bed, her hands resting on the mattress. She then felt him bound her ankles with something - a scarf perhaps? He tied her securely but still loose enough to ensure her comfort. The sensation of being bound, coupled with the trust she had in Lewis, sent a thrilling rush through her body.

Lewis's hands were on her then, firmer and more demanding than before. He ran his fingers along her spine, the touch both possessive and tender. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled again, that wide, confident grin that made her heart race. "Good."

His touch became rougher, his fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her back against him. The slight edge of dominance in his actions sent waves of arousal through her, and she moaned softly, her body responding eagerly to his commands.

Lewis slapped her lightly on the ass, a sharp but thrilling sensation that made her gasp. "You like that?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes," she replied, her voice trembling with excitement.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "Good girl," he whispered, his words sending shivers down her spine.

Kai's back arched as Lewis entered her from behind, his strong hands gripping her hips tightly. She couldn't help but moan at the feeling of fullness and the roughness of his touch.

Her thoughts were consumed by Lewis, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He knew exactly how to please her, how to drive her wild with desire.

"Harder," she gasped, gripping onto the sheets for leverage.

Lewis obliged, increasing the force behind his movements as he penetrated her. The intensity of his actions became more urgent and primal, driving Kai closer to release with every thrust. He planted his foot on the bed to steady himself as he pulled her arms back, trapping her between him and the mattress. With her ankles and arms restrained, Kai had no choice but to endure the full impact of his thrusts.

"Please," she moaned, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it.

Lewis's eyes darkened with desire as he heard the desperation in her voice. He shifted his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside of her that made Kai's eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Yes," she cried out, her body trembling with each thrust.

"Come for me," Lewis growled, his voice rough and commanding.

And she did. Kai's entire body shook as she reached her climax, waves of intense pleasure washing over her. Lewis followed soon after, groaning her name as he spilled himself inside of her.

They collapsed onto the bed together, both panting heavily and covered in sweat. Lewis untied Kai's ankles before pulling her into his arms, holding her close as they both caught their breath.

"That was..." Kai trailed off, still trying to find words to describe what had just happened between them.

"Incredible," Lewis finished for her with a smirk. "But we're not done yet."

Kai looked at him in surprise, but before she could say anything else, Lewis rolled them over so that she was on top.

"You didn’t think I would let you go without another round, did you?" he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

For the rest of the night and well into the morning hours, they continued to explore each other’s bodies and push each other to new heights of pleasure.

Are You Free? - Winter Break, 2023

A month had passed since that unforgettable weekend in Las Vegas, and Kai couldn't shake the thoughts of Lewis from her mind. She had thrown herself back into her OnlyFans content, keeping herself busy and entertaining her fans. But despite the flurry of activity, there was an emptiness she couldn't ignore. She missed him — their connection, the intensity, the way he made her feel truly seen.

Lewis had spoiled her lavishly, making sure she was well compensated for her time. But it wasn’t the money she found herself longing for. It was the man behind the generosity, the spark they had shared. She hadn’t accepted any offers to fly out to other clients since then, her heart not quite in it.

One evening, as she was scrolling through her phone, a WhatsApp notification popped up. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name: Lew Lew.

"Hey Kai, I’m sorry I haven’t reached out since Vegas. Things have been crazy with the rest of the season. Do you have your passport?"

Her fingers trembled as she typed back a quick response. "Yes, I have my passport."

His reply was almost immediate. "Great. Ever been to Brazil?"

Excitement surged through her as she read the message. "No, I haven’t," she replied, wondering what he was planning.

"Pack your bags, gorgeous. I’m sending a ticket. See you in São Paulo."

The journey to Brazil felt surreal. Kai was picked up by a chauffeur at the airport, the luxury of the arrangement making her feel like she was in a dream. The car wound its way through the bustling streets of São Paulo until it pulled up outside a stunning villa. Lewis was waiting for her, looking as effortlessly charismatic as ever.

As she stepped out of the car, he approached her with that familiar, warm smile. "Hey, baby," he said, pulling her into a tight hug. The warmth of his embrace and the scent of his cologne brought back a flood of memories, and she felt her heart swell with happiness.

"Hey, Lewis," she replied, her voice soft with emotion.

He took her hand and led her inside the villa. The interior was breathtaking, a perfect blend of modern elegance and comfort. As they walked through the spacious living room, she noticed a group of people lounging on the couches, chatting and laughing.

"Everyone, this is Kai," Lewis announced, his voice carrying an easy confidence. "She’ll be joining us on the trip."

The group looked up, welcoming her with warm smiles and friendly greetings. Lewis introduced them one by one. "This is Spinz, Louis, and Jas. Guys, this is Kai."

As the night wore on, Lewis took her aside, leading her to a quiet corner of the villa’s lush garden. "I’m really happy you came, Kai. I’ve missed you," he admitted, his voice sincere.

"I’ve missed you too, Lewis," she replied, looking up at him. "I’ve thought about you every day since Vegas."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Me too. I want you to know that you’re not just some random girl to me. You’re special."

Her heart raced at his words, a mixture of hope and longing swelling within her. "You’re special to me too, Lewis."

He kissed her then, a tender and lingering kiss that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid. It was a promise of more to come, a reassurance that this connection they shared was real and worth exploring.

As they pulled back, he smiled at her, that same wide, mischievous smile that had first captured her heart. "Welcome to Brazil, Kai. Let’s make this trip unforgettable."

And with that, they rejoined the others, ready to embark on a new adventure together, their bond stronger than ever.

[bruhnze]

Can you write something about Lucy dealing with adhd, or somthing with Ona too

Eres incorregible - Lucy Bronze x Ona Battle

summary: fictional story about Lucy Bronze and having adhd, this is written because multiple people had the request of such a fic.

wordcount: 2554, a little one🥺

warnings: none

Eres incorregible

Lucy Bronze had always thrived on a fast-paced, high-energy lifestyle.

As a professional footballer, her life was a whirlwind of training sessions, matches and constant travel. She had enough new incentives every day to keep her from being bored, her job was perfect for her. Like how she got the opportunity to live in France for two years.

But when the COVID-19 pandemic struck, the world suddenly stopped and so did Lucy’s rhythm. Without the daily demands that usually kept her grounded, Lucy found herself struggling with an unsettling stillness.

In the early days of lockdown, Lucy’s restlessness took over. With no challenging workouts or team meetings to attend, she threw herself into home projects with the same intensity she brought to the pitch. She redid the entire house interior, tackled every little task she had put off while living in Lyon, and when that was done she even repainted the outdoor fence. But once everything in and around the house was in perfect order, Lucy found herself with too much time on her hands and too little to do.

With no more home improvements to make, her energy turned inward. She obsessively watched her football matches, replaying them over and over again. She studied the games, analyzing every move, every strategy, until the matches blurred together.

Desperation for new challenges led her to learn to breakdance, following how tutorials on how to stand on her head and do the worm, skills she even convinced her girlfriend at the time, Keira, to learn with her. The two of them spent hours mastering these ridiculous feats, laughing until their sides hurt, but the laughter wasn’t enough to fill the void.

Lucy tried to keep herself occupied with online campaigns and challenges, including the Nike Living Room Challenge. She worked out in the garden for hours on end, sometimes pushing herself through five-hour sessions just to stave off the boredom.

Despite all this, the days felt endless. Her usual six hours of sleep dwindled to four or five, the quiet nights stretching out. The days getting more and more repettative.

The constant boredom began to take its toll. Little irritations flared up between her and Keira. The tension simmered under the surface, small arguments breaking out over nothing, the kind of friction that only arises when two people are confined together with no escape.

During one of her weekly online meetings with her psychologist, Lucy was asked a question that she hadn’t expected: “Have you ever thought about whether you might have adhd?”.

The suggestion caught Lucy a little off guard. She had always been a bundle of energy, but she had never considered that there might be a reason behind it. The psychologist referred her to a psychiatrist, who conducted a thorough evaluation. After a few sessions, some alone, some with her parents or with Keira, the diagnosis was confirmed.

Initially, the diagnosis didn’t change much for Lucy. She didn’t feel different, but with tips and tricks the specialist offered her to manage her energy and focus, she actually delt a lot better with all of the access energy she had and got less stuck in her head.

Lucy and Keira even attended some therapy sessions together, learning how to navigate their relationship now that they had a better understanding of that side of Lucy.

Without her usual outlet of intense physical exercise, Lucy took up some new hobbies like cooking, baking, painting and even building LEGO sets. These activities helped, providing her with some sense of structure and accomplishment throughout the days.

