#mint cocktail dress

[creamecream]

"You make me so excited,

And I don't wanna fight it,

I start to blush,

You are my sugar rush,

Ain't nothing better, baby,

Is it for real, or maybe?

I start to blush,

You are my sugar rush,"

Magnolia May belongs to @abyssnighthawk

[menagerofmischief]

hey lovely !! please can i order shrimp cocktail served hot with lobster and cheese fries and some mint tea to drink, served by max verstappen? i love monza as a track :D

Dia's Diner Menu

shrimp cocktail rivals to (and) lovers hot appetizer sweet sex lobster "I love watching my cum leak out from your pussy" cheese fries "I love making you squirt" mint tea body worship + kimchi "Be a good girl and take it"

TW: PiV, unprotected sex, finishing inside

WC: 1.1k

A/N: they're already lovers in this one, I'm sorry if that's not what you had in mind but it was the easiest for me to work with.

I was scrolling on my phone when I heard a knock on my door. First one, then a pause then two more, one right after the other. They weren’t timid soft taps of knuckles against the woods, they were determined hits.

I knew who it was right away. I was expecting him from the moment we got back to the hotel one media day wrapped up. 

I shut off my phone and threw my legs off the side of the bed, pushing my body up. It only took a couple of steps for me to reach the door of my hotel room. My hand lingered over the handle of the door, before I finally pushed it down and opened the door. 

The light from the hallway was bright, contrasting the dimmed lights of my room. I looked at him, standing in front of me, with his arms crossed over his chest, a hint of a smirk on his face. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white shirt, a completely regular look for a guy, but God, did it look delicious on him. 

“Verstappen,” I said, my voice holding a hint of a teasing tone, my lips stretching into a small smirk.

To the outside world, Max Verstappen and I were each other’s biggest haters. Born rivals, if you will. We’ve never gotten along on the track, definitely noticeable by our colorful radios about each other, and the fact that we usually had only not so nice things to say about each other during interviews.

But behind closed doors things were much much different. Max and I had been seeing each other for around 6 months by now. Sneaking into each other’s hotel and driver’s rooms, sneaking kisses behind garages and going on dates dressed like we were running away from the police.

His eyes slid along my figure, making goosebumps rise on my skin. “Schatje,” he said, the term of endearment rolling off his tongue is his mother language. 

I stepped to the side and Max wasted no time coming in. As soon as the doors were closed behind him, his hands were all over me. He pushed me gently up against the wall, one of his hands running along the curves of my body while he used the other to push my chin up. He leaned down, his lips pressing against mine in a passionate kiss, his tongue stroking mine with precise movements.

Max picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist and carried me over to the bed. He dropped me down and crawled on top of me, trailing kisses along my skin. “Been thinking about this the whole day,” he said, his lips brushing against my jaw. “You looked so good today, I spent all day thinking about having you under me like this.”

He quickly worked on removing my clothes and then his own and before I knew it we were both naked. I looked up at him, his eyes dark with need, I ran one of my hands down the skin of his back, watching him shiver at the sensation. 

“Please Max,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. He cocked one eyebrow, signaling for me to keep talking, that a simple please wasn’t enough if I didn’t say what I was asking for. 

I could feel myself blushing, blood rushing to my cheeks and making them warm. “Please, I need you to fuck me,” I said. “Need to feel your cock in me.”

“Whatever you need, schatje,” he said, and I can practically feel his voice vibrate through me.

Max doesn’t waste time. He spreads my legs and slowly pushes himself in and then stills once he’s balls deep in me, giving me time to adjust to being stretched by him. 

“Move, please!” I manage to say and Max gives me a little nod and a smile before he begins thrusting into me. 

While this is different from our usual fast, hard and desperate hookups, it’s still equally as good. The angle he is thrusting into me from is allowing the tip of his cock to hit my most senstive spots over and over again as he fucks me.

“You’re so pretty, schatje,” he said as he brought one hand to my skin. He ghosts his fingers over my collarbones, then the edge of my breast and then along my waist. “The most beautiful woman to walk the planet.”

“Max,” I whined, blushing at his words. It was quickly replaced by a moan as his hand moved down between us and his thumb started circling my clit.

My body arched off the bed, the sensation both unexpected and overwhelming, as he continued to fuck me and play with my clit. “Shh,” he said, pressing his lips against my forehead. “Be a good girl and take it, yeah? I know you can.”

“I’m gonna cum,” I moaned out, feeling like every nerve in my body had been set on fire.

That made Max speed up his movements, his thumb rubbing just a bit faster as he continued to push himself impossibly deeper into me with every thrusts. 

I came with a loud moan, my orgasm hitting me faster and harder than I expected. I barely managed to register what was happening, finally focusing my mind on the facts that I had squirted all over Max, droplets of it running down his abdomen. 

Max groaned, his hips never losing their rhythm as he continued to chase his own orgasm. “I love making you squirt,” he said, his voice rough and raspy. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Where do you want it?”

My eyes locked on his and swallowing the lump in my throat I opened my mouth to speak. “Inside, Max, please.” I babbled, too lost in my own pleasure to care about how it sounded. “Come in me, please.”

I clenched my walls around him and that was all it took for him to finally break. Max groaned, his hips stilling as he emptied himself inside of me. 

He took a moment to catch his breath and then slowly pulled out his now softening dick out of me. His eyes darkened, gaze fixated between my legs. “I love watching my cum leak out of your pussy,” he said, a low growl in his voice.

I leaned up enough to press my lips against his in a gentle, loving kiss. Once we pulled apart, Max let himself fall onto the bed next to me and wrapped his arms around me. I could feel myself starting to fall asleep, my eyelids getting heavy.

Max pressed his lips against my forehead gently. “I love you, schatje,” he said, his voice lulling me to sleep. I hummed in response before closing my eyes.

[undercovercameron]

sous chef

summary: rafe let’s himself play the husband role with your little life in your trailer. oh, also, he loves you. (alternate summary: the first time rafe tells you he loves you)

notes: i had a lot of fun writing this, i just love a domesticated rafe cameron that isn’t insane about coke and isn’t a murderous psychopath…. there’s also alcohol and marijuana use in this! def sexual content and in a particular prayer position…. anyways this was cute and i often romanticize my life in this way too! enjoy pls

tags: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

word count: 2042

When Rafe steps down the rickety stairs and onto the soggy grass, the humidity smacks him in the face like a wall of pond-scented wet sponge.

“Fuck,” he curses, raising a hand to his brow, and squints in the late morning sunshine. A mosquito buzzes past his nose and he swats it away with a golden ringed hand. His head pounds like a drum. Damn your cocktail skills— you always find a way to get him fucked up despite his tolerance. It’s the Pogue in your genes.

That thought makes his head pound harder, but he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way. The only thing he likes in his family’s high-brow country club culture is the shit that comes with money. And with your limited experience in that, you’re a break from the bullshit.

He fumbles in his pocket, looking for his keys, but his fingers just land on empty gum wrappers and a lighter. He ascends the trailer steps in twos, wrenching the door open, and starts for the kitchen. There’s movement in your bedroom but he just grabs his keys and finds his way back outside into the muggy weather. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s rushing out to do— his plans aren’t until the afternoon.

He’s halfway to his Range Rover parked haphazardly next to your early 2000s Corolla when the front door’s hinges squeak and you call out to him.

“Needing this?” You hold up his wallet between two fingers, and he snorts. You step down onto the grass with bare feet. You’ve got a black lacy thing on top and a pair of half-buttoned jean shorts on the bottom.

“Take anything you aren’t supposed to?” He says, squelching over to your half-dressed form.

“Maybe. You know that’s my mom’s thing, not mine.” You roll your beautiful eyes.

“That right?” He says quietly, sliding his wallet into his pocket and taking your neck into the side of his hand. “Never know, with you.” His mouth meets yours for the first time that day, and you sigh. His hand smoothes down your waist and he tucks his fingers into your waistband, feeling the material of your panties. His favorite pair.

You stumble in the soft earth, feeling yourself being tugged closer, and your arms wind themselves around his shoulders. He’s hot and pulsing with feeling under your touch.

You taste like mint toothpaste and something like watermelon from last night. Every time he kisses you you taste like Sunday mornings and sunshine. But he finds the will to pull away with a hand on your collarbone.

“I’ll see you tonight.” His tilted face glints in the sunlight and his eyes are half lidded and relaxed. At peace.

“What’s tonight?” Your brows pull together, lips screwed up, and he lets go of you.

“I’m goin’ fishing with some buddies later today. I’ll bring you something I catch.” His blue eyes follow yours as you scan his face.

“Mmm.” You smooth a hand down his chest. “My own personal Hank Parker.”

He turns, sliding you off of him with both of your wrists in one hand, and backs towards his car with a chuckle on his lips.

“You’re weird.”

“You’re sexy.” Your gaze moves from the top of his head to his shoes. “Bye.”

“Mhm. Bye.”

His back turns to you and he grins foolishly to himself, depressing the unlock key on his fob. You’re going to ruin him someday.

Later that night, he approaches your door with a cooler, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and a limp in his step. He can’t escape a fishing trip without some sort of injury. He’s lucky if it’s minor. The lights are on in your trailer, and you had even lit the citronella candle on the tiny picnic table off to the side of the front door.

He knocks on the flimsy door on merit and upon no response, shoulders into your living room with a huff.

“Y/N?” He calls, nothing but the crickets chirping and some soul music coming from your radio making any noise in the small house. He sets his things down onto the counter and your lack of response starts to make him a little worried.

That nagging worry immediately disappears when he saunters into the small bathroom and sees you sitting on the toilet, feet propped up on the side of the tub, smoking a joint and painting your toenails.

“What’re you doing?” He asks for some reason, face splitting into a grin, and you pluck the half-smoked J from your lips and hand it to him. Smoke curls out of your mouth and into your nose, and he just chuckles as he takes a hit.

“Multitasking,” you say, eyes meeting him before going back to the task at hand.

“‘S what I love about you,” he murmurs, and leans down for a kiss. You grant him one without acknowledging the beat your heart skips. He barrels on, trying to make you forget his lingual mishap. “I’m going to clean the fish while you finish here and then we can cook, yeah?” He sucks the life out of the joint and hands it back. You push it between your lips and nod, swiping a final time at the pinky toenail of your left foot. Five down, five to go.

“Sounds good, baby,” you mutter through your focus. He turns and you smack his ass as he leaves, relishing in the jump and curse word he grants you in response. You smile around the filter in your lips.

Finishing your nails takes so long that Rafe already has the fish in the pan and half of his drink drained by the time you appear from the bathroom with freshly-purple toenails and the lingering cocktail of marijuana and acetone in your hair.

“What’re our sides, Chef Rafe?” You ask, having a sip of his bourbon. You cringe and make a disgusted noise at his favorite alcohol.

“I heard you—this brand is good, snob. And there are potatoes in the oven.” His broad back is to you as he pokes at the fish in the pan, the smell of hot oil and cooking meat lingering in the air. He even opened the window above the sink and lit that candle you like.

“Sounds perfect,” you murmur, sidling up behind him, and curl your arms around his waist. The worn surf shop shirt he has on is smooth to the touch, and his skin is even smoother when you push the hem up to get your hands on him. “You look so sexy cooking for me.”

“Yeah?” He sets down the spatula and reaches for the cajun spices next to the stove. “How sexy?”

“Really sexy.” Your fingertips toy with the waistband of his jeans, and a colony of goosebumps prickle the skin of his forearms. He nearly shivers when you press your palm flat to the muscle above his pelvis and slide past his belt. He seasons the fish a little more with a shaky hand.

His eyes fix on a single crooked tile in the faux backsplash when you creep your hand down into his boxers, and your mouth presses to his back when he hangs his head. Your fingers smooth down the length of his dick, skilled and familiar, and his mouth drops open.