When life began to return to normal, Lucy noticed how much daily exercise had been essential for clearing her head. With her regular training back in place, she found it easier to focus on other responsibilities, like answering emails and managing her personal life. The physical exertion also improved the quality of her sleep, and for a while, everything seemed to be falling into place.

..

However, years later, the challenges resurfaced when Lucy underwent knee surgery. Now playing for FC Barcelona in Spain, she hadn't really thought back on the quarantine period for a while, until it all started to feel a little familiar again.

Forced to take a break from football, Lucy found herself once again trapped between the walls of her home, an apartment without a garden this time, unable to channel her energy into the sport she loved.

Her girlfriend, noticed the change immediately. She and Ona had ofcourse spoken about the fact that she had adhd, but she had explained that she managed really good because she had sports as an outlet for her energy.

Ona observed Lucy climbing the walls, more restless than ever, biting her nails until they were raw. The living room had become a makeshift football dome, with Lucy watching game after game, analyzing the performances of herself and other great defenders. She even started studying the stories of up-and-coming male footballers, determined to use this downtime to improve her own game, even with her dodgy knees.

But the obsession took its toll. Lucy started skipping entire nights of sleep, her mind too wired to rest. She spent every waking hour thinking about football, neglecting everything else.

When she and Ona had dinner, Ona couldn’t help but notice that while Lucy was still physically present, her mind was elsewhere, consumed by her own thoughts. Ona didn’t mind picking up the slack around the house, doing all the choirs as Lucy was recovering, but she couldn’t ignore the growing distance between them.

One evening, Ona finally voiced her concerns. “Lucy, have you thought about talking to a professional? I’m worried about you.”

Lucy was taken aback by the suggestion, but Ona’s sincerity struck a chord. Realizing the strain her behavior was putting on their relationship, Lucy scheduled an appointment with her psychologist, who advised her to talk to the psychiatrist again. During their session, the psychiatrist suggested trying medication to help manage her adhd, explaining her behavoir was coming from the fact she wasn’t physically challenged anymore.

Lucy was hesitant. She didn’t want to take anything that might be considered a performance-enhancing drug, like Ritalin or Adderall, which could be seen as a form of doping. After discussing her options, Lucy was prescribed Atomoxetine, a non-stimulant medication.

At first, the change was remarkable.

Lucy began helping with household chores again, her day-night schedule normalized and she was more engaged in conversations with Ona. She even started going out with friends again and attending training sessions to watch and connect with the team again. It seemed like things were finally looking up.

But as the weeks went by, Ona noticed some troubling things. Like that Lucy had stopped eating breakfast, brushing it off by saying she just didn’t feel hungry in the mornings anymore. Ona felt like her once vibrant spark seemed to dim and while she no longer bit her nails, Ona missed the little sign that Lucy was feeling stressed or excited, even though she always told Lucy to stop it. Lucy had become a shadow of her former self - calm and composed, but emotionally distant.

Their physical relationship also suffered. It had been a while since they had been intimate and while Ona didn’t want to push Lucy, she couldn’t ignore the growing gap between them.

Even when Lucy had been recovering from her knee surgery, she had found ways to make their relationship work. But now, Lucy seemed uninterested, as if the medication had dulled not just her restlessness but her passion as well.

One night, as they lay in bed, Ona decided to confront the issue.

“Are you happy?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucy, already half-asleep, blinked in confusion. “Hm? I don’t know, yes… why?”

“You just seem a little distant,” Ona replied, turning on the bedside lamp to see Lucy’s face.

Lucy sighed, pulling Ona closer as if to shield herself from the truth.

“I don’t really feel like myself,” she admitted after a long pause. “But everything is going so much better now. I’m functioning better. Isn’t that what matters?”.

Ona sat up, her expression full of concern. “For who, Lucy? For me? Because I’d rather have you back - the real you - even if it means things aren’t perfect all the time.”

Lucy’s heart ached at Ona’s words. “I’ve been a bad girlfriend,” she said softly. “But I’m trying to do better. I can do the chores now, I’m not obsessing over football as much… I’m trying.”

“But you’re not you, Lucy,” Ona said gently. “Your emotions are dulled. I miss the happy Lucy who danced while making breakfast, the silly Lucy who made me laugh every day and kissed me. I’d rather have that Lucy back, even if it means you’re a little more chaotic.”

A tear rolled down Lucy’s cheek. “Have I not been kissing you?” she asked, her voice tinged with sorrow. “I love you, Ona. I don’t want to lose you.”

Ona leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Lucy’s cheek. “You’re not losing me, I know you love me. And I love you too—every part of you, even the messy bits. Maybe it’s time to talk to the specialist again, see if there’s another way. I don’t care if you’re a little crazy sometimes. I just want you to be happy.”

Lucy nodded, her heart heavy but hopeful. “I’ll talk to her again. Maybe a lower dose, or… something’’.

“We’ll figure it out together, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone,” Ona reassured her, holding Lucy close, ‘’if it were up to me we ask her if you can stop taking the meds’’.

In the following weeks, Lucy worked closely with her psychiatrist to adjust her medication. She got a schedule she followed to gradually reduce the dose so that she will have the most chance to not get any symptoms from quitting.

She started dancing in the kitchen again, even if her knee wasn’t fully recovered. She found joy in the little things, cooking breakfast with or for Ona, walking their dogs Coco and Narla, and yes, even obsessing over football. But now, there was a healthy balance. She still had her intense focus, but it was tempered by the love and support of the people around her. Mostly Ona. And now, even though she’d stopped taking the medication, she seemed to be in a better headspace then before, she talked a lot with Ona, giving her a insight into all the things she found difficult, so that they could tackle them together.

Ona was really sweet and caring, she knew it was hard for Lucy to not be able to practice the thing she loved the most in the hole world and tried to be as much of a supporting factor to her girlfriend as possible.

..

One night Ona came back home, Lucy had been at the hospital today, a final check for her knee, if it was cleared Lucy could start training with the team again on Monday. She hoped Lucy had gotten good news, she had texted her about how it had been, but she hadn’t gotten a reply even though the appointment had been in the morning. A little hesitant she opened the door, afraid Lucy might’ve had bad news.

She was met with the sight of a house way cleaner than she knew she had left it. She heared soft music playing in the kitchen.

‘’Luce?’’ she kicked her shoes off and dropped her bags.

Ona stepped in to the appartment and a lovely smell of dinner that was being prepared entered her nose. She walked to the kitchen and saw Lucy stirring up some vegetables.

She smiled as she observed her for a few minutes, a happy Lucy was the best Lucy, she always loved the English defender, but on moments like these she felt her heart beating a little faster. The casually swaying her hips, the humming with the music and the fact that Lucy had been so sweet to clean the house and prepare dinner, it was perfect.

Ona walked to Lucy and wrapped herself around the taller woman from behind, her unanounced touch made Lucy jump slightly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “Hey, baby, you’re home,” Lucy said, her voice tender.

‘’Mhm’’ Ona hummed against the muscular shoulders, ‘’you are my home’’.

Lucy put the fire a little lower and took Ona’s hands to give her a little space to turn around, ‘’hello’’ Lucy smiled, with a loving gaze she leaned in, her lips meeting Ona’s in a gentle, affectionate kiss.

It was a kiss that spoke volumes, soft and lingering, a silent promise of comfort and togetherness. The tender pressure of their lips was complemented by the gentle brush of Lucy’s fingers against Ona’s cheek, a subtle yet profound gesture of the love and care they shared. For a moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace and the sweetness of their kiss, which reassured them both that things were good between them.

Lucy felt a renewed sense of determination. No matter what challenges laid ahead, she knew she would face them with Ona by her side. After all, she was Lucia Tough Bronze, unstoppable both on and off the field.

With a playful glint in her eyes, Lucy pulled back slightly, looking at Ona with a mischievous smile. “Did you know I’ve won everything in life?” she asked.

Ona, catching the sparkle in Lucy’s gaze, tilted her head with a knowing smile. She had seen this look before, the blend of Lucy’s playful charm and genuine affection. “Oh? what makes you say that?” she chuckled, ready for another of Lucy’s cheesy lines.

Lucy’s smile widened as she took Ona’s hands in hers, holding them gently. “Because I have you,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity and emotion. “Honestly, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world. With you by my side, everything just feels perfect.”

Ona’s smile deepened, touched by Lucy’s words. “I love you too Lucy.”

Lucy’s expression softened as she gently cupped Ona’s face in her hands and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “No, I mean it. You’re perfect,” she said quietly. “I love that you’ve been so patient with me, that you see and care about the real me.”

Ona leaned in and kissed the taller woman gently. “Ofcourse, speaking of caring about you, I assume things went well with the doctor?”.

Lucy’s expression clouded for a moment. “I texted you, right? Everything went well,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m back to training with the team again.”

Ona raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Actually, no, you didn’t text me. But I’m glad to hear it was good news,” she said, giving Lucy another affectionate kiss. “I almost started missing your silly distractions.”

“Hey!” Lucy protested playfully. “They’re not silly, they make people laugh.” She pulled out her phone and began scrolling. “I swear I sent you a message.”

After a few moments, she chuckled. “Oh, I sent it to my mom instead. Oops.”

Ona shook her head with an amused smile and gently took Lucy's arms, pulling her into an embrace. She nestled her head against Lucy’s shoulder, savoring the closeness. ‘’ets incorregible’’ she chuckled.

[anystalker707]

A little show

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender-neutral] Reader Kinktober prompt: Obedience Tags: he's so lovely / masturbation / dirty talking (?)

KINKTOBER LIST MASTERLIST

          You’d been sitting on a wooden box on the top deck during night watch for a few minutes—before that, you were up in the crow’s nest until you started to feel restless, deciding to wander around for a little. Night watches weren’t necessarily the most interesting thing ever, and it’d been a particularly agitated day that now faded into boredom; the crew had just left the last island by the beginning of the night, and most of them went to bed earlier than usual. You were busy observing the stars in the dark sky when footsteps brought you back to reality, but you didn’t look away from the sky. That pattern of steps was familiar.

Sanji soon came into view, holding a plate in hand. He smiled a little bit, eyes averting away once you looked up at him. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, we couldn’t spend a lot of time together today. I prepared this for you.”

The plate that Sanji offered you had a small portion of dessert on it—one of your favorites. Your eyebrows raised lightly as you took the plate in hand, humming softly.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You took the spoon in hand, taking a good look at the dessert before you could even try it. Sanji always put such dedication into the dishes’ presentation.

Meanwhile, Sanji looked around, scratching the side of his neck. There was no other box he could place next to yours to sit with you, and sitting on the barrel would leave you two too distant from each other. He also didn’t want to make you sit on the floor. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he knelt down on the ground and sat back down on his legs, kind of sideways so that he could be closer to you. His head rested on the thigh that was in front of him, his cheek pressing to the fabric of your pants. Your fingers ran through his hair, making Sanji let out a soft hum, closing his eyes for a moment.

“This tastes so good,” you said while eating the dessert and wrapping your legs around Sanji, hooking your ankles together. “I mean, of course, it does. No dish of yours is ever bad.”

Sanji felt his cheeks heat up at the compliment. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I bought the ingredients for it while we were on that island. I’m glad you like it,” he mumbled.

“I love it,” you said, tasting until the last bit of it before carefully setting the plate on the barrel nearby. Your eyes fell on Sanji, and your heart fluttered a little at seeing him there, like this. “Missed me that much? We were just apart for a few hours,” you said softly, running your hands through his hair, gently massaging his scalp with your fingertips.

“Well, today,” Sanji mumbled. “I was very busy with dinner yesterday, so the most we did was spend time together when you sat at the table while I cooked.”

You thought back to it, slowly nodding. “Yeah, sounds like it.” Silence fell between you as you observed Sanji for a long moment, still running your fingers through his hair, taking in the image of him by your feet like that. It wasn’t the first time it happened, but it still made your chest warm all the same. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to his head. “Cutie,” you whispered, and despite only being able to see the back of his head, you could clearly imagine him blushing.

Sanji nuzzled your thigh gently, pressing his face to it. “‘Missed you,” he mumbled with his voice muffled. He turned his head a little, looking up at you through his bangs with such eyes that made something in your chest twist.

“I missed you too,” you whispered with a smile.

He shifted, folding both of his arms over your thighs and resting his chin on them. “Y’know, I really missed you,” he mumbled quietly. Even with limited lighting, you could see the red tone that took over his cheeks.

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned forward a little, cupping both of Sanji’s cheeks to caress them briefly before running your fingers through his strands once more. “Yeah? How much?”

Sanji pouted a little bit, his eyes averting away for a moment again. “…I need you,” he whispered quietly. He moved his arms a little so that he could rest his head against your thigh again, pressing a soft kiss to it.

No answer came from you at first; you only observed Sanji, thinking about what you could do for him without spending a lot of your energy. Nami had made you walk quite a lot through the island earlier today.

“Show me how much.” You caught his attention again, his blue eyes observing you for context. “No one else is here. You can show me how I make you feel, or just show me what you do when I’m not around. You think you can do that for me?” Your forehead touched his as you leaned forward, hands on his shoulders.

“Oh,” Sanji muttered as he looked back at you, breath hitching in his throat. Just the thought of it was making him flustered already. “Anything for you.” The idea of putting up a show just for you was exciting, honestly. Just the fact that your eyes were following each of his movements was something meaningful for him, making a shiver run down his spine in anticipation as he leaned back to give himself some space.

You leaned forward with your elbows on your thighs, eyes fixated on him, watching it as he unbuttoned his dress pants and pulled the zipper down. He pushed his pants and underwear down just enough for his cock to be out. It was only half hard, but it wasn’t something that couldn’t be fixed with a few strokes as he hissed, feeling the cold night air.

“Slow down,” you said, noticing the excessive urgency in his movements. Of course, Sanji whined, but he still did as told to. “We have all night long, after all. Give me your hand.”

Sanji pulled his hand away from himself reluctantly. Nonetheless, the frown was replaced by a surprised and flustered expression once he saw you spit on his hand, making it a generous amount. He stared at his own hand for a moment and slowly wrapped it back around his cock when you motioned for him to rush.

It felt better, of course. Sanji’s hand slid against his own cock a little easier, and he knew the eventual pre-cum would add up and make it even better later. He observed himself for a moment before looking up at you, though he couldn’t really hold your gaze—it made his mind rush and his cheeks burn more as his eyes drove away from yours. Sanji’s breath started falling out of pace as he moved his hand faster; his movements faltered when he felt your fingers on his chin to gently turn his head towards you.

“I’d appreciate it if you looked at me,” you whispered, looking into his eyes. “I want to see your pretty face. You make such cute expressions, did y’know that? That’s why I prefer it when we face each other while fucking. So that I can see your pretty face.”

Sanji’s eyebrows knitted together, and he bit his lip, whining a little as he tightened his hand around himself. You let go of his chin and looked down, watching his hand firmly work around his cock—it was hard in Sanji’s hand, the flushed pink tip sometimes disappearing under his hand.

“That’s it,” you whispered with a smile. The view of Sanji on his knees, sitting back on his feet like that with his cock in hand and whining for you… That was so hot. His other hand clutched on his pants, resting over his thigh. “So good for me,” you said as your eyes met his again.

Sanji nodded, taking a deep breath through his nose and slowly releasing it through his mouth while twisting his hand around himself a little, right at the base. He was starting to leak; the thick fluid already dripping down his tip.

“Why don’t you give more attention to the head, hm?” You made a motion with your hand before you rested your elbow on your thigh and your cheek on your palm. “I know how much you like to be touched there,” you muttered while observing Sanji slowly run his finger over the swollen tip, spreading the pre-cum over it; his thighs quivered. “Your legs always go weak whenever I suck your tip, and you get very loud. It also makes you cum quickly when I lick that spot under your tip, isn’t it?”

Sanji let out a shaky moan, his thumb pressing to his slit to collect the pre-cum that escaped it before he was stroking his cock again. It throbbed in his hand. Quite a sight. He took a while, but he did nod in confirmation to your words.

“Yeah,” you muttered with a soft sigh, trying to take in every single detail of the scene. “Why don’t you give it some attention as well, hm? Come on, touch all the spots you like. Make yourself feel good, sweetheart.”

“Y—Yes,” Sanji said with a soft whine. He had to take a moment, stroking his cock in a slower motion, then he finally let his thumb wander to the sensitive spot under the head. A whimper, and he placed his free hand behind himself to lean back on it, his hips bucking a little into his hand. “Mmph, fuck,” he moaned. The new touch made his cock twitch more in his hand, also leaking more.

“You look so good like this,” you sighed, watching Sanji struggle each time more to keep his hips still.

“Can I—”

“Hold it,” you cut Sanji off immediately, in a way his words lost themselves in a whine while he squirmed, thighs quivering while he held the base of his cock tightly, taking deep breaths. “Are you that easy? Do you really get more sensitive just from having me watch you?” You clicked your tongue, shaking your head as you pretended to be disappointed. It had Sanji’s eyes traveling to the ground as his head fell a little, the way it did whenever he wanted his hair to cover his face. “I already told you, sweetheart,” you said in a partially soft tone, “keep your eyes on me.”