His heart starts to beat quicker when you pull his zipper down and unbutton his fly in one fell swoop, hot face pressed to the thin material of his shirt. He can feel your grin through it. Your thumb swipes across the tip and he sucks in a breath and grabs at your wrist. He starts to let you go when you kiss at his shoulder blade and curl your hand around the shaft and start to move.

“You have a good day today?” You murmur, bringing your hand back to your mouth to spit into your palm before getting back to it. He looks to the side, silently cursing, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Mhm.” His word breaks into a groan and you relish in the sound. He’s so good at pleasing you and getting you loud, it’s nice to just hear him for once. His fingers grip the edge of the stove so hard his knuckles pale.

“You smell so good.” You squeeze a hand at his waist, another one working hard in his boxers, and he chokes on one of the rawest moans he’s ever expressed. Your grin widens. “So good, baby,” you kiss through.

“F-fucking—…” He exhales heavily and his hips jerk at the increasing sensitivity. “You’re too good at this.”

“Not possible,” you say, and peek over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His ears are a bright pink, same as his lips, and his face is screwed up in something akin to bliss. You love it.

Your fingers slow for a moment, letting him catch a breath. He pants a little bit but licks his lips, eyes blinking open and looking surprisingly dark. You move his shirt aside with your other than and creep your fingers up his abdomen, stopping briefly at his abs before lowering back to hold onto the anchor of his stomach. You press a kiss to his bicep before your hand speeds up again, fingers a little tighter.

“So sexy,” you compliment smoothly, your smirk evident. “Needy.”

“Stop,” he breathes, eyes closed once again and biting at his lip. “You know that’s my line.”

Your thumb slips over his tip once, twice, then three times. He nearly chokes on a groan.

“It’s true.” A bite to his upper back. “So fucking sensitive to me you’d think we’re virgins, huh?”

His head rolls on his neck, internally cursing, and he grabs again at your wrist as you move quicker.

“Y/N,” he starts to chant, squeezing his eyes.

Swiftly dropping onto your knees diagonal to him, you grab at his right arm and pull him around to you. His side crashes against the stove with the force but he just pants and grabs at your hair to pull you closer to his dick.

You push him into your mouth with one hand on his hip and the other curled around the back of his thigh. He lets out the most wrecked sound when you push him all the way to the back of your throat. You suck, hard, and watch as his head tips back and his mouth open in an O.

“Fuck,” he shudders when your tongue swirls around him. “Shit.”

You go high on your knees, grabbing at the base of his dick, and push it further. His hips stutter and his fingernails dig into your scalp, but you dismiss it when he goes nearly silent.

“Please,” you mutter, mouth full, and that’s what sends him barreling over the edge.

“Fuck!” He forces out between his teeth, and it immediately turns into a gasp. “Y/N.”

You just ‘mhm’ and open your mouth so he can see. He release his grip on your hair and pets down the side of your head, panting with his eyes locked on yours. You leave him with one final suck that makes him shiver and then pull back. You get to your feet, happy with yourself, and seal him with a kiss. He grunts into your mouth but reciprocates.

“I think the fish might be burning, honey,” you comment, peeking over at the stove, and he just closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucking love you.” He grins, not quite catching his breath.

You don’t necessarily freeze, but you stay silent. You take a moment to just look at him, watching the way his eyes fall open and the corners of his mouth turn down as his grin falters.

“I love you, too,” is all you say, eyes twinkling, and then you open the fridge and turn away from him. “We don’t have any cranberry juice.”

You’re simply looking for the ingredients to your preferred drink, but a bashful blush finds its way onto your cheeks.

His heart and lungs start working again and he turns back to the stove, taking hold of the spatula.

“Looks like you’re going to have to use orange juice,” he says through his smile.

[kurishiri]

THE CHARA CAFE × Ikemen Villains menu translation

(src) this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties. You can click on the image for better quality. Please reblog, not respost!

which ones would you order? ✨✨

To my precious robin and from the self-righteous king, a most sinful love: a frozen strawberry drink (William)

strawberry ice cream

strawberries

milk

strawberry sauce

whipped cream

I encaged the scenery I saw with you inside this glass: a blue ocean drink (Elbert)

blue raspberry syrup

lemon water

lemon slice

gold leaf

Drink this if ya want. I ain’t drinkin’ it though: a ruthless butterfly pea soda (Jude)

butterfly pea syrup

carbonated water

lemon syrup

violet jelly

I want your greatest happiness: a berry tea of happiness (Ellis)

berry tea

blackcurrant jam

For you, the sinful one who wandered into a den of evil: the death god’s hot chocolate (Victor)

cocoa

whipped cream

coffee sauce

Blooming in the dark night, a violet cream soda

cider

purple melon syrup

vanilla ice cream

cherry

wafer cake with bean jam (monaka)

I swear a most sinful love to you on this wedding mocktail

pink grapefruit syrup

peach cheese

carbonated water

edible flower

“So that you, the one I love, may smile, I cast a magic spell on this”: the Cheshire Cat’s fresh fruit salad (Liam)

salad mix

smoked salmon

raisins

grapefruit

diced nuts

lemon dressing

black pepper

edible flower

wafer cake with bean jam (monaka)

“Nothing like meat for a reward, don’t you agree, lil lady?”: the egoist’s roast beef plate (Roger)

roast beef

rice

rock salt

baby leaves

parsley

mini tomatoes

camembert cheese

steak sauce

The Crown members’ favorite! The head chef’s special tomato sauce pasta

pasta

tomato sauce

bacon

consommé soup

parsley

crouton

“Hey, wanna split this half and half with me?”: a chocolate mint parfait of the Lying Fox’s charm (Harrison)

bavarois

mint jelly

chocolate corn flakes

whipped cream

mint chocolate ice cream

chocolate sauce

mint

brownie

“Aha! It’s my creation, as someone with a steel stomach”: a special scone set made by Alfons

scone

vanilla ice cream

blue raspberry syrup

whipped cream

chervil

biscuit

silver dragee

A vow to fall deeper into your sinful love: a wedding berry cake set

berry cake

macaron

cookie

whipped cream

mint

cotton candy

rock salt

wafer cake with bean jam (monaka)

Dessert of the robin on a moment’s break: a fresh fruit cocktail

cider

orange (mandarin)

yellow peach

cherry

strawberry

three-colored agar agar

heart-shaped gummy

popping candy

if you order something from the food or dessert menu, you’ll be gifted a 2L photocard (top), and if you order a drink, you get a coaster (bottom).

[wardenparker]

Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 8

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 11k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle, reader is mentioned as turning 30 during the course of the story* Teasing, flirting, nudity, bathing together, fingering, a smattering of dirty talk. Summary: This wedding night is special for more than just the happy couple. Notes: A little light smut for your Sunday! Thanks for sticking with us this long, but these two are finally starting to get to know each other. 🧡 As always, please remember that the gif choice at the top of the chapter is not meant to represent reader's physical appearance. In this case, it's for Cameron and Wiley!

Ch1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

Not even the nonstop amount of work you’ve been doing for the wedding can stop how much you’ve been thinking about Marcus since he left early on Thursday morning, and obviously Sydney isn’t going easy on you. The merciless, good hearted, happy-for-you teasing started the second you and Marcus came downstairs together the morning after the rehearsal dinner and has kept going through the texting and when you appeared for the actual wedding looking like you had paid a great deal of extra attention to your appearance for tonight. Not even to take away from the bride of course, but enough to look special for the occasion.

It had been so hard to not go back to your apartment after leaving the office yesterday. He had wanted to. So badly. To pick up the conversation and possibly do more than that kiss on the cheek he had thought about the entire time he was on the golf course and in the office. Now, getting ready for the wedding, he pays special attention getting ready so he can look his best for you.

The greenery that has been brought into the gardens, the subtle lighting accents, the clover-shaped place cards, and even the Kelly green silk shirt and matching heels that you picked out to wear with your most flattering suit are all festive for the St Patrick’s Day wedding. Each time you have checked on Joyce and her bridesmaids they have been jittery with excitement but doing well, and the florist was an astonishing ten minutes early to drop off the flowers, so everything is moving along perfectly.

By the time guests begin to arrive, the groom, ushers, groomsmen, and father of the bride are all in place. Considering the chaos this wedding was thrown into just two weeks ago? It might be the best organized night you’ve executed by yourself in years.

He has no problem not being in the wedding party anymore, however, Marcus escorts Joyce’s mother down the aisle to her seat with pride. The accents of his tuxedo had been the same color as the bridesmaids, but he had willingly given them up for her father, deciding on a classic grey accent to contrast for the vest, pocket square, and bow tie.

The only two things that save you from crying during the ceremony — which you always, always do — are how busy you are and how damn good Marcus looks. Through the ceremony and photos you catch glimpses and share smiles, but it takes until cocktail hour before you get a chance to sneak up in his side. “You know it’s bad manners to show up being more handsome than the groom.”

“Don’t think that I did that.” Marcus immediately warms from the inside out at just hearing your voice as he turns towards you. “And you look like you stepped out of a fashion shoot.” He compliments. “Upstaging the bride.”

“I would never.” Just hearing his voice in person instead of over the phone practically makes you giddy, but you demure. “Thank you, though. I will pass the compliment along to David, who is my fashion consultant.”

“Well, the linen suit is perfect with the vivid emerald green.” He smiles as he motions towards the reception. “It’s wonderful and they are beaming.” He smiles at the now family pictures being taken with Joyce’s parents and a large bouquet. While Michael’s parents hadn’t shown, they had sent a flower arrangement so it had made the couple hopeful that they would be accepting of things down the line.

“As long as they’re happy, that’s all that matters.” So far nothing has gone wrong, and you’re keeping your fingers crossed that it stays that way. Or at least, that when something finally does, it will be either small or insignificant enough that you can fix it without the couple even realizing.

“You have a gift.” Marcus praises softly. “Which do you prefer? Running the inn or planning? I’m assuming the day to day for the inn.”

“I do prefer the day to day of the inn,” you admit, looking around the garden filled with reception guests. “But I think I’ll be broken-hearted if I don’t get to help my siblings plan their weddings. I do like it.”

“I can see that.” He reaches out and slides a hand around your body, resting on where the tattoo sits in the small of your back. “You are wonderful and you’ve created a day they will never forget.”

“I won’t take an ounce of credit.” Looking up at him, though, you do smile. Just about as broadly as you can. “I will steal a dance from you later, though.”

“I think we can manage that.” He nods, smiling just as wide as you are. “Let me know when you are free.”

“I’ll come and find you when things are under control enough for me to slip away.” Not that you think it will take long, but there is always potential for things to happen. That’s why you have the radio in your ear, after all. A discreet Walkie talkie on your belt is hidden by your suit it makes you reachable by the whole staff working tonight. It gives you the luxury of stepping away to say hi to Marcus without worrying about a major disaster breaking out.

“Let me know if I can help.” He tells you, knowing that you would never ask, but he will offer anyway. “I can carry a case of champagne or something.”

“You’re a guest.” Never in a million years would you ask him to do any work when he’s attending an event in space you control, and you shake your head. “Relax. Enjoy. Eat and drink. Dance. I’ll come and find you later, handsome.”

He rolls his eyes and grins at you. “I knew that would be your answer, but my offer will stand.”

“Noted and appreciated.” You lean into his side for a brief hug before slipping away again, shooting a teasing wink his way from halfway across the garden as you go.

The garden lights are on. White mixed with green to match the theme of the wedding party and Marcus has danced with the bride and her mother by the time you come back to his side. More than a few glasses of champagne in, and relaxed with his bow tie untied now.