Sanji hummed softly, shaking his head to throw some bangs away from his face. It was basically useless; some strands had stuck to his skin because of the sweat.

“Please,” Sanji whispered as he started slowly moving his hand around his cock, but he kept a certain distance from the tip, focusing on its length.

“You can hold on for a little longer,” you encouraged with a nod.

He groaned in frustration, but he complied. Sanji moved his hand slowly, always careful, enjoying the little break he had without any order aside from not cumming yet. He looked down at himself, pressing his lips together as he traced the veins along the underside of his cock, making it twitch in his hand with how his fingers made their way up.

Sanji inhaled deeply, groaning as he slowly started jerking himself off again, pressing his eyes shut. His hand was all sloppy with his pre-cum already, making it slide just nicely along his cock. It felt even better now.

“Please,” he gasped, opening his eyes again to look at you.

There was no response. Your eyes were on Sanji’s cock, following his hand’s motions, without giving his words a drop of attention. He whined, thrusting into his hand.

“Please, (y/n), please… Love of my life, my sweetheart, my dear, my everything,” Sanji mumbled among moans. Sometimes, the words ran one into the other. How cute. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you hummed with a nod, “you can cum.”

Sanji gasped, letting out a breath he had been holding as he started jerking himself off freely. He bit his lip when he ran his thumb over his tip again, muffling a moan, but it didn’t do much. He wasn’t very good at keeping silent, as much as he tried. As if proving it, Sanji’s mouth fell open with a moan as he furrowed his eyebrows and he was cumming all over his hand and part of the deck, messily moving his hips to meet his hands’ motion.

“Mmph, my love,” Sanji gasped, continuing to stroke himself through his high until his thighs were twitching, edging the overstimulation, but not quite there. He needed a second to recover, resting his head against your thigh again as he tried to catch his breath. He knew how to seek affection.

A smile tugged on your hips, your fingers running through his hair, soothingly. “That’s it,” you whispered, “you did so well, sweetheart.”

Sanji hummed softly in acknowledgment, leaning into your touches. As you cupped his cheek, he turned his head to press a kiss to your palm.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[otomes-and-tears]

If its ok, I wanna request a qiu x reader (step 2) where reader keeps doodling qiu subconciously and they end up dropping one of their doodles somewhere, and qiu finds it :0 sorry if this is formatted wrong, ive never requested something before aaa!!!!

♦ Qiu finds MC's drawing of them ♦

►tags and warnings: GN reader, Step 2

► words: 1696 words

► A/N: I AM ALIVE I SWEAR I promise I can still write more than just Shiloh brainrot!

► Masterlist

It wasn’t really on purpose.

MC was trapped in the clutches of a terrible art block. It had been weeks since they managed to draw something they were satisfied with, and the creative stagnation gnawed at them, leaving them restless. Then there was Qiu, sitting a few seats ahead, their messy hair carelessly tied into a crooked ponytail, soft features relaxed in quiet boredom. MC didn’t even realize they had started sketching Qiu until the drawing was done— their fingertips smudged with graphite as they blended the last of the rough shading into the pencil sketch.

It looked good. Far better than any of their recent, fruitless attempts at drawing. The creases on their baggy sweater and the small intricacies of their expression almost perfectly captured in their style.

Part of MC wanted to brag, to walk up to Qiu and show them the drawing as a triumphant declaration that their terrible, horrible art block was finally over. But as soon as Qiu’s gaze found theirs, those soft eyes blinking slowly, like a cat, and that small, smug smile appearing on their lips, far too pleased with having caught MC staring, MC knew they couldn’t give Qiu any more reason to tease them.

It’s bound to be just a one-time thing, anyway.

…

It wasn’t a one-time thing.

Drawing Qiu became muscle memory, in the same way that drawing hearts or five-point stars, the kind with lines in the middle, became after an eternity of doodling them on the edges of notebooks.

There was just something easy about it. 

MC knew their neighbour so well that they didn’t even need a reference to capture the nuances of Qiu’s smile—the way the right side of their lips lifted just a touch higher than the left, the arch of their brows, or the slight widening of their eyes when surprised. It was effortless.

It becomes a warm-up exercise before the artist’s other drawings and a quick way to break the slump off art blocks, or even something mindless MC does in the middle of a particularly dull classes both share— they do suspect Qiu knew about those but never bothered them with requests to see the drawings, leaving MC to their quiet obsession.

What was embarrassing was how often they’d find themselves obsessing over the perfect way to angle their wrists to capture the sharp swoop of Qiu’s dark bangs to imply just the right amount of movement, or the fact that they filled so many pages of their sketchbook with studies of Qiu during ballet class that they had to replace it with a fresh one.

Their anatomy skills had improved dramatically in the meantime. But was it worth it, trading artistic growth for Qiu’s obvious disappointment when MC stopped letting them flip through their sketchbook? Or having to learn to draw things quickly and discreetly?

“You dropped a page.” MC says, flatly. Qiu is rummaging though their gym bag in search of their  earphones, notepad hanging precariously in their coat pocket. “Again.”

By this point, Qiu had long given up on retrieving whatever papers they lost, but MC still informed them out of habit anyway. Despite their disinterest, Qiu’s eyes scanned the floor—until they paused, bending down to pick the page up. 

The action immediately catches MC’s attention. It would usually take a lot of insistence for Qiu to bother, if they did at all.

"Started caring about the environment again?" 

MC teased. Qiu just snickered, unfolding the page with a widening smile. A smile that grew into something MC could only describe as pure, unbridled glee. That’s when MC noticed the paper wasn’t the usual color, weight, or size. It was larger, thinner, and undeniably from MC’s sketchbook.

“I was wondering when you’d let me see these drawings,” Qiu said, turning the page to reveal one of MC’s most recent sketches—a detailed study of Qiu, brows furrowed in concentration as they scribbled in their notepad, done only a few hours ago, just before lunchtime. There were also smaller drawings on the margins done in a more simplified style, all of Qiu. "When did I become your muse?”

MC’s breath caught in their throat as Qiu held up the sketch, a wave of embarrassment hitting them so hard they felt they could drown in it. Their little habit was a badly-kept secret, but it doesn’t mean that MC was looking forward to being found out.

Regardless, the question hung in the air, and MC knew that there was no universe in which Qiu would let it go without satisfying answers

Each second MC passed without answering only made Qiu’s grin grow further, their warm brown eyes flickering between the sketch and the artist responsible for creating it, a glint of mischief dancing in them.

“You know,” they continued, voice light and playful, “if you wanted me to model for you, all you had to do was ask.”

“No! I wasn’t— It’s not like that!” 

MC could feel the heat crawling up the back of their neck as they stammard, mind racing as they frantically searched for an excuse that would be any less mortifying than the truth.

Qiu’s smile softened, feeling bad for their friend’s embarrassment, even if they were having fun with their flustered reaction. Despite how much their personality had changed throughout the years, that was a small aspect Qiu would never be able to grow out of— despite their incessant teasing, they deeply cared for their neighbour, and didn’t like taking things too far for the sake of their comfort.

“Is that so?” they asked, the teasing edge in their voice giving way to something a little softer. "Because it seems like you’ve been drawing me a lot."

MC felt the weight of their own silence, the silent, embarrassing admission that came with it. 

Drawing Qiu had become a part of their routine. A habit, an easy way to keep up with their goal of drawing every day.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” MC finally said, pushing through their mortification to grant Qiu their answer. They glanced down at their hands, fingers still smudged with graphite, as if the evidence of their fixation was written all over them, taunting them. “I just… you were easy to draw. You’re always around, and I—” They paused. I can’t stop thinking about you. The words linger, right on the tip of their tongue. “I guess it just… happened.”

The playful gleam in Qiu’s eyes is replaced by something tender, a warmth they knew all too well.

“You know,” Qiu said slowly, carefully, as if trying not to spook them “I don’t mind being your muse.”

MC blinked, caught off guard by Qiu’s sincerity. They looked up, meeting Qiu’s gaze fully, and for the first time in a long time, there was no playfulness or carefully feigned disinterest in their eyes. Just warmth.

“You don’t—” MC began, stammering, struggling to find the right words, “you don’t think it’s… weird?”

“Why would it be weird? You’re an artist. Artists need inspiration, right?” Qiu glanced down at the sketch again, running a finger gently over the paper, careful not to smudge it. “And I’m honored. I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s inspiration before. Much less to my favorite artist”

Somehow, MC doubts that. Judging by Qiu’s popularity in town, having been the crush of at least half of Golden Grove’s kids within their age group, they have absolutely zero doubts that Qiu has been the source of many ‘a angsty poem scribbled in someone’s diary.

Regardless, they felt their chest tighten at Qiu’s words, eyes widening as their mind replays the dancer’s words, over and over. They were Qiu’s favorite artist? Qiu didn’t mind being drawn?

That fills them with much needed relief, the tension from their body slowly dissipating.

“I’m not sure how much of an inspiration you really are,” 

MC muttered, trying to deflect some of the intensity of the moment with humor, but the warmth in their voice betrayed them.

“Oh, come on. I’ve clearly been *very* inspirational.” Qiu gestured at the sketch in their hand, then raised a brow. “How many of these are there, anyway? Ten?”

“…More.”

“More? Seriously?”

MC couldn’t help but smile now, the absurdity of it all catching up with them as they shake their head, disappointed at themselves.

“Uh, like, a lot of my last sketchbook? It’s just… you’re always around, and you’ve got this…” They gestured vaguely at Qiu, trying to find the right words. “This vibe. You’re fun to draw.”

Qiu raised an eyebrow, leaning in, invading their personal space enough that they could smell the subtle scent of cinnamon from their shampoo, voice dropping to a playful murmur. 

“Easy, huh? So you *have* been staring at me a lot.”

MC rolled their eyes, shoving Qiu lightly, but there was no malice in it. It’s true, as much as they hated to admit it, they had observed the dancer so much as to be able to draw them from memory.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” 

But Qiu just smiled, softer again. 

“I’m flattered,” they said, their voice gentle. “Really.”

MC didn’t know what to say to that. There was a lump in their throat, an unspoken understanding passing between them that felt both overwhelming and comforting. They had known each other for years by that point, after all, but In that moment, something shifted. The awkwardness, the teasing, even the embarrassment—it all melted away like snow in spring time, leaving behind only the quiet connection between them. Their unbreakable bond. It was comfortable in the way few things are.

Qiu handed the sketch back to MC, their fingers brushing for just a second felt almost electrifying. Has it always felt like this?

“Keep drawing me,” they said, voice quiet but resolute. “If it helps you, keep doing it. No need to hide it.”

When their eyes meet again, and they can sense Qiu’s sincerity, their heart races once more. They accept the drawing, storing it safely inside their sketchbook before they continue on their way home.

Maybe they didn’t have the words for everything they felt just yet, but right now, this moment was enough.

[decagondice]

༓ Why the mask? ༓

Soft!Toji x Reader, Incredibly stupid humour, Reader is called an idiot (jokingly), Normal au.

The steady murmur of rain against the window filled the room, its rhythmic patter creating a veil of sound that made the outside world feel miles away. The air was tinged with the faint, lingering aroma of your half-finished tea on the coffee table, mingling with the subtle musk of worn leather from the couch and the comforting traces of his cologne—a scent that clung to him like a second skin, warm and familiar. Toji sat at one end of the couch, his posture relaxed but with a touch of fatigue weighing down his usually sharp gaze. His eyes, though piercing, seemed softer, lids heavy as though sleep was teasing at the edges of his awareness.

Your legs were draped comfortably over his lap, the curve of your ankle resting against his thigh, a natural gesture that spoke of the easy familiarity between you. Toji’s hand, almost absent-mindedly, moved to rest on your shin, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, a touch so casual it could almost be mistaken for thoughtless. But you knew better; even in his fatigue, even in this quiet moment, that touch carried with it a kind of instinctive intimacy.

You had been restless for hours, the rain trapping you indoors, boredom swirling through your thoughts until something foolish popped into your head—a joke so silly, so childish, that you knew you just had to see it through. The moment you thought of it, you could already imagine the look on Toji’s face, that mix of confusion and reluctant amusement that he wore whenever you did something ridiculous just to get a reaction out of him.

“You know,” you started, tilting your head slightly as you let your eyes sweep over his face and a faux-seriousness settling into your features, “you look different today. Kind of... intimidating. Scary. Have you done something to your face?”

Toji's expression didn’t change much—he simply blinked at you, his brows slowly and tiredly lifting just a fraction with the barest hint of curiosity flickering across his neutral expression. A ghost of a smile threatened to pull at his lips, but he held it back not quite committing to it yet, instead fostering a gaze steady and unimpressed. “Intimidating?” he drawled, voice roughened by the day's wear. “I didn’t realise I was trying to scare you off. Or, better still, don't tell me you’ve only just realised that my looks are just too good for you to handle.” There was a playful dryness to his tone, almost a dare for you to continue.

“Hardly,” You shot back, rolling your eyes with exaggerated exasperation. “But, really. What did you do? Trying to chase off trick-or-treaters in advance?” You leaned back against the cushions, a smirk forming on your lips as you continued with your feigned seriousness.

Finally, he allowed the corner of his lips to twitch upward, letting out a low disbelieving chuckle, the sound rough but unexpectedly gentle like gravel rolling gently underfoot. He reached up, almost on instinct, fingers brushing along his cheek to his jawline as though checking for some invisible fault you’d pointed out. His touch was slow and deliberate, a momentary pause that seemed to ground him, his brow furrowing in a way that made him look almost vulnerable, searching his own expression like a man checking his armour for cracks.

“Come on, don't mess with me,” he said, his voice quieter now, shaking his head slightly with a hint of amusement colouring his exhaustion. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, sitting here with a straight face, making me doubt my good looks.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at that, your lips curving despite your best efforts to maintain the ruse. Unable to hold back any longer with your facade wavering, you shifted closer, leaning in just slightly, as if to share a conspiracy. “Listen,” you said, your tone teasing but now tinged with a hint of laughter. “I get that Halloween is right around the corner, but seriously—give your face a break by taking off the mask already. It’s horrifying.”

Mask? But, he wasn’t wearing one.

He blinked, then turned his gaze to the dark screen of his phone, squinting slightly at his reflection to check his face in its glossy surface as if genuinely wondering if you were onto something. The sight was so absurd that it almost broke your composure. Almost. You watched as realisation dawned on his face that you were indeed talking about nothing at all this whole time, and despite his best efforts to suppress it, a slow smile spread across his lips—a smile that lit up his features even as he tried to hide it by turning his head. In the corner of his eyes he caught the subtle twitch of your lips and let out a low, gravelly laugh that seemed to rumble from deep in his chest.

“You’re such an idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him completely. His thumb continued to trace gentle circles on your ankle moving up towards your knee, the firmer touch a grounding point between you both like he needed his caress to anchor the moment. A subtle reminder of his presence, his attention, almost possessive in its casualness despite the tiredness that still lingered in his eyes.

And that was when you finally let your own laughter spill out—soft, unrestrained, the kind of laugh that comes from somewhere deep in your chest. You couldn’t help it, not when you saw the way he was looking at you now, his eyes narrow with mock irritation but glinting with something unmistakably fond. 

The tired lines of his face softened slightly, the hint of a smile touching his lips—barely there but impossible to miss when you knew where to look. He didn’t even bother to mask the way his tired smile grew wider as he watched you lose it, shaking his head again with a look that said he was both baffled and endlessly amused by your antics. "You really are something else," he said quietly, his voice softer now, like a confession meant only for you.

 “Naturally,” you breathed out your simple, almost playful agreement, still catching your breath from your own silliness, and you caught the quick flicker of his eyes meeting yours, something unspoken passing between you. He turned his head away slowly, ostensibly staring at the rain-streaked window, but you could see the way his lips curved just so, betraying the fondness he tried to mask.

He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. In the quiet, with the rain as your backdrop and his hand still resting on your leg, his touch was enough. In the way his fingers traced your skin, like a habit he couldn’t break, you understood that the silence between you was rich with meaning, filled with the slow burn of affection that didn’t need grand declarations to be felt. The joke had done more than just break the quiet; it had deepened the connection between you, filling the space with shared laughter, a kind of intimacy that spoke louder than words. As Toji’s rare, softened smile appeared, the one meant only for you, you knew that even in his tiredness, even in his gruff teasing, this moment was one he wouldn’t trade for anything.

A.N. I am not very proud of this piece....This was based off a joke I tell my friend every few months when I see her, least to say she's never impressed -_-

[talia-black]

A Gift Repaid (Is But A Favor Owed)

(I started this a week after 2.3 went live. Clearly this sat in my WIPs before boredom resurrected it. Based on the 2.3 post-quest. Currently in the middle of a hurricane and the internet is out so I finally have no choice but to finish some of my WIPs.) 