“Having fun?” You may have snuck over to the deejay to ask him to play a slow song, but no one needs to know that you planned it.

“Enjoying myself, but now…” he turns and gives you a slow smirk. “It’s even better since you are here.”

“Oh yeah?” That has you beaming at him as the next song starts.

“Yeah.” He hears the slow, sweet strains of the song and lifts a brow. “Are you here long enough to dance before you flit away, hummingbird?”

“I’m all yours.” It sounds a bit more like a pledge than the playful thing it had sounded like in your head, but that’s okay. You still mean it. “For at least a song or two.”

Humming happily, he holds out his hand for you, watching you with almost tender affection. “We seem to be good at this.”

“Those lessons that our parents insisted on have paid off.” Those lessons don’t dictate how well you fit in his arms, though, or the way you feel drawn into him like a magnet.

“It’s like they knew.” He chuckles.

“We can never tell them,” you snicker, leaning into him a little more as the song goes on, and resting your head comfortably on his shoulder. “We’re still their children, after all. Can’t let them know we think they were ever right.”

“Never.” He had already received a call from his parents after the photos of the State dinner were published, only a case of mild humble bragging allowed before they changed the subject.

“You’ve never told me if you have siblings or anything.” The thought occurs to you almost belatedly, as the world is hazy around the two of you and you like it that way.

“Only child.” He chuckles. “Although I am possibly the only case of single child syndrome in my extended family.” He tells you. “I have twenty-seven first cousins.”

Your head nearly snaps back, wide eyes and a laugh of shock making your face look comically surprised. “I’m gonna need flash cards, aren’t I?”

He laughs, making several others look towards you, curious as to the amusement. “No.” He promises. “Most of the time, we all wear name tags.” He grins. “My family has six sets of identical twins in mix. They decided to make it a family traditional to tag us so no pranks were played.”

“Criminey.” Even on a low huff, you shake your head in wonder. All his poor aunts! “So an only child but plenty of playmates, then?”

“Always.” He laughs. “Always felt like I lived in a zoo when family was around.”

"You must have had hellacious games of Hide and Seek." The huff is replaced with a giggle, imagining little Marcus with all those cousins and all the chaos they must have gotten into. "It sounds amazing."

He agrees with you. “It was a competition to see how long we could last.” He tells you. “Had to stay on the property though.”

“Big family house?” You guess, figuring that his grandparents must have at least had a little bit of land. That’s the image you have in your head of Texas, anyway.

“Ended up having like a family compound.” Marcus admits with a chuckle. “For the summers together.”

"That sounds like so much fun." As the first song bleeds into a second, you don't move an inch from his arms. There's nowhere you would rather be than right here. "My parents are both only children, so I have absolutely zero first cousins. That's how we all ended up with best friends that basically got adopted into the family."

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Marcus smiles at the image of your family adopting friends over the years, collecting them.

"Don't get me wrong, it's great." It's how you have kept Sydney in your life, and her sister, and your other best friend from college. It's how Alex and David got so close so young, and how Junie and Kiley became so close. "It's just different, that's all."

“I know.” Marcus would never put down your experience. “You might be overwhelmed by my family and think we are all insane.”

"Or I might have a blast." You raise an eyebrow at him, wondering if he's really saying that he wants you to meet his family or just postulating that someday down the line it would happen. Probably the latter. "We'll find out when we're ready."

“I’m going home at the beginning of April.” He informs you, wondering if it’s too fast. “You could always come with me.”

From intrigued to bewildered at the drop of a hat, your face morphs into something soft and your head tilts in a gentle awe. "And I thought I was always the one running headlong into relationships with my heart out there on my sleeve," you murmur, realizing that Marcus must be very much the same way. "I—I would absolutely love to."

You don’t have to come of course, but he thinks you really mean that you would want to. “No pressure, of course.” He adds. “We don’t have to be press official or anything. My family is tight-knit, they wouldn’t breathe a word.”

“There is already speculation,” you admit, though you have to shrug about it so it doesn’t upset you that people are speculating about your life at all. “We…didn’t do a great job of not looking enamored with each other at the State dinner.”

“I understand that.” Marcus has read the speculation and seen the photos. Both of you are photographed looking completely taken with the other. “However, when you decided to confirm is completely up to you.” He reminds you softly. “You owe no one anything before that. Not even as the First Princess.”

“It’s more important to me that you know I want to be with you. And that we tell our families when we’re ready. The nation can wait, it won’t kill them to not get gossip right away.” You bite your lip though, leaning into his side again as you dance. “My family is probably going to be very enthusiastic tomorrow.”

“You plan on telling them tomorrow?” He asks, slightly surprised that you would be so willing to say something so quickly. It’s not that he’s been viewed as undesirable, but often the women he dated were more cautious.

“The only thing that would stop me would be if you don’t want me to.” Otherwise, sharing this new step forward in your life with your family is just one more thing to celebrate.

“You’re my soulmate.” Marcus reminds you, smiling softly at the reminder himself. “I don’t mind telling a stranger on the street, let alone people you love.”

When Juan had told you what a romantic Marcus is, you had almost taken it with a grain of salt. A friend talking up his friend to the girl who likes him. But it hasn’t taken long at all for you to see the truth of it shining in Marcus’s eyes, or widening his smile. And a man who wants love is exactly what you have always hoped for. “I’m glad we agree,” you murmur, swallowing around the first time your heart has burst with those words. You’re not going to come out with that full-scale declaration before you’ve even gone out on your first few dates. Before you’ve even kissed.

He smiles even more, his fingers pressing into your hip and lower back, pulling you closer to his own body. It’s not possessive, more protective over you and the moment that is unfurling between you. “Just let me know if I come on too strong.” He asks, knowing that it could annoy some and he doesn’t want to do that to you.

“That’s…usually the warning I have to give.” The striking similarities between the two of you aren’t lost. The way your wishes and dreams and treatment of your partners all lines up…it makes sense why they always say that your soulmate is your ideal fit. Especially in this moment, as your arms tighten around each other and the world seems to stop around you.

He chuckles softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to the edge of your hair. “You will never have to worry about that with me.” He promises.

The way your heart stops completely for a moment at the bare touch of lips to skin before starting back up at double the speed is so telling, and so overwhelming that your fingers dig into his jacket to keep him close. “You don’t have to worry either.”

The moment is perfect and it’s one of those moments that a first kiss is almost required. Like it’s the Hallmark movie it feels like. Marcus stares into your eyes and his gaze flickers down to your lips for a moment before there’s a snort beside him.

“You two look like the newlyweds.” Joyce teases, a broad grin on her face as she leans into the arms of her new husband.

Thwarted for the second time in as many days, you swallow the disappointment but have to appreciate the irony of who’s pointing it out. “That’s your job, today, I think.”

“No way we would want to upstage the happy couple.” Marcus adds, sending them a smile.

“No reason it can’t be a happy day for more than just us,” she hums, grinning again when they turn away to keep dancing.

Marcus laughs quietly as he continues to dance with you. “I think they suspect something.” He teases softly.

“Like I said,” you laugh quietly, beaming at him impossibly brighter. “We’re not very good at hiding it.”

“No, we aren’t.” He agrees, deciding that now is the perfect time to dip you like he had during the State dinner.

The same joyful shout of laughter bubbles out of you that had then, drawing some attention again but this time you revel in it. Marcus’s soothing presence is there to let you enjoy yourself without fear, so that when you wrap your arms around his neck again on the upswing — this time there is no hesitation in following your natural impulse. Your lips find his like you’re coming home again, in a kiss as sweet and bright as the rest of this moment.

He expected the kiss, had anticipated kissing you so it’s a shock to have you initiating the kiss. Eyes widening for a split second before he closes his eyes and leans you down even more. The brilliancy of having him lean into the moment is wonderful, and you suddenly don’t know if your head is swimming from being dipped or from him. Not that you care. Not that any of it matters. Because the electric spark of it is so brilliant you could sing.

Marcus has kissed women, lots of them. Some of them women he had loved, but nothing compares to this kiss. He had always heard that soulmate intimacy is beyond description and that is exactly what this is, indescribable.

The buzzing seems to start at the top of your head and go all the way down to your toes, making you hum against his lips when you finally have to pull away. Can’t be making out in the dance floor. That will definitely be noticed. Marcus slowly pulls you upright, his lips tingling and his heart feeling like it is soaring through the clouds.

“I wanted to do that so badly at the State dinner,” you whisper, beaming at him and glowing in the moment. He knows that. You told him already. But you’re too lightheaded to care about repeating yourself.

“I did too.” Marcus confesses just as softly. It’s impossibly amazing to have someone that feels the same way and he absorbs it like it’s oxygen to breathe.

There’s a giggle in your throat, but it’s small and feels like a hiccup, making you grin even more. “But that was better than I imagined.”

“Same.” He looks around the dance floor, aware that you weren’t at a soulmate wedding before he leans in to whisper in your ear. “I had never thought touching my soulmate would be so exciting and soothing all at the same time.”

“No exciting touches while I’m working,” you chide, knowing it isn’t what he meant but unable to resist teasing him.

He snorts quietly and arches a brow mischievously. “And if I do?”

He is a tease, and he said as much to you with pride, so you just quirk a smile up in the corner of your mouth and stroke one thumb along the line of his neck. “Then you’re not staying on the couch this time.”

“Am I staying?” He asks softly, not wanting to presume anything and he grins at your huff.

“Only if you want to.” You have no intention of pressuring him, but if he wants to spend the night you will welcome him with open arms.

“I don’t think that’s a question in my mind.” He chuckles. “I just don’t want you to think that I only want to take you to bed.”

“If I thought that, you wouldn’t be invited.” Enough years of second guessing and wondering have made an impact on you that way, and you certainly aren’t going to entertain any kind of advances from someone who isn’t interested in you for the right reasons. Not anymore.

“That’s good.” He admires your spirit and self-assurance. They are traits that he always likes in a woman and he’s happy to find that his soulmate is aligned the same way. Reaching up, he smirks slightly as he touches an earring. “So what time do you get off work, beautiful?”

"As soon as the reception's over." Subtly turning your wrist on his shoulder, you check the time and press a kiss to his cheek when your heart flutters at the end of the song that had been playing. "Just a couple more hours, handsome. I hope you're one of those G-men who keeps a change of clothes in their car."

“I do.” He nods, butterflies swirling in his stomach like he’s untried all over again, even though his virginity is long past gone. “The other night was an odd thing because of just coming back.”

"I'll let my temporary roommate know you're coming up." That's not exactly the kind of thing you can spring on Agent Bailey, even if she is at the end of her shift. Her shift relief will need to know there's someone spending the night so they don't hear noises and burst into your room.

“If it’s not convenient, we can always plan something out.” Marcus immediately assures you. He knows that it has to be a little stifling at times with the agent there and he doesn’t want you to stress if there’s some reason he can’t stay.

"I just don't want an agent interrupting us," you assure him quickly. "That's all. I want you to stay."

Marcus grins. “Afraid of a shift change and the agent thinking you’re being attacked?” He jokes.

"Stranger things have happened." Unfortunately, the ear piece you're wearing to stay connected to your team crackles to life with the voices of servers get ready for the cake cutting. "That's my cue," you hum, tapping your earpiece with a slight frown. "Save me one more dance later, okay?"

“Absolutely.” Marcus lets go of you reluctantly, although he knows you are still working to make the night magical for his friends.

The wedding is as close to perfect as any event that you've organized in possibly your entire career. By the time the last guests are trickling out of the garden and the wait staff is bringing in the last trays of glasses to be washed, your work is fairly well done for the night. The overnight manager can oversee the rest of the cleanup, and you've already sent Sydney home to her comfy bed after freaking out with her over the fact that Marcus has agreed to stay over tonight. Joyce and Michael left straight for the airport to be off on their honeymoon after many, many hugs. Agent Bailey looks positively relaxed compared to some other events you've held at the inn, but you can tell she's ready for a cup of coffee and a crossword to wind down with before her relief arrives.