Angsty, because Lord knows I can’t separate poor Aventurine from his trauma, but let me know if you want a fluffy sequel. 

Trailblazer!Gender neutral!Reader

(But I do use the name Stelle because I am a part of the AvenStelle agenda)

Stelle wants to repay Aventurine's gift, but doesn't have a single clue about how to do that. Maybe something just a little bit more will come of their clueless but sincere gesture.

Aventurine let out a well-earned sigh as he collapsed into bed. The weeks following his return to Pier Point had been nothing but a series of meetings, debriefs, more meetings, follow-up reports, and even more meetings. Leaving the normally free-wheeling gambler feeling restless and pent-up. Watching the drama unfold on the Radiant Feldspar had been his only form of entertainment. So naturally once the negotiations had settled and the Fool's prank had been dealt with, the Stoneheart had nothing to distract himself from the stack of paperwork taunting him from its perch on his desk.

Admittedly he had resorted to browsing one of his favorite online stores when he got the notification that the limited-edition model of the Astral Express was finally open for bidding. He won naturally, and it only took him a few seconds before he decided what to do with it.

Aventurine bundled up a few trinkets he had collected while on Penacony and had them packaged alongside the train model before shipping it off to the formerly-named Radiant Feldspar.

Stelle had been by far one of the most interesting and delightful characters he ever had the pleasure of meeting. Despite the power they wielded simply by hosting a Stellaron and being a member of the Astral Express Crew, they were almost chronically lawless and free-spirited. Although, squirrel-brained might be the most accurate descriptor. They could be in the middle of a punch line to some terrible dad joke one moment, and the next they are sprinting off because something shiny was poking out of a trashcan and they just had to take it with them. Every expensive gift he sent their way was met with sincere gratitude. But Stelle's wide-eyed, embarrassed blush didn't hold a candle to the expression of pure joy that lit up their entire face whenever they dug out something they deemed worthwhile out of a pile of abandoned boxes or an alley that looked like it could launch a thousand microbiology studies. Stelle was just so genuine and thoroughly lacking in any kind of malicious intent or agenda that it was impossible to not be endeared to them.

As far as the Stoneheart was concerned, the Astral Express' resident raccoon in human skin could have whatever their heart desired.

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Honestly, Aventurine forgot about the gift after a week. Work wasn't any less busy, and it was becoming clearer by the day that part of his punishment for damaging his cornerstone and putting two others in jeopardy was to be grounded on Pier Point until Diamond was forced to send him somewhere else.

Five weeks later, the gambler was willing to take a second shot at that Emanator if it meant he would be able to escape the never-ending mountain of paperwork. One way or the other.

Which is why he decided to spend an afternoon sifting through his backlog of physical mail instead of addressing the two-foot stack of papers that one of Obsidian's lackeys had dropped on his desk five minutes before his lunch break or the 1000+ emails sitting in his inbox.

The majority was junk. He was appalled that most of it got past his subordinates desk, and he happily watched the papers be chewed to pieces in the shredder. A few particularly inventive scam attempts even managed to get a chuckle out of him before they met their fate.

The slightly more personal letters were mildly amusing. Threats from past "friends", professions of love from strangers who had caught a glimpse of him at this place or the other. 

He would definitely need to have HR reevaluate the person who handled his mail.

Aventurine saved the packages for last, mainly because he knew those had been thoroughly inspected before they were even allowed in the building. One attempted bombing incident and now all of his shopping orders took a minimum of 72 hours before he was allowed to pick them up. But it wasn't until he had actually started to examine the boxes that he noticed something odd.

One of the packages wasn't so much a "package" as it was something vaguely spherical wrapped in newspaper. A shipping label that barely met postal requirements was the only thing holding it together, and the smell of burnt metal radiated from it. The sender's name had been smudged, which only fueled the gambler's curiosity.

Mostly confident whatever was in the package wouldn't kill him, Aventurine tore away the wrapping paper.

"What in the name of the Preservation-"

Aventurine hissed. His fingers had struck metal, nearly slicing his finger open on a particularly jagged corner. The rusted bronze burned in the low lighting Aventurine had illuminating his office, offset by the shiny aluminum that had been soldered to it. Aventurine continued to unwrap the package and it was only when the last of the newspaper had fallen to the floor that he was able to make out what it was.

Several pieces of scrap had been melded together in a caricature of a star. Different types of metal and alloys gleaned in the light of his office, and despite the patches of rust and wear on it, a lot of effort had clearly been put into it.

Aventurine had no clue what to make of it. It wasn't some high-end art piece if the shipping was anything to go by, and wasn't anything close to gifts people had attempted to bribe him with before. He reached down to pick through the wrapping and take a second look at the shipping label and a folded piece of paper fell out. It looked like standard cardstock, but Aventurine could see his name scratched on the top.

The gambler's intrigue was practically suffocating him at this point as he snatched the paper up and folded back the crease.

Hey Aventurine, hope you're doing alright. I've been stabbed before. It's not a fun experience once the adrenaline wears off and you can't get your legs to work properly. Make sure you wait at least a few days before trying to go out and pick a fight, or you'll wake up with very disappointed people hovering over you.

Sorry I didn't respond to your gift sooner. I would say social anxiety is bitch, but March has been nagging me to stop masking my vulnerability with humor.

Truthfully, I didn't know how to thank you. Excusing that little scuffle at the theme park (No hard feelings there. A lot of my friends have tried to maim me before) you've been great company and I wanted to give you something in return for all of the presents you’ve given me. It took me a while to decide on what exactly that was. I've watched a few of your poker games. You can make more credits in a single evening than I've ever had in my entire life. It wasn't until Dan Heng commented on all of the "junk" in my room that I had the idea of making something.

March 7th says I'm a hoarder. I prefer the term "low-budget collector". The metal you're holding was scavenged from a massive junkyard that most of Belobog's decommissioned robots end up in, though some of it came from abandoned cycranes I found near the Alchemy Commission. You wouldn't believe the types of odds and ends that get thrown in their dumpsters.

I had to ask for Himeko's help to actually weld the metal though. I think I did a pretty decent job for my first time, and aside from a few burns I made it through the experience unscathed. Word of advice: never touch the tip of a welding torch. Even after it's been off for ten minutes.

I really did like hanging out with you, Aventurine. Not a lot of people are willing to put up with my hyperactive raccoon brain for long, and it was nice to meet someone else who enjoys causing general mayhem. There should be another present in here if I get Pom-Pom to approve it.

Anyway, I hope you at least like this gift. If you don't, feel free to toss it.

May your journey lead you starward

-The Trailblazing Raccoon

Stelle

P.S. If you were serious about that round of cards, the Express will be staying at the Luofu for the next few months before we go out of range of the HoloNet for a while. I know a place with great food and mostly empty tables if you feel like stopping by.

Stelle.

The letter’s words blurred from how hard his hand was shaking.

Aventurine blinked furiously. A single tear escaped and smeared the postscript. He set the ornament gently on his desk before looking through the newspaper for a second envelope.

Instead of another folded note, there was a smaller envelope crookedly taped to what had been the inside of the newspaper. 

The Astral Express welcomes all who wish to move beyond their past and journey along the silver rails, no matter their intent or agenda. Ms. Topaz has already been granted an Express Pass, so it would be inconsiderate to not offer you one as well when a Trailblazer has vouched for you. The Pass enclosed will allow you to board the Astral Express whenever you wish, barring emergency circumstances or a crisis state. 

- The Conductor of the Astral Express, Pom-Pom

A golden ticket was nestled in the folded page. The rainbow sheen on its glossy gold surface was a perfect replica of the reflection of the stars outside Aventurine’s office window. 

Those same stars were the sole light in Aventurine’s penthouse apartment later that night as he drowned his memories and anxieties in a bottle of Penacony’s finest. His alcohol-addled brain scheming away as he clutched that golden ticket in a death grip. 

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A few days later…

“Hey Stelle!” 

The Trailblazer in question looked up from their game to see March leaning into their room.

“You’ve got a package. Well, a few packages. And a letter.”

Stelle raised an eyebrow as March dropped six nicely-wrapped boxes and a letter on their bed.  

“Are you sure you haven’t gone over your budget this month?” March asked as Stelle reached for the letter. 

“I haven’t ordered anything,” Stelle mumbled, distracted by the ostentatious gold calligraphy decorating the front. The list of people she knew who would send them such a thing was short, and with the packages…

Stelle ripped open the envelope and leaned back, away from March’s prying gaze. 