"Hey." You find Marcus on the porch when you step back outside, and your face splits on a big, beautiful smile.

“Hey.” Marcus turns to find you watching him, your jacket discarded somewhere and you look softer, a little worn. “I have to just give you a round of applause.” He hums, clapping silently. “You made this look so easy, even though there are a million balls up in the air at one time.”

"I'm exhausted," you admit without shame. After two weeks of basically working nonstop, you would feel like you're about to drop except that you have the promise of the rest of the night ahead of you. "Thank god I took the whole weekend off. We can sleep in tomorrow."

Marcus frowns, not liking that you’ve overworked yourself and he is immediately pulling you close and rubbing your back. “Why don’t we go upstairs and you let me take care of you?”

“Because that will require an entire reprogramming of my personality?” The attempt at a joke just makes him raise his eyebrows at you and deepens his frown, and you know instinctively you’re going to give in to him. You may not be good at letting other people be in charge of you ever, but the warm and fuzzy feelings you get from being the sole focus of Marcus’s attention outweighs it. “Okayyyyyy.”

At the almost petulant tone, Marcus smirks slightly. “Good.” He nods and pulls you closer. “You deserve to let someone do for you.” He whispers softly. “You’ve done so much for my friends tonight. Let me return the favor.”

There isn’t any use protesting, and you like the gentle security of his arms too much to leave them right now, so the two of you make your way to the elevator wrapped around each other as though there is nowhere else you could possibly be. “Did you have fun tonight?” Aside from Joyce and Michael — who had thanked you profusely before leaving for the night — his opinion of things is the only one you care about.

“Probably the best wedding I’ve ever been to.” Marcus isn’t just saying that. The staff milled around, wearing happy expressions that weren’t painted on, even when they were busy. The entire event flowed smoothly and the atmosphere was one of celebrated joy. A lot of that comes straight from the top, how you treat your staff and the environment you’ve created. “I’ll say it again, you are amazing.”

“You may have noticed by now that I’m not very good at taking compliments.” You up at him, though, warm cheeks and broad smile making you look bashful. “But…thank you.”

“Well, I plan on giving them to you often.” He admits, admiring your beautiful face. He’s always believed in giving compliments, but he never says something he doesn’t mean.

“Then I will try to be better.” Having only kissed him once so far, the tantalizing closeness of where he hangs his head as you step into the elevator together beckons you, but you resist if only out of manners. Agent Bailey doesn’t need to be made to feel awkward in such a small space.

He can tell that you want to kiss him, but he can also see how incredibly worn out you are. Marcus shifts slightly, moving behind you so he can let you lean against him. The small, nondescript duffel bag in his hand brushes your leg, and you smile gently at the idea of waking up beside him tomorrow morning. As tantalizing as taking him to bed is, it’s the soft, domestic dream of waking up to see his sleep-mussed face that has you weak in the knees. When the elevator stops upstairs, you pause to let Agent Bailey work and then go in when she gives you the signal.

“Are the threats bad enough she needs to check the apartment every time?” He asks softly, frowning at the idea that you would be in so much danger.

“Mom is slightly overprotective,” you explain, dropping your jacket on the coat rack by the door when you come in. “I give it another month of all-clears before she stops insisting the apartment be checked every single time.”

“She loves you.” It’s not hard to see why but he also doesn’t want to minimize its effect on you.

“Oh, I know.” Turning around again, you reach for him even though he isn’t far away. “And I love her. Which is why I’ve never fussed at her for anything reasonable she’s ever asked of me. Including letting my agent check my apartment before I go inside. If it eases her anxiety to know I’m safe, that’s fine. She’s got plenty else to deal with right now.”

“It’s probably because you live alone.” He murmurs, sliding his arms around you. “When I first moved away, my Mom called every night to make sure I locked my door. And I was not nearly as pretty as you are.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” His chin weighs on your shoulder and you cover his arms with your own, wrapping them around your own waist. “You’re much prettier than me. But you’re right that it’s about me living alone. When I lived with Syd she never worried out loud. But she also wasn’t president then.”

“Maybe we will have to get you a roommate.” Marcus isn’t pushing for anything, only teasing out loud. “And a really protective dog.”

“If you want a review of how I am to live with, Syd will tell you everything, I’m sure.” Though neither of you believes in pushing the other, it’s obvious that a fully functioning and committed relationship is on both of your minds. “And you know I’m dying to have a dog, we talked about that. I just can’t do it here. There’s nowhere near enough space.”

“There is if you build a cottage behind the inn.” Marcus suggests. “Gives you space for the family and keeps you close enough to your work to still pop in whenever you need.”

For a second you just stand stock still, shocked at the idea, before you slowly turn in his arms and look up into that sharply angled face with the gentlest eyes in the whole world. “I had never thought of that,” you admit, astonished now at your own lack of imagination.

“Maybe now you will.” He smiles, happy to have offered a suggestion that might be of use to you. “It’s a perfect compromise, and then you could turn your apartment into another suite for guests.”

“It’s a perfect compromise as long as it’s something my partner also likes the sound of.” Thinking of him as a partner — a long term one, the long-term partner of your life — sends that tingle out to all your extremities all over again and you find yourself smiling even brighter. “I guess we’ll have to think about what kind of cottage we would want, if that’s something we decide to do together.”

“Stone.” Marcus immediately says. “Designed to fit in. Perhaps an old carriage house design.”

The way he offers such unfettered support softens you, and you reach up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Have you thought about it before, or are you just brilliant with improvising ideas?”

“Haven’t thought about it before but I hate when I see a historic building and some addition that’s completely modern or doesn’t match the style.” He admits with a sheepish grin.

“Then I’ll just call you brilliant and you’ll have to live with being positively adored.” He blushes at that declaration, and you end up smiling all over again. “And it’s very Sabrina of you to think of living in a carriage house. Which makes it thematic, of course, and now we have to.”

“Now we have to, huh?” He chuckles quietly and leans in to press a kiss to your hair. “Then I guess we better start designing a carriage house worth of the First Princess.”

“I don’t care.” Even though you’re shaking your head, you’re transfixed, looking up into his eyes. It’s too soon for these things you’re feeling — too quick and too untried — but they’re so honest that they catch in your throat and bubble over. “As long as you’re there, too, I don’t care about anything else.”

It’s a loaded comment and it’s one that would have him searching your eyes to see if you are being truthful but he doesn’t have to. He feels that you are. “We will decide when the time comes.” He promises. “Where we live.”

“I’m just grateful you don’t think I’m crazy,” you admit softly. “For feeling so certain already.”

He snorts and pulls you close. “When I realized that you knew we had to be soulmates, there was another reaction that I needed space from you because of.” He admits. “Do you know what that was?”

“Not a clue.” Whatever it was, he’s here with you now, so you aren’t afraid of it. “Tell me.”

“So I didn’t beg you to run away with me and get married.” He flushes slightly and bites his lip.

“Oh god…” The breath of disbelief that leaves you is as disbelieving as it is giddy. “I would’ve said yes and we would’ve been doing text message breakups from the car on our way to the nearest soulmate chapel.”

“And we are better than that.” Marcus agrees, “so it was a good thing that I left for London.”

“Long distance so that we were forced to not be impulsive.” In a very real way, he’s right. You would both have jumped headfirst into this and being on separate continents forced you to calm down. You do smirk, though, and hold him a little closer. “It didn’t stop us from bathing together, though.”

Your smirk is tantalizingly wicked and innocent, making him return it. “I was trying very hard to be good while we were on the phone together. To not think about you naked.”

"I admit," you aren't embarrassed or shy about it, though. "I was decidedly less well behaved..."

“Oh yeah?” He arches a brow curiously. “What— were you touching yourself while we were talking?”

"After." It's not something you expected to admit tonight, but you have no intention of keeping the truth from Marcus at all. "I...wasn't confident I could keep quiet if I actually did it during one of our conversations."

“So you are vocal.” He hums softly, starting to get an idea of what might be a perfect ending to the night for you.

"Maybe a little." It's definitely something you have to control to be considerate of the other person in your apartment at all times.

“That’s good.” He’s aware that Agent Bailey has disappeared around the corner, trying to give you the illusion of privacy. “I like vocal.”

Instantly, your eyes snap up to his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hums, pressing a little closer to you with a weighted smile. “Why don’t we run a bath? Soaking sounds like a good idea for you, doesn’t it?”

“Thank god my tub is big enough for two people,” you huff, immediately grabbing his hand and heading straight for your bathroom.

He hadn’t actually meant for him to soak, but it’s obvious that’s what you want. Allowing you to guide him into your bathroom, he looks around the room. He hadn’t really paid attention to the tub when he had spent the night or when he was here for the game night, so it was a charming surprise to see that the tub is big enough for two.

"Are you a bubbles or salts guy?" You have a whole shelf dedicated to bath things that you've actually started working through thanks to the frequent phone calls you shared while he was away. Before that, you barely made time to touch them.

“Either one.” He shrugs slightly. “Depends on the mood, but I’m thinking bubbles tonight. What about you?”

"Sweet Surrender or Heart of the Ocean?" The two yet-untouched bottles on the shelf have abstract names but smelled amazing in the store when you bought them, so you give him the choice. Either way, the light and airy scented candles in the room will add ambiance more than anything else.

“Sweet Surrender.” He likes the sound of it and shrugs off his tuxedo jacket to drape over the counter.

“Honey, almonds, and pomegranate,” you read from the bottle as you turn to plug up the tub and start the bath. These first moments of intimacy are so delicate, and even though you have both verbally confirmed your shared marks — this will be the first time you see them on each other.

“That sounds like the perfect scent to relax in.” He doesn’t glance up at you, slowly starting to undress in case you change your mind.

“Hey.” As soft as your voice is, your hand reaches out to touch his arm. He isn’t looking at you and you just want to be sure that he doesn’t feel pressured. “If you want to wait, we can wait as long as you need.”

“No.” He laughs at the irony of you voice his own thoughts. “But I also know you are tired. Why don’t we soak without any expectations?”

“No expectations is good.” You nod, appreciating the way he already looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “There are a lot of different kinds of intimacy.”

“My idea was to get you into a bath, maybe make you feel good, and wrap you up in my arms to sleep.” Marcus voices softly.

“Is that what you want to do?” He’s only undone two buttons on his shirt, and you rest one hand lightly on his chest to ground yourself in him and give him your full attention. You said it earlier in the night — you are both just out of relationships. If he wants to take things between you physically slow even if they are moving at emotional light speed, you’ll honor that and make sure he feels comfortable and safe.

“The romantic in me wants to wait for your birthday tomorrow night.” He admits, huffing at himself. “For sex. Not for making you cum.”

“Honey.” Your hand goes to your mouth instantly, stifling a witheringly heartfelt sigh, and you step into him immediately with a sort of lopsided smile settling into your features that tells him exactly how sweet you find that idea. “That is…quite possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. And I adore you for wanting to make it special.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?” He’s been told he tries too hard or overthinks in relationships a lot and it’s something he’s worked on.

“No.” Shaking your head just once, you run your thumb over one of the buttons of his shirt and nearly sigh again. “I think it’s romantic. And it tells me you’re a thoughtful partner.”

“What do you want?” That is equally as important in this scenario as his own wistful flights of romantic fancy.

“I want to wake up with you tomorrow.” It might sound odd or even a little creepy to anyone else, but you’re confident that Marcus will understand. It’s not possessive or obsessive, it’s domestic and romantic in its own right. “Find out what you look like sleep mussed and bathed in sunlight all tangled in my sheets. Anything else that happens is a bonus.”

“Then let me take care of you tonight?” He asks softly, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I can wait, and I want to make your weekend special.”

It’s impossibly romantic and probably the first time in your entire life that the man you’re romantically involved with isn’t clamoring to fuck you as quickly as humanly possible. Instead of making you feel less desirable, like it might have at earlier points in your life, it makes you feel special. Cared for. Like the fact that you have his focus means more than anything else ever could. “Okay,” you murmur, nodding once before you turn to shut off the hot water filling your bathtub. “If you prefer, there’s a little stool next to the sink. “You don’t have to get in with me unless you want to.”

“I don’t mind getting into the bath with you.” The idea of pressing his body against yours is incredibly erotic and sensual. “You can lean against me.”

“Okay.” Even as simple as a word is, the acknowledgement is important. Right now it’s just as important as the mounting hum of tension between you, and His your fingers prickly with the desire to continue undressing him. How you’re dying to press your bare skin to his, even if it doesn’t come with sex just yet.

He wonders if you are disappointed, if you are wanting him to just jump you and take you to bed. He wants to, but he wants to celebrate what is between you more.

"There's only..." Your hands go to your own buttons. Undressing yourself is not pressuring him, but just offering. Offering to deepen this connection and share this part of yourself. "Only one thing I want to ask...that's all. If it's okay with you?"

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He’s willing to whatever you want to make you happy. “What do you need to ask of me?”

It seems silly, all things considered, but when you bite your lip it feels like asking permission to smile. "I just want to see the marks we share. On both of us."

Marcus chuckles and nods, finishing the buttons on his shirt and he slips it off his shoulders. “The most obvious one first, I think.”

"I hope you don't hate it." His shirt lands on the stool you had offered him, and yours follows it.

“I don’t.” He promises, smiling at you. “Your explanation makes complete sense, now that I know that it’s you.” He tells you. “A Hummingbird for my little hummingbird.”

"And you know why I was never on Mate Marks now." It was something he had pointed out at the State dinner and you had felt awfully about the way he took it. Thinking that you never wanted to be found, when in fact it's the opposite that is true. It's just that it was considered unsafe for you. Now, though? Now that you have him right in front of you? You can turn around and show him your back and let him see the hummingbird for himself.

Your bra is still on, but he doesn’t mind that, watching as you slowly turn to let him see the tattoo on your lower back. The hummingbird that has marked his own skin, the exact same one. “Does it look different on someone else?” You ask, suddenly afraid to see his reaction.

Reaching out, his fingers brush over the skin, feeling the slight rise in it where the ink has been pushed underneath. His own is flat, not raised and it’s a wonderful little contrast between your tattoo and its counterpart on his own body. “It looks beautiful.” He murmurs softly.

"If I had been older than eighteen, I might have had it put somewhere else," you admit with a wry laugh. "But I don't care as long as it helped us find each other."

“It’s discreet.” He snorts, still tracing it. “If you want it to be.”

"I tend to tuck my shirts into my pants these days." His fingers are burning hot but not in an unpleasant way. More like the tension and promise of them is scorching your skin with eagerness. "Or just wear a longer top layer. No bikinis, ya know?"

“That’s why there aren’t pictures of it out there.” He huffs slightly, amused that if you had been photographed it would have been splashed in some kind expose or something.

"It doesn't matter anymore." Before, discretion had been something that was agreed upon. You didn't want someone claiming to be your soulmate falsely and your parents considered it a safety concern. But now that you have Marcus? Any claim would be an obvious lie and easily taken care of. "You're what matters."

Marcus turns so you can see the tattoo on his skin, verifying the same design to you. “You matter too, sweetheart.”

You never thought it would be such an emotional moment, but it’s only in the last few days that you realize how silly that assumption was. Of course this is emotional. This connection goes far, far beyond any that you’ve made otherwise. It is, just like the ink marking both of your bodies, under your skin. The tears are more than you were expecting, and you wipe one away on your thumb after a pause. “Holy shit,” you laugh after a second. “It’s real…”

He lights up at the giddy excitement in your voice. The yearning has him turning around and wiping away another with his own thumb as he caresses your cheek. “It’s real, sweetheart. We’re real.”

When he turns to you fully you can see the scar from your childhood surgery on his torso, the line of healed flesh where the doctor cut into you as clear as day on his otherwise smooth skin. “I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, tracing it with your fingers. “We were so young to have to carry this and know what it means…that we were always connected…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Marcus shakes his head, frowning at your apology. “I was worried about you.” He admits softly. “If I had known you, I would have been visiting you in the hospital.”

"I told you." A thin smile brightens your face, reminding him of what you said at the State dinner. "Appendicitis sucks."

“I will take your word for it.” He chuckles quietly and his fingers brush your scar. “Were you scared when it happened?”

"Terrified." You nod slightly, eyes transfixed on his fingers touching your skin. "I was six and I had never, ever felt that kind of pain before."

“Poor thing.” Kneeling down, he leans in and presses his lips to the scar.

You swallow hard as he reaches for the button on your pants, skin singing at every little bit of contact. It’s only a second before he pulls the zipper open that you frankly try to remember what panties you put on for today, but it doesn’t matter. Every stitch of clothing will be gone soon, and you’re okay with that. Losing the last barriers between the two of you is exactly what you want for this weekend.

He continues to kiss along the length of the scar, watching you looking down at him as he slowly opens your trousers. Finding it incredibly sexy that you are already breathless.

“Just had a mini panic,” you admit, raking your fingers through his short hair. “Can’t remember if I put on presentable panties today or not.”

He can’t help but laugh at the very normal fear. “I don’t care about what kind of panties you wear.” He promises with grin. “But I did wear my good boxer briefs.” He jokes. “Keep it all contained properly.”

“Can’t have you letting it all hang out.” When you laugh along with him, it comes out like a snort. “Very undignified.”

“Very.” He joins you in the laughing, his fingers running along the edge of your panties. “No erections allowed in wedding photos.”

“Fully permitted later in the night, though.” He’s still on his knees in front of you, and despite being nervous you reach behind yourself to unhook your bra. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s encouraged.”

“Well, of course it is now.” He huffs playfully, hooking his fingers into the band of your panties. The last scraps of fabric fall away, leaving you naked in front of him, and you shiver slightly without knowing if it’s the chilly bathroom or nerves that are doing it. Marcus debates, seriously debates, if he should just lean forward and bury his face into the pretty, neat little patch of hair. To use his tongue on you. When you shiver, he knows he needs to get you into the bath, so he stands quickly and unbuckles his belt.

You aren’t a virgin. You never claimed to be. At one-day-under-30, you’ve had your fair share of sexual and romantic partners, and not everyone in those two categories overlapped. Still, when Marcus pushes his boxer briefs and trousers away in one go, you inhale sharply at the first glimpse of his half-hard cock. If you hadn’t promised to let him take care of you, you might be reaching forward or dropping to your own knees — but you did. You promised. And you can barely hold back a smothered groan of regret at that fact because he’s stunning.

If it weren’t for the lusty, glazed look on your face, he might have thought something was wrong. As it is, his half hard cock twitches and hardens even more as he guides you towards the tub. “Get in, sweetheart.” He urges. “I’ll get us some towels.”

“The cupboard behind you.” They’re big, fluffy, soft things that you count as an indulgence, but they won’t be anywhere near as comfortable as having him in this bath with you. Still, you step into the hot, sudsy water without him, knowing he’ll follow in a minute.

Marcus grabs the towels and sets them close before striding back over to the tub. He’s not some Greek god, but he’s in good enough shape that there’s no reason to slump or hide as he walks towards you naked.

“Fuck.” Just one word groaned softly, but your eyes stay on him with every step. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Are you stealing my lines?” He teases, flashing you a grin as you sit in the sudsy water. “Because the only gorgeous thing I see is you.”

“We can both be gorgeous to each other,” you point out, still transfixed by him.

He had never really thought of it that way and shrugs slightly. “If you say so.” He bites his lip and watches you lean forward to give him room behind you.

The water is just a tiny bit high with both of you settled into the tub, but you don’t care. It’s not in danger of flooding the floors so you’ll just revel in being warm and comfortable with your soulmate for as long as the hot water holds out. You lean back against him, making him sigh softly in your ear and his arms come around you.

“Is this okay, hummingbird?” He murmurs quietly. “Can I touch you?”

“You know you can call me Birdie.” Settling back against him, you guide his hand around you and under the water to let him start exploring. “Hummingbird is my Secret Service call sign. Don’t wanna start accidentally moaning as a Pavlovian response whenever Agent Bailey says it.”

He chuckles quietly, a warm sound in your ear as he splays his hand over your stomach. “If you want me to.” He slowly starts to stroke your skin. “Hummingbird sounds a little more intimate, I thought.”

“Whatever you want, gorgeous.” The way he laughs and the way he touches you? You’d probably agree to anything right about now.

“Is that how I get my way?” He asks teasingly. “Get in a hot bath with you and I get what I want?” His hands, both of them, slide up to fill his hands with your tits and squeezes gently, enjoying the way your nipples harden against his palm.

“Apparently.” Sighing lets your body loosen even more in his arms and you rest heavily against his torso but your back arches to press your chest into his hands. “And ya know what? I’m okay with it.”

He laughs again, squeezes and then massaging the flesh before his thumbs brush over your nipples. “That’s right?” He asks. “You enjoying this? Feeling relaxed already?” Flicking your nipples again lightly before he cups your tits again.

“Mmmmm, it’s perfect,” you hum, letting your eyes slip shut to just enjoy the sensations.

“Good.” He’s slow to explore, letting the moment expand naturally and taking his time as he listens to your soft moans. Wanting to learn what makes you hum and purr like a kitten in his hands.

“Are you going to make a Goldilocks joke if I point out what big hands you have?” You ask, humming again when his large hand spans what feels like your entire thigh.

“The better to feel you with, my dear.” He growls into your ear playfully, squeezing your thigh slightly and massaging it gently.

The giggle you let out is low and deep, but cut off sharply by a gasp when his fingers ghost over your core. He hums, more of a raspy growl as he slides his fingers through the wet curls and into your folds. Groaning at the slickness that has nothing to do with the bath you are in.

“Fuck.” One syllable, repeated as many times as you want to tonight, and you drop your head back on his shoulder with a moan. “Feels so good and you’ve barely touched me.”

“That’s it, beautiful.” He coos softly. “Just relax, I’m gonna take care of you.” The water ripples as he slowly starts to caress your folds, rubbing and stroking the velvety skin as he listens to you moan again.

Pliant is an understatement as Marcus starts to explore, gauging your reactions and keeping his other hand busy with your tits now that he’s figured out how much you love having them played with. The itch in the back of your mind that you’re neglecting him is very real, but this is what he wants tonight and what he’s ready to share with you, so you’ll just make tomorrow twice as good for both of you when you can share the sensations.

He keeps the motion of his fingers slow, sensual as they dance over your sensitive clit. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“So good—” So good that your breath is coming short, shallow pants already and only occasionally punctuated by longer and deeper ones. It’s like he can read you as easily as a book. “So fucking good.”

He hums softly, keeping the pace up and his cock is throbbing against your lower back now that he is fully hard. He ignores it and squeezes your breast again before teasing the nipple. “That’s good, baby girl.”

Your hips tilt, searching for more pressure and trying to show him where to focus his attention, but Marcus is exploring. He’s learning. And as much as you love it, it’s making you twist and pant and rub against him in ways you’re sure are not helping the hard on pressed between you.

“Ohhhh my soulmate gets eager, hmmm?” He coos, chuckling at the way you are grinding against him. “What do you need sweetheart?”