Dear Stelle, 

It would be my honor to accept your invitation. The gifts I’ve sent are a small measure of my gratitude for such a thoughtful present, and I hope you won’t object to similar gestures in the future. I’ve never had the chance to visit the Luofu, but I managed to free a few days next week for me to spend at my leisure. You have my number, so if you’re looking for a little risky fun, give me a call. 

Your close friend, Aventurine <3

[deusvervewrites]

The First Line

A lot of people out there will tell you that the first line of a novel is the most important. I've seen the wisdom that the first line must grab the readers attention, be some kind of a "hook" to draw them in deeper, or to tonally reflect the main themes. That the first line needs to throw the reader into the thick of it!

But how true is that really? It's been nagging me for a while now as someone who has started more fics than I've completed.

Out of curiosity, I grabbed a handful of my favorite novels and compiled their first lines.

"There are many legends about my mother." Daughter of the Moon Goddess, Sue Lynn Tan

This line doesn't really establish much about the plot of this book. Not the narrator's name, goal, conflict, or even the setting. We can make some inferences from the existence of legends around someone, but 'legendary' only narrows anything down because of the book's title. It is, however, indicative of the narration style and the novel's prose.

"Mary Jekyll stared down at her mother's coffin." The Strange Case of the Alchemist's Daughter, Theodora Cross

This line puts us right into a scene. Some real In Medias Res. Except... it's not really an action scene. It's a somber affair. And from Mary's staring, it's safe to say she has some heavy thoughts on the matter.

We can also make some assumptions from the wording choice. Looking down at the coffin suggests that she is standing over it, so we know at once this takes place during the funeral.

Interestingly--and I'm going to break my soft rule of not addressing the rest of the text here--this line does not allude to the novel's framing device.

"The temperature of the room dropped fast." Bartimaeus: The Amulet of Samarkand, Jonathan Stroud

This is another opening that's setting a scene instead of trying to introduce us to the cast or conflict, or even to the setting. Why is it getting colder? We can infer from the fact that the temperature is dropping fast that this probably isn't a good thing or at least not a normal thing.

"I've seen Steelheart bleed." Steelheart, Brandon Sanderson

This line fascinates me. It says a lot and, at the same time, very little. We know that someone named Steelheart exists, obviously. However, the narrator is giving gravitas to the sight of them bleeding. So we've already learned that Steelheart doesn't bleed very often, and seeing it was worth remembering. But who Steelheart is and why the narrator cares? Nothing in this line indicates that.

"Kendra stared out the side window of the SUV, watching foliage blur past." Fablehaven, Brandon Mull

I think this is the most relatable opening line I have listed here, since I can instantly in my mind picture the expression on Kendra's face knowing nothing else about her, or where she's going. We can guess she's probably not happy to be going there since she's staring out the window with what I would assume to be boredom. That's some conflict there. But, like, extremely minor conflict.

"The tired old carriage, pulled by two tired old horses, rumbled onto the wharf, its creaky wheels bumpety-bumping on the uneven planks, waking Peter from his restless slumber." Peter and the Starcatchers, Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

Well this sentence rambled on a bit didn't it? But it's very evocative. It tells us very little about the story (beyond Peter's name) but it sets the scene beautifully. Not only is it evocative of the scenery, but the time period (from the horse-drawn carriage) and the tone as well. We also know that Peter wasn't sleeping very well, which indicates that he's either anxious about something or that sleeping in this carriage wasn't very easy. Or both.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

This is the kind of line that would get me murdered by a lot of writing advice that I've seen over the years. This line tells you next to nothing, not even whether or not its weird for hobbits to live in holes. What this line does do is ease us into the narration style that Tolkien employs, which is generally slow and descriptive.

Okay...?

So what was the point of all of that?

Well, this experiment has solidified my opinion on something. As I said, I've been having thoughts about opening lines, but I think that the actual first line of the book is not as important as the first scene of the book. None of these lines out of context are that good. Sure, The Hobbit is iconic, but that's not because that line itself is phenomenal. It's practically "Once Upon A Time."

But it works for the scene.

The first scene is far more interesting to me than the first line. I'm not so impatient that if the first line fails to captivate me I'll toss the book aside. And I know that's true for other people because H. Bomberguy posted a four-hour video on plagiarism and we all watched it.

What this means, I think, is that we don't need to treat our audience as if we're in an arms race against their dwindling attention spans as if we'll lose them forever to TikTok if the first sentence isn't the pinnacle of literature.

People will give a work a chance. That's what the summary is for; to tell people if they'll like it so they can know to give it a try.

If you were afraid to write, or to share your writing, because you didn't think the first line was good enough... I don't think that matters. I think that people won't hate it. Won't turn up their noses in disgust.

[drgnflyteabox]

postcards from the coast [2]

previous || part two -> linens || part three -> tbd

series masterlist

pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick / single mom!reader summary: kyle looks for you, then finds you tags/warnings: grief, less angst but still there, depression, non-creepy stalking, judgmental people, anxiety, previous injuries, insomnia, don't accept rides from strange men ladies and theydies, unless it's gaz then feel free<3 w.c: 1.2k

"Can I get a red-eye?"

Sleep has been difficult lately. Evasive. He sometimes goes through insomniac phases, where no amount of jogging or calisthenics practice or mental exercise helps. It's pure, restless energy.

Before, he might've taken himself to a bar, found a pretty girl to fuck and ease the buzzing under his skin. Now it's too painful - too much of a reminder of post-mission decompressing with the team. Sat in a circle booth, slapping each other on the back as they left, the smell of cigar-smoke and perfume.

Not that he'd be able to here, anyway. The town is too small, too isolated. There's hardly a main street, just a strip with bare necessities vaguely at the center of rolling hill country pock-marked with bleached white cottages and surrounded by cold ocean on all sides.

Peaceful, sometimes. Unbearable, mostly.

"Sure, any milk or sugar?"

"No, that's alright, thank you." He's been here every day, mixing a caffeine fix with his ongoing search for you. Curiosity and boredom, he tells himself. The product of so many sudden life changes - the end of their last mission, Johnny's passing. He just needs something else to focus on, something soft and wide-eyed.

At least the coffee is good.

The next time he sees you, it's in passing. Driving out of town to the post office to pick up a gift from his sister.

You're holding a toddler by both arms, their feet on yours, walking them up the steps toward the local library. Another long skirt, wimpling softly in the breeze. There's a smile on your face as you watch the child walk with you.

It almost feels like a missed opportunity - like he should turn back. But the post office closes in a couple hours and it takes nearly that long to get there, so Kyle elects to be patient.

You're there every evening. From five o'clock until closing at eight, you sit at the same window and alternate reading a massive tome and babbling back at your baby, who's sitting on a wooden high-chair.

The librarian makes rounds just to say hello to the two of you, pinching cheeks and ooing and aweing.

"And how old is she again?" She whispers mindfully. Her nametag says Nettie and she's a kindly-looking old woman, bent a little from years of work but sturdy as a mast in a storm.

"Turning two soon," you whisper back. Neither of you have any idea he's there yet, browsing the books as a cover to peek through the shelf at you. "She's a taurus."

"Just about to hit the terrible twos!" Nettie laughs.

"Yep," you laugh with her, but there's something there. A sheepishness. Embarrassment? Your expression is almost a grimace, from what he doesn't know. He wants to, though. Looks through the peephole and lets his chest fill with something other than grief for just a moment.

"And the father? Not a fan of reading?" She probably means well, but your face goes from vaguely uncomfortable to something like a deer in the headlights.

"Oh, um," you're floundering, but Nettie is too busy stroking a wrinkled hand over your girls head. "He's not in the picture."

Not in the picture? If Kyle had felt any kind of guilt for eavesdropping, it's overshadowed by that information. Best stake-out of his career to-date.

You shrink a little when Nettie yanks her hand back, frowning. He can tell judgement and prejudice when he sees it - experience and a keen eye. Must be hard being a single mom.

Resigned - that's the look. Pained and embarrassed and resigned.

"Right. Well," Nettie's sensible leather shoes clack against the floor. You don't watch her go, your hand is reaching into your bag for a tiny knit hat.

Fuck, you're leaving.

As you gather your things - book, coat, bags, baby - he tucks himself into the shelf, positioned still as a sniper, to-

"Ouch!" Your voice cuts through the quiet of the library. Kyle flounders, caught off guard for once. He'd only gently bumped into you to make it look like an accident, like something out of a rom-com. Girls liked that, usually.

But instead of looking up at him with surprise, you close your eyes and shy away from him, shoulders coming up defensively - you can't reach your arm, not with a baby on your hip, but it's obvious you're in pain.