"More." You aren't above begging and he's already professed to being a tease so you just bask in it when his husky voice is right by your ear. He doesn't mind that you're eager and you don't mind that he's a tease, which means there's going to be a whole lot of fun ahead of the two of you. "Please, baby? More?"

“I’ve got you.” He knows there is a fine balance between being a tease and tormenting someone. He turns his hand, his thumb pressing against your aching clit so he can push two fingers deep inside you. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

"Oh fuck." The whine that comes out of you is something unrestrained and probably louder than you meant it to be, but it hardly matters when he's stretching you out on two thick fingers. Your hands scramble for purchase, one clutching his arm against you and the other holding on to the side of the tub as he begins to finger fuck you slowly but determinedly.

“Gotta stretch you out.” He croons in your ear, his breath washing over your skin. “Get your tight little pussy ready for me tomorrow.” He curls his fingers up and continues the slow circles on your clit.

"Knew those fingers would feel amazing inside me." And after thinking about it for about two weeks solid, you're thrilled to find out exactly how right you were.

“Been thinking about that a lot?” He asks, deciding your ear lobe needs to be nibbled on.

"So fucking much." Every time his fingers dive back inside your cunt you give another wanton moan. "Almost as much as I've been thinking about your cock."

“Now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?” He’s curious because he knows you wouldn’t lie to him, he knows enough women have enjoyed him to not be too self-conscious, but you are his soulmate. Hopefully you will be pleased with the body the universe chose for you to share.

“I think I my imagination didn’t do you justice.” If it weren’t for his fingers moving inside you, you’d be riding that cock, but you can’t find it in yourself to be disappointed when he’s so fucking good with his hands. Instead you twist around, chest having as you claim a demanding kiss.

He groans into your mouth, cock twitching against your back as your tongue slides into his mouth. You taking control of kiss is incredibly sexy to him, and he pumps his fingers into you faster.

If you were flexible enough to reach in between your bodies and wrap your hand around his hard on, you would have done it ages ago. The angle you’ve twisted into to kiss him almost makes it work, but still not quite. It leaves you whining into the kiss as your legs quake, feeling yourself move closer and closer to that peak that he has aimed you toward.

It’s not as slow as Marcus had wanted. Expecting to coax you into a languid, drawn-out orgasm that leaves you boneless, you are insistent. Not that he could deny you, the entire point is to take care of you how you need it. Kissing you back with just as much fervor as you give him as he pushes you towards that pleasurable cliff.

It probably would have been more like the slow, sensual climb he had intended if you weren’t so hungry for him. So addicted to the way he tastes after barely the smallest sample that you just want to drown in him. It’s passion, and the kind of attraction that makes you feel like you’ll go crazy if you can’t have him burrowing under your skin. In the moment your hazy, pleasure-centric mind is wrapped solely around how he helps and tastes better than perfection, and how you never want it to end.

The kiss tangles deeper, winding through to his soul and squeezing it tights. Grunting into your mouth gently as he feels like he is home.

The whine in your throat gets tighter as you near that peak, glorious tension in the pit of your stomach flooding every other sense you have as you start to cum, except the unerring surety that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be. Right here. With your soulmate. Home.

The way you fall apart for him is breathtaking. Marcus moans in tune to your own cries, eyes closed as your walls tighten around his fingers and pulse with a throbbing tempo of pleasure. The water sloshing around you both as you shake for him.

The words stick in your throat, and whether it’s the soulmate connection or the post-orgasm bliss, or what, they hang there as you relax backward against him in a slump. Is it really that easy? Or has it been building since we met? You aren’t sure, but it’s there. Regardless of how or why.

He feels the second you soften, body relaxing against him and his fingers slow down. Drawing out the pleasure but not forcing any kind of overstimulation. Winding down until they are still inside you as he kisses you softly before pulling back to smile at your glowing face.

“You have very good ideas.” A soft laugh tumbles out of you as you work to suppress the instinct to declare yourself to him. This isn’t the right time. Or, at least, you’re afraid that it’s too soon despite the dreams you’ve already shared with him.

“Good.” He hums softly, kissing you again. “Relaxed, sweetheart?”

“Amazingly.” You can still feel him rock hard at your back, though, and your eyes search his. “Are you sure you don’t want a hand? Or any other part of me?”

He snickers the innuendo and leans in to kiss you again. “You don’t know how badly I want you.” He murmurs softly. “But your eyes are exhausted.”

“I hate that you’re right.” Wanting him so badly that it physically hurts doesn’t make you less tired, but it does make you more determined than ever to make sure tomorrow is incredible.

He chuckles softly and kisses your forehead. "You now know how I felt a couple of days ago." He reminds you softly. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, love." He promises. "We will get there and it will be amazing."

“Tomorrow.” The tone of your voice is absolutely certainty, it the yawn immediately after does put a pin in the point. “We will get there tomorrow.”

"Tomorrow." He agrees and shifts you forward slightly as he pulls his hand away from your core. "For now, we need to get some rest so you can party tomorrow without falling asleep."

“What do you want to do tomorrow before the party?” Standing on wobbly legs in the bath takes a second, but when you wipe all the suds away and step out you’re steady enough.

"You have the day off." He hums, getting out beside you and wrapping a towel around you. "We could start off with brunch if you wanted to. Or whatever you want to do? Go to the famer's markets around here?"

“I switched my day off this week to make sure the wedding would go smoothly,” you explain. He’s large and warm and strong, and the feeling of safety doesn’t elude you. “So we have the whole weekend together if we want it.”

"I want it." He immediately tells you, frowning slightly as he towels you off carefully. Ignoring the water dripping off his own body so he can attend to you. "If you do, of course."

“Of course I do.” Grabbing the second towel off the stool, you start to dry him in turn. “Just…didn’t want to be clingy. That’s been a point against me in the past.”

"You don't have to worry about me being upset." Marcus assures you. "I have that same problem sometimes too."

“Jump in head first and get too clingy and it overwhelms them?” To find out he’s the same way is an odd sort of relief and solidarity, if you’re honest with yourself.

Marcus snorts and gives you an embarrassed wince. "I did propose in the hallway at work?" he offers. "Not some of my best romantic work, and after reflecting on it, I was feeling like the relationship was slipping away and I was desperate to save it."

“This was Teresa?” He had told you a bit about his exes — just little tidbits — during your phone calls and you hum when he nods. “No offense, honey? But it doesn’t really sound like she had her shit together in that relationship. That was not your fault.”

"No, but I held on even harder when I should have just let go." He admits, sighing softly. "Too quick to jump in, to give my heart, to plan for the future."

“You’d think I would have learned my lesson when I got cheated on.” You shake your head, drawing your towel around yourself and shrugging. “Oops.”

"I can't fucking believe someone would be dumb enough to cheat on you." He snorts, rolling his eyes at the idiocy of his sex.

“The only good part of the whole thing is that I managed to cut his cheek when I threw the ring at him,” you huff, shaking your head again as the two of you move into your bedroom together. The age-old cliche of finding your partner in bed with someone else had been your horrible reality just a few years ago. “Asshole. I hope he has a scar.”

"Me too." He huffs, "but you don't need to worry about that with me." He knows it's sounding like a complete line, but it's the truth. "I would never – I went to break up with Vanessa because just knowing you were my soulmate, I couldn't give her what she deserved."

“I…I felt like I needed confirmation,” you admit. After giving it a few seconds of thought you simply discard your towel in the laundry basket and climb into bed naked, pulling back the sheets to invite him to join you bare. “Just knowing we both had tattoos in the same place wasn’t enough. It could have been totally different designs, and then I would have been the idiot who jumped to conclusions and ruined both of our relationships for some unfounded crush. And then…at the State dinner…finding out you have my scar, too? I knew that was it. Everything I already felt for you in that moment was more than I had ever felt about anyone else.”

"I understand now." He had been hurt, deeply hurt, but he won't tell you that now. He doesn't want you upset about that, when you needed to take time for yourself to accept the possibility.

“I’m sorry if I…if I did things wrong.” Waiting for him to get in bed makes you a little self conscious but you swallow the idea that you might deserve it. “I don’t really know how to walk up to a person and tell them that the universe thinks they’re my perfect match.”

"Don’t' worry about that," Marcus slides into the bed beside and you and gathers you into his arms. Wanting to fold you against him and hold you close. "All that matters is that we know now."

“I love you.” You might have held it back before, but when you exhale this time the words come out all on their own. “I know that’s a lot, and don’t feel like you have to say it back until you’re ready. But I — I’m very grateful it’s you.”

He stares at you for a moment and then starts to laugh. Leaning in and nudging his nose against yours. "Sweetheart, I love you too." He promises softly through the chuckles. "I think I fell in love with you over board games that first night." He admits. " I just didn't let myself believe it."

Exhaling deeply, you burrow into his side and bury your face, just letting the right release of relieved laughter roll through you. Watery eyes and sniffles are nothing now. Not compared to the elated smile on your face. “You looked like a dream when you came into the inn that day. Like you’d stepped right out of my fantasies.”

"I wanted to ask you out." He confesses. "Until I learned you were seeing Sam."

“It’s all okay now.” It’s perfect now, as far as you’re concerned, and you press your lips to his with a smile curved up at the corners. “We’re where we’re supposed to be.”

"In bed, where you are fighting sleep so you can talk to me?" He teases gently, smiling back into your lips.

“Yes,” you huff at him as adorably as you can.

He laughs again, settling back into the pillows and pulling you with him, humming when you settle down onto his chest like you belong there. "Go to sleep, hummingbird." He urges quietly. "I'll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

HHL: @haileymorelikestupid @anoverwhelmingdin @storiesofthefandomlovers @missladym1981 @babeincolor @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

My Masterlist!

[dark-frosted-heart]

Ikevil Chara Cafe collab menu because I like looking at the menus even though I can't go

Food

Mixed salad with smoked salmon, raisins, grapefruit, diced nuts, lemon dressing, black pepper, edible flowers, paw monaka wafer

Roast beef, rice, rock salt, mesclun, parsley, camembert cheese, steak sauce in a vial

Crown's favorite tomato sauce pasta with bacon, spinach, black olives, parsley, croutons, and consommé

Dessert

Parfait with bavarian cream, mint jelly, chocolate corn flakes, whipped cream, mint chocolate ice cream, mint leaf, brownie

Alfon's cursed scone from that one gacha card which has blue raspberry whipped cream. A side biscuits, vanilla ice cream, more whipped cream topped with chervil, silver dragees that you can see hidden behind the scone. Oddly doesn't list the fruits in the cream.

Wedding berry cake plate - berry cake, macaron, cookies, whipped cream, mint, cotton candy with gold flakes, butterfly monaka wafer

Fruit cocktail for when the little robin takes a break - cider, cherry, heart-shaped gummy, satsuma mandarin, yellow peach, strawberry, tricolor agar jelly, popping candy

Drink

Frozen strawberry drink - strawberry ice cream, strawberries, milk, strawberry syrup, whipped cream

Blue ocean drink - blue raspberry syrup, lemon water, lemon slice, gold flakes

Butterfly pea soda - butterfly pea syrup, carbonated water, lemon syrup, violet jelly

Berry tea of happiness - berry tea and black currant jam

Grim reaper's hot cocoa - cocoa, whipped cream, coffee sauce

Violet cream soda - cider, purple melon syrup, vanilla ice cream, cherry, butterfly monaka wafer

Wedding mocktail - pink grapefruit syrup, peach juice, carbonated water, edible flower

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry

A/N: this...this is a scary thing for me to share. this is so closely drawn from my life and the things i've experienced in my twenties (as far as the restaurant stuff goes, i was never fortunate enough to catch the eyes of someone as alluring as our dear joel). i'm fully aware that i don't need another WIP but this has been comsuming me lately and i wanted to share despite the trepidation. c'est la vie, no?

ao3 link || series masterlsit || main masterlist

“Fuck.” You moaned, the sound filling the cool air of the walk in, back arching as you tried to push back against the man who had sheathed the entirety of his hard length into you with one smooth, drawn out move so attuned to your body. His grip on your hips was bruising, the feeling of him gripping tight to your shoulder even more so, but he didn’t move.

He seemed frozen, head bowed down and forehead connected with the back of your head, hands gripping tight, chest heaving with each deep breath and brushing hot against your back. Murmured words falling from his plush lips too quiet for you to catch, but you were sure if he could safely do so, he would be praising you in that filthy way he was prone to do. His large thighs were pressed to the backs of your own and the feel of his chef pants was rough on the naked skin of your thighs where he had pushed up the skirt of the dress you had worn for your shift.

“Please, Joel, I need you to move.” You circled your hips, grinding back on the entire length of him and you could feel yourself clench. A guttural moan sounded from his lips, puffing out in a misty breath.

“What did I tell you about bein’ a good girl f’me?” The hard line of him twitched deep inside you and your knees wobbled. The hand on your waist curled around your middle to help keep you upright, lest they give out on you completely. He pulled out nearly all the way only to slam back in, it took everything in you not to scream from the pleasure as white sparked across your vision. Your teeth digging into the hands that were grasping desperately onto the edge of the metal storage shelf you were pressed up against. Trying to hide the sound in an effort to keep the secret that had become your personal life just that, something shared in moments of spiking passion and deep kisses between you and the man who enraptured you beyond anything you had experienced before.

Thoughts swirled and your mind took you back to the events that transpired to allow this type of pleasure to be something that you owned, that you took, that was given to you by the man whose hands were holding you so tightly and pounding into you so deliciously.

“I think a play on mint would be a good idea, for the paired cocktail. I could whip up a batch of simple syrup infused with it or order a case of crème de menthe. But I’ll mess around with it and get back with y’all in a few days before the order needs to be placed.” You jotted down what glasses you were thinking of, a choice between a martini glass, a coup, and a tall rocks class. You pushed your reading glasses back up your nose, the frames having slipped down the bridge as you scribbled half ideas down in your small notebook. “Chef, will the mash be sweet potato or more like the topping for the Shepard’s pie we did last fall? And the balsamic, will it be a glaze over the brussels or will they be cooked with it?”

Joel Miller’s eyes seemed to snap to you, he had offered his new rotation of dishes for the fall menu and promptly spaced out. He never seemed to pay attention to anything else in the higher up meetings for the restaurant you worked at. You had been here for a year now. Having been hired as a general bartender and then bumped up to manager around two months in. You had to do an order on the fly for the bar when it was revealed that the manager had made a faux one and pocketed the money for themselves. To say they had been fired would be an understatement. They were no longer allowed to work for any part of the company.

You don’t think you had ever met his eyes before and you were beginning to think that was a blessing in disguise. His eyes were such a warm, chocolate brown that lit up into an amber wonderland that you could find yourself getting lost in when they caught the light. It took you a moment to realize that he was answering your questions. This was the first instance of a menu change that you had the chance to ask questions. His gaze wandered over what he could see of you as you sat across the table from him, further down by the barback you had chosen to help out with keeping the tickets flowing well and running drinks when the servers were busy.

“Was thinkin’ of sweet potatoes, to compliment the lamb. It won’t be a traditional mint jelly, more of a yogurt based mint sauce topped before leaving the line.” He glanced down at the menu he had provided for the meeting. It was simple and to the point. Underneath one of the new dishes, the special due to the cost of sourcing the lamb was simple descriptors. Special: Lamb. Mash. Brussels. Mint. Balsamic.

“Sounds yummy, and the balsamic, chef?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He grunted out, not sure what to think of you asking after the dish. Sure, he knew you needed to know the components properly for each dish of the special in order to pair it properly with a house made drink. But you were so…something he wasn’t used to seeing. You had a good balance of professional and personable, both on the clock and off. He noticed some of his cooks offering you tastes of stuff they were working on during prep hours and returned dishes that came back to the kitchen. The other servers often mentioned you helping them with rowdy or difficult tables, were more than willing to help them if they didn’t know questions asked after the drinks offered and wine selection.

More often than not, people from both the front of house and back of house would sit at the bar with you after their shifts. Idle chit chat and horror stories of the night told between laughs and knowing looks. Bonding in ways that could only happen as a result of working in such a space, of being able to handle working in such a space.

He shook his head, the thoughts of you disappearing with the movement and he shoved off from the table to slink back into the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold of the dining room, your gentle voice in his ears and he stifled a shiver at the thought of your lips close enough to whisper into them. What kind of things would you be brave enough to say in hushed tones just for him? Would you whisper filthy desires into his ears and cause heat to spark down his spine, or would you beg him for the things he wanted to say to you, the things he saw flash before his closed eyes when he would see how effortlessly you knocked out a line of tickets, or helped to expo his line during the times in which spacing out tables was only a wish.

“Gotcha. Thank you, chef.”

Despite his better judgement he turned to look back at you over his shoulder, just in time to see you smile softly at him before turning your focus back to the meeting. He almost hadn’t, unsure of where the sudden salacious nature of his thoughts had sprung up from. And his heartrate picked up as he crossed into his kitchen space.

The manager of the restaurant was pacing back and forth in front of the host stand, phone held tightly to her ear as she listened to the voice bleeding from the other line. It was summer, the season of call outs and no call no shows. As predictable as the looks of glee on servers and cooks faces alike as checks hit their accounts on a weekly basis, the tip out rate through the roof with the influx of tourists and lively people of the city. The manager prided herself in being able to provide a good base pay for everyone, ignoring the cheap cop out of matching the other establishments of the area and the country in general.

None of that $2.13/hour nonsense, she had smiled genuinely at you in your interview, the softness of her excitement allowing you to seriously consider the industry you had left a few years previously in favor of going back to school, of taking the monumental step of becoming a teachers assistant at your alma mater. But grad school was around the corner, something you needed in order to pursue your dreams.

But even that wasn’t a good enough allure to keep the younger members of society committed to their shifts, especially after a particularly busy week. The restaurant world wasn’t for everyone, and it was quick to humble people in ways that still took you off guard even after having been entrenched in it for a good chunk of your twenties.

With a long sigh, a worn-out thin smile, and the harsh placement of the phone back into the charging station atop the host stand, that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen you only drifted through previously.

“You know anythin’ about preppin’ food?” The calculating look aimed down at you as Joel stood beside you in front of a prep station was sharp, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his chef’s coat folded up to expose the thickness of his forearms.

“Of course, we prep the-“

“Not fruit. Food. Actual food.”

The fact that he cut you off mid reply made your jaw clench and you had to hold your tongue back from spewing a bad comment. You had never been treated like that at this job, in the entire year that you’ve been here. Everyone had always been polite and friendly and professional. Things you were in return, the kitchen even going so far as to offer you the rare dead plate or extras from staff meal you were always unable to snag any of due to your schedule. People would stay and hang out at the bar after their shifts ended, often bringing you treats on their off days to share as you frequently brought stuff for the front of house to have snacks and rounds of their favorite drinks to stay hydrated during busy hours. This often extended to the back of house as well, if you had the time and means to.

The divide seen so cleanly in other restaurants was something that you tried to eradicate here, not play into the ‘this versus them’ ideology that plagues too many establishments and allowed for more errors and unhappy customers.

That’s not to say there was the odd throwaway comment in the heat of dinner rush or particularly challenging event, but those were brushed under the table as they were harmless. But this, this animosity for someone willing to help out when it was desperately needed, was uncalled for and sparking annoyance in your chest.

You hadn’t really interacted with Joel directly. Just in passing and hardly for longer than a professional acknowledgment during staff meetings when a new dish would be rolling out and you needed to make a cocktail or wine pairing for it. To be honest, you hadn’t spoken to him out of the childish daydream of not wanting the image of the handsome man to be shattered in your mind’s eye. Guess you were right to worry about something being wrong with him to warrant him to spend what seemed like his entire life in the damn kitchen. He had a superiority complex, it seemed.

But for him to be rude and cut you off after already making it clear he didn’t want you in his kitchen?

Game, fucking, on.

“Oh, no,” You adjusted the fit of the black gloves around your right wrist before you carefully picked up the chef knife and tapped the tip of it on the cutting board. Joel’s eyes were heavy and judgmental as you did so, he probably disliked the way you had needed to get the feel of the knife before using it. But he stayed silent, the furrow of his brows and the turndown of his plush lips deepening as you quickly and efficiently broke down the chicken. Once you were done, you placed the knife along the edge of the cutting board beside the line made up of a pair of breasts, thighs, legs, wings, and the severed spine of the chicken. “I don’t think I’m any good with actual food, chef.”

The controlled expression you were holding didn’t break, even when one of Joel’s eyebrows seemed to rise without conscious thought as his sharp eyes danced from the cutting board atop the prep station to you standing at attention in front of it. The tick in his jaw was garnering your attention, an obvious show to what the man was really feeling at your little display. Despite his less than kind attitude toward you, you couldn’t help the flash of heat that flared up in your middle at the thought of sucking kisses into the cut of his jaw, right where it was showing is ire. The surrounding kitchen staff were all peering over toward your new station with wide eyes, unbelieving that you were deliberately feigning innocence in a cheeky manner toward the head chef.

He may be an asshole, he may be loud, he may be particular, and he may have high standards: but no one argued with him because of his skill set and how effortlessly he displayed it day in and day out.

“Now, I believe we prep a total of 56 for the night shift. After dissembling them, they get placed into a salt brine to allow the skin to brown and crisp easier when braised or pan roasted. With an extra 4 just in case of dishes going to the wrong table or mix ups with servers not paying attention to the available par, is that correct, chef?”

Your lips turned up in a small grin and you knocked your gaze up to catch the man’s eyes. There was a fire behind them, one you were sure he was about to unleash on you in front of the entire staff. He was known for his outbursts when really upset, whether it be from someone not listening to clear instructions or a count gone wrong and messing up the rotation of dishes that could be offered that shift. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and told you to complete the prep by time the doors were to open and walked briskly away.

You spent the rest of the evening prepping the necessary things for the dinner service. You could’ve just done what had been asked of you, but you peeked at the long list of things that needed to be done by the person who had bailed on their shift, on the job and decided that the bar would be okay on a weekday night without you.

You prepped the chickens for the evening and the chickens for tomorrow’s service so the kitchen wouldn’t be behind like it had nearly been today. You had diced in perfect cubes the pickled beets for the panzanella salad and the components for the egg salad to be combined. Portioned out the ingredients for the brine and brought them to a soft boil atop a hot plate for a new batch of pickles and prepared the cucumbers with a mandolin. Sliced and portioned out the bologna and pancetta used for sandwiches, and even sliced the other components like the provolone cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes used on them as well.

You neatly organized and legibly dated everything before breaking down the station at the end of the night. Even taking everything out of the banes and running them through dish and drying them before placing them back in their respective locations underneath the hood. Going as far as to deep clean the cooler shelves down below, wiping them down and sanitizing the entire station before putting everything back according to FIFO etiquette and wrapping it all up for the night.

The next day, your schedule was updated with two hours of prep before your typical shifts for the bar.

next chapter

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 05

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language Word Count: ~12.450 Previous chapter: 04.

The view from my room was more pleasant in the morning, especially as the light protruded through the green mantle and gave me back the immensity that the darkness swallowed during the night. I had woken up in the middle of the morning, with the morning light hitting my face and my stomach churning from the absurd amounts of champagne the night before.

Indulging my technology addiction, I couldn't go long before looking for my cell phone. I scrolled through my inbox, revelling in the reactions to the videos I'd shared on my private Instagram account. Most of them were terrifying footage of the night at a club spent with both teammates and rival teams, Pulcini among them.

I remember meeting him in the middle of the crowd, still with his incredibly neat bow tie on his collar. I remember making fun of it to him and later undoing it as we danced.

The rush of sound and light from the club was intense. With each beat and beam of light that fell over the crowd and enveloped us in a blanket of warm bold light, I could feel the links in my mind's chains unravelling one by one. Champagne and cocktails freed me from morals and gave me the absolute pleasure of music and alcohol.

More memories of last night kept coming to me, the morning light irradiating them in all of their twisted technicolour. I remember having a narrow space to move, shoving against the crowd, and bumping into people trying to reach the dance floor. Nicola and Lin, two of my teammates (the first being the team’s head of communication and the second an engineer) were just behind me. At that point, most of the team had already got back to the hotel. I found Andreas while I danced. I felt his hot breath on my neck.

“I haven't had the chance to congratulate you, yet,” he said. The strong Italian accent rang in my ears. “Heard you might join me in WEC next year.”

I turned around to face him. His hair was half up, some strands falling on the sides of his face. The lights going around us fell on his face, illuminating the youthful features of the man before me. I remember the thirsty eyes, the glossy lips and the smell of whiskey and mint.

"Afraid of not seeing me in the grid, next year? You won’t get rid of me. I get off by denying rich kids in fast cars their victories," I parried. He snorted.

In no time, I had my arms around his neck in an awkward hug as my hips shook to the music. With my eyes closed and mouth wide open, I sang the lyrics to the song which name I didn't remember. His face was dangerously close to mine as we danced the night away. The skin of my neck can still remember the touch of his lips. I can still feel the grip of his hands on my hips, holding me firmly against him. My heartbeat accelerated under his touch. His lips burned on my neck, moving upward to meet my lips.

Half drunk, but otherwise in full control. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to be kissed.

And at that moment, it didn’t matter who was the man offering me what I desired.

A hand on mine led me to the toilets. I remember the door closing behind us, the beat that threatened to overwhelm us only an echo now. I remember his strong hands reaching for my waist, pulling me close to him; his lips hungry for my neck and his hands fumbling with the slit of my dress.

The shrill ring of the phone permeates my mind, cutting through my memories. My mother's name is displayed on the screen. On the corner, the clock showed me it was past noon. My flight is in a few hours.

“Are you awake yet? The flight’s in three hours. We should leave,” a pause. My head aching at the sound of her voice, so high pitched in my ear. “The flight coming here was terrible, mija; it seemed like we were flying inside a cement roller.”

“Mom…” I interrupted her, my voice coming out hoarse and tired. “I’ll come down to the lobby in a bit. Let me just have a shower…”

I put down the phone, shoving it in my bag while thanking the sober version of me that had the decency to pack before heading to the ceremony. Looking around, the only mess I had to clean was the clothes from the night before, left on a chair at the foot of the bed, and a few soaked cotton pads strewed across the dressing table.

An assortment of emotions makes me shake. With every step I took or any movement of my head, I could feel my stomach churn or a twinge of pain cross my head. To worsen and amplify the complaints of my body, the sight of the bed and the fresh air coming out of the AC made it hard to resist the temptation of just lying back down and closing my eyes again.

Walking towards the mirror, the image of my swollen puffy eyes, the impression of a sleepless night stares back at me. I comb my hair with my fingers, disgusted at the image in front of me. I was in need of a shower and a long night of sleep.

A soft knock on the door cuts through the silence, waking me from my trance.

My eyes fixated on the reflection in the mirror. Confusion took over as I tried to understand if I was imagining the noise or if someone was really at my door. Another knock. At that point, it couldn't be just a fabrication of my mind.

“Sorry to wake you, Sleeping Beauty,” a deep voice greeted me as I opened the door. Pulcini was on the other side, wearing a dark green shirt and Adidas training shorts. “I’m just picking up my phone. I think I left it here last night.”

“What?” I was confused; I turned around to face the bed and the nightstands. There was no sign of any phone and the bed, although messy, didn’t show any evidence of me having company during the night. “You were here? Did we sleep—”

He laughed in the face of my panic.

“I’m just messing with you, DiMaggio,” he took the phone out of his pocket and shook it in front of my eyes. A child.  “You were pretty hammered last night; I wanted to make sure you were alive.”

Oddly enough, if I ignored his initial stupidity and the panic that his joke had instilled in me, I couldn’t sense anything but concern in his voice, though I couldn’t put too much trust in my sixth sense, as my whole body was suffering the effects of the hangover.

Nonetheless, I let my barriers come loose.

“Yeah,” a tiny smile emerged from my lips. “I’m alive, Andreas.”

“Good!” His eyes took in the sight before him, his gaze dripping from my head to my toes. “That means I have time to ask why you look like shit. The shower’s free, you know?”

“Oh, piss off…” I mumbled, letting go of the doorknob and making my way back to the centre of the room, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease the pain. “You saw I’m alive and well, why are you still here?��

“I agree to disagree on the “well” half,” he mumbled just loud enough for me to hear. His voice was so annoying.

I gathered the last of my clothes and threw them on the suitcase, which sat open on the couch. I caught a glimpse of my image in the mirror, the sad combination of messy hair, traces of mascara under my eyes and the short (and maybe a little too revealing) pyjamas, and found him behind my shoulder. His presence woke up memories from the night before, which I wasn’t quite yet sure were real.

I turned to him. The purple and red hue invaded my mind.

“I’ll ask again,” I stopped what I was doing and faced him. “Why are you still here?”

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about what happened last night,” he stated and oh.

He remembered it too. I was hoping he had forgotten about all of that. To be fair, he seemed drunker than me or, at least, that’s what I remember. The way he was looking at me told me that he remembered everything that happened, perhaps even more than I did.

I just shrugged. “Is there anything to talk about?”

“Oh, come on, Eva,” he took a step towards me. I took a step back. “You were drunk out of your mind so I don’t know how much you remember, but I still pretty much remember the way you dragged me to the bathroom last night. That seems an interesting topic.”

My mind was a mess. With each word he said, a new memory got unlocked, but none before that point of no return. Events seemed mixed up, a non-linear timeline where I was lost on my own. Even the very image of his face looked different now.

“Did we have sex or something?”

He huffed, hoarse and dry, shaking his head. “No, Eva,” I tasted the condescending tone of his words. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“What should I remember, exactly?” I shrugged, playing along, refraining from showing any emotion while my mind was unravelling itself, trying to find answers to the questions that appeared at every second.

“We were in the bathroom and you panicked and left me alone in the girl’s bathroom,” I bit my lip to not laugh. “I only saw you again in the hotel’s elevator, hours later, almost passed out.”

“And what part of that do you wanna discuss?” I turned my back to him, thinking that the subject might disappear the second he disappeared from my eyes. “Don’t get so emotional over a few kisses, Pulcini.”

“Eva, I had to help your friend drag you to your room,” the sound of his footsteps grew louder as he followed me around the room. 

Pulcini was the literal reincarnation of post-night-out anxiety and I didn't want to deal with it. I massaged my temples again, to no avail.

"What do you want with this? A pat on the back? I was just partying.”

“Eva…” Silence and a pair of disappointed eyes looked back at me.

Looking back, my anger wasn't aimed at the man in front of me, but it felt like it. My bad choices materialized in front of me while I still couldn't absorb reality as I normally would. His voice was too loud, his actions were too fast and shocks of pain rippled through my head as I tried to make sense of every word or tried to read the lines on his face. I needed a cool shower and a glass of fresh water, but mostly, I needed that man to leave me alone.

The intense gaze didn’t leave me for a second. He just stood there, exhaling noisily through his pursed lips. The poorly constructed memories that haunted me cut his face, revealing a mixture of the two sides I knew of the man standing in front of me.

"Leave me alone, please," I pleaded, defeated.

It was excruciating to try to deal with the hangover, the unwanted company and the scenes of the night before. I felt vulnerable.

Hesitating for a moment, he finally gave up on me and walked out of the room, the image of his hair disappearing behind the door he silently closed, his jaw tight and his head low.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door after he was gone. I couldn't think about what happened and what was happening, so my mind focused on trivial matters like the image of a girl in the mirror, just as lost as she seemed.

*

“Seeing this, I don’t think there’s much champagne left for me”

The message came as a reply to a photo I posted on my Instagram story the night before. Carlos’ profile pic and his Instagram handle were in front of the notification. In the photo, in which little else was noticeable other than abstract blurred lines, was me and my close group of friends. Nicola and I were leaning against the white leather couch, our legs entwined. Lina kneeled at my side, a raw-edged smile stretching her cheeks; her eyes barely open. The champagne in my hand was almost gone; the glass still held a few bubbles. Wide-angle lens. A purple shadow upon us.

A fraction of a smile grew on my lips as I opened the conversation.

The last message was from 2019. A message from me, congratulating Carlos on his first podium; a message that got no reply from him.

I looked back at the landscape from the window of the car. The fields were gradually being replaced by houses and the numbers to the left of the word “Madrid” on the blue plaques of the highway were getting smaller.

An empty water bottle sat on the dark seat of the car, in the space between me and Rio, who was talking to my mom about the plans he was making for his summer vacation. The sound of their voices and the murmur of my father humming along with the radio ricocheted through my head, still suffering from the hangover.

Although I was more than used to flying, having done so all my life, I didn't like doing it. There was always anxiety when I walked to the plane and I had to wrestle with the fact that I would spend hours thousands of meters above the ground, caged in a flying machine. Anxiety wouldn't let me sleep. Not even on a day when a few hours of sleep was all my body asked for.

There was so much to decipher inside me and I needed the comfort of home to reflect on those last few days. To think of the excruciating pain I had felt on Saturday and the agony in my chest as I trembled and cried leaning against some truck in the paddock — the perfect antithesis to the ecstasy of the day that followed, the screams of happiness that burst from my throat as I climbed to the top of my car.

I needed home and the comfort of the walls decorated by my drawings and photographs, the corridors that effortlessly trace paths to a safe space. To look back at what I had been through under the gentle gaze of the person I only could be at home.

My brother’s wife, Marjorie, was waiting for us at home with food, fresh homemade bread and two excited toddlers. We dinned together I headed to bed.

Somewhere around 7 AM, I was awakened by the sound of footsteps, a high-pitched voice and a hurried exchange between my mother and the owner of said voice, who I rapidly understood to be the florist my mom had hired to help her plan the party.

I jumped from the bed, disoriented. The room was filled with a yellowish hue — the soft kiss of the day waking up lazily.

Stretching out next to the bed, I tried to make out what the florist and my mother were talking about, but to no avail. I could barely hear my mother's voice, as the other woman's was overlapping hers, assigning tasks to random people I didn't know.

In a few minutes, I was in the hall. A handful of men walked around the house, frantically carrying boxes and bouquets to the garden.

My mother wasn't in the kitchen when I went to get my smoothie, nor did I meet her on the way outside as I was getting ready to start my run. I stopped on the porch for a few seconds, watching another group of men around the black van parked in our driveway, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead.

That run was my only moment of peace.

The day was long and my mother kept me busy from the moment I got up until bedtime. While the florist, a lovely woman in her thirties, spent the entire morning moving flowers around in vases, shifting them from one side of the kitchen to another, my mother dragged me out into the garden to give instructions to the workers on where to put the folding tables and chairs. They seemed especially excited about one particular task — placing a platform above the pool.

"I had less work in a few weddings," one of them mentioned. “There are way too many flowers.”

The preparations ended overnight. I fell asleep to the voices of the workers, still working in the backyard