"Are you okay?" You look to him, wincing still. You're asking him if he's okay? Heat creeps into his cheeks, warming him with regret.

"I'm good, I'm good," he says quickly. "Sorry about that, love, didn't see you there."

"That's okay," you readjust, arm limp at your side. Your heavy bags hang off of it, but there's nothing you can do with the baby on your hip.

"Let me get those," there's no time for you to reject his offer; he's too quick. The bags are heavy - no doubt there are more books and a baby go-bag. This close, you smell powdery soft like linen sheets and laundry dried outside.

"It's the least I can do," he's trying to be casual about it, lest he scare you off. Holds the door open, notices while you step out that your daughter looks just like you.

"Thank you, you didn't have to," you look down. How'd you hurt your arm? He knows he didn't hurt you - not like that, at least. Not enough to warrant such a reaction.

"Of course I did, didn't mean to get'cha so hard," his head swivels. There are only two cars in the parking lot. "Can I get these in your car?"

"Oh, I walked, that's okay," you reach to take the bags back, but he pulls away.

"I can't let you walk home, please- let me be a gentleman and give you a ride," he knows it's a long shot. Neither of you have exchanged names, neither of you are locals. He's tried to make himself look as approachable as possible; head tilted down, brown eyes imploring, palms out even with your bags in one hand, but it's a gamble.

There's natural suspicion and hesitation, your eyes looking side-to-side, but you nod with a hesitant smile after a moment. It's hard to keep the grin down, but he manages it up until you're tucked in his passenger seat and he's putting your bags in the back of his car.

"My name is Kyle, by the way," he puts his keys in the ignition, turns them. Pretends not to notice how you sink into the seat, eyes drooping, holding your daughter on your lap. It's not safe, but it's a country road and he promised to drive slow on the way.

You tell him your name. It's pretty, fitting. He wonders again about you - who left you like this? Alone, hurt, tired, trusting a stranger to drive you home. If he were your man, he'd never let you be put in a position like that.

The cottage you're renting is tiny, a glorified shack, rented as a cottage for tourists.

"There you are," he murmurs, trying not to startle you. "Need help getting in?"

"Hm?" You've been staring out the window. "Sorry! No, I'm alright, thank you again for the ride. Josie and I appreciate it."

Josie. It fits her, fits you. His eyes crinkle at the corners.

There's not a chance he lets you get the bags out yourself, and once you're appropriately sent off to your door, he sits and waits for a moment. Makes sure you get inside. Feels something loosen in his chest.

[firstfullmoon]

This week we didn’t meet. I hate that. The  bed is rumpled. I go out onto the lawn. The  stars are hid in heavy haze.  The only moon my lit room. I put my hand into the beam that falls upon a garden chair. You’ve touched that hand, and it’s touched you. I’ve little to complain of. In fact, I’m not complaining. I find it on these hot nights, hard to fall asleep. If you were here! You almost were. Then something  came up. Back  to bed. I’m reading about Byron and his last love, la Guiccioli. I identify with her, afraid of losing him. When you’re down, I get scared. What if boredom should set in? On your side, not on mine. I put my hand on your side of the bed. I see you there as I  saw you sleep  there last week. We’re not like Byron and his Teresa, we don’t play games. (Byron, by the way, was great! So, in her way, was she.) At least, the games we  play are sex games, not the kind that come from ennui. God damn this hot  and restless night. I was asleep and then a dream that  you were angry with me woke me. I can’t quite shake it off. I know it isn’t true. You’re not. It’s hot: I thought we’d  meet: we can’t: I felt let down. I get the downs sometimes too. And how. I trust you. You’re as straight as anyone I’ve ever known. I hate it when you’re  blue. You plunge so deep into it. I feel then I’m  in the dark and can’t quite touch you. Perhaps I needn’t, shouldn’t try. I respect your inner life. You have Irish moods (and eyes). I do too. I— what is it that I want to say? To say this isn’t  a complaint. It’s how I feel on a hot night in August, 1972, missing you.

— James Schuyler, “August Night,” in Collected Poems

[taringill]

Redesign of my Rise Renet🩵

June 6, 2024

Old design:

December 30, 2022

Bonus:

I've been thinking about lightening Renet's hair for a long time so that she looks more like a blonde. I like it even more this way.

Я уже давно думала осветлить волосы Ренет, чтобы она была больше похожа на блондинку. Так мне нравится даже больше.

A little bit about my version of rottmnt Renet. I must say right away that I took the canon from the comics from Mirage and showed imagination, added something from myself.

A kind, cheerful, but restless girl, the soul of the company, a blonde with brown eyes named Renet Tilley, Mikey's love interest (she is 1 year older than him). She is a teenage student of Lord Simultaneous, studying to be the Keeper of Time and Dimensions. But besides Renet, he has a group young people studying with him, among whom is her friend Eric. She knows math, physics perfectly well and knows chemistry and biology well, but her favorite subject is history. She knows the subject very well. And this is not surprising. After all, her studies are mainly related to time, so knowledge of this subject is necessary.

But despite her curiosity, she is not particularly diligent. Due to boredom, Renet took the time and dimension scepter of her teacher (Lord Simultaneous) without asking. She got caught, but immediately jumped into the portal, which she opened with the help of a scepter. But she didn't jump into the past, but into another dimension. The dimension in which the turtles live. In this way, she wanted to deceive her teacher, but it still didn't work out. According to my headcannon, Renet also lives in the early 21st century, just like turtles, just in another dimension. This dimension is more technological, futuristic and advanced. In short, this is Donnie's paradise. I was inspired by how people from the last century imagined the beginning of the 21st century at least. More futuristic than it really is. In this dimension, yokai and humans have been communicating and living together for a long time, but long before that there was a war between them. It was a long time ago. Also, in the Renet dimension, they communicate with residents of other planets and even other dimensions.

P. S. I don't know what year the turtles have, but I can assume that around 2020 (+/- 1 year). The series takes place in our time, and it was released in 2018. Judging by the answer of one of the creators of the series, that April is 16 at the beginning of the series, and 18 in the movie, it takes about 2 years. Therefore, most likely (perhaps I don't know for sure), the film is set around 2020. In general, Renet is from the same year and century, only in a different dimension.

I'll write about it right away, they didn't know about turtles in the Renet dimension. But after their first meeting, Renet popularized her new friends.

Немного о моей версией rottmnt Ренет. Сразу скажу, что я взяла канон из комиксов от Мираж и проявила фантазию, добавила что-то от себя.

Добрая, весёлая, но непоседливая девочка, душа компании, блондинка с карими глазами по имени Ренет Тилли, любовный интерес Майки (она старше него на 1 год). Она ученица-подросток Лорда Симултениуса, учиться на Хранительницу Времени и Измерений. Но, помимо Ренет, у него учатся группа молодых людей, среди которых есть её друг Эрик. Она отлично знает математику, физику и хорошо знает химию и биологию, но её любимый предмет - это история. Она очень хорошо знает этот предмет. И это неудивительно. Всё-таки её учёба связана в основном с временем, поэтому знание этого предмета необходимо.

Но, несмотря на своё любопытство, она не особо усидчива. Из-за скуки Ренет взяла без спроса скипетр времени и измерений своего учителя (Лорд Симултениус). Она спалилась, но сразу же прыгнула в портал, который открыла с помощью скипетра. Но она прыгнула не в прошлое, а в другое измерение. Измерение, в котором живут черепашки-ниндзя. Она хотела обыграть своего учителя, но всё равно не получилось. По моему хэдканону Ренет также живёт в начале 21 века, как и черепахи, просто в другом измерении. Это измерение более технологичное, футуристическое и развитое. Короче, это рай для Донни. Я вдохновлялась тем, как люди из прошлого века представляли начало 21 века минимум. Более футуристический, чем есть на самом деле. В этом измерение йокаи и люди давно общаются и живут вместе, но задолго до этого была война. Это было очень давно. Ещё, в измерении Ренет общаются с жителями других планет и даже других измерений.

P. S. Я не знаю какой год у черепах, но могу предположить, что примерно 2020 (+/- 1 год). Действие сериала происходит в наше время, а выходил он в 2018 году. Судя по твитту одного из создателей сериала, что в начале сериала Эйприл 16, а в фильме 18, проходит примерно 2 года. Следовательно, скорее всего (возможно, я точно не знаю), действие фильма происходит примерно в 2020 году. В общем, Ренет из того же года и века, только в другом измерении.

Сразу напишу об этом, о черепашках не знали в измерении Ренет. Но после их первой встречи, Ренет популяризировала своих новых друзей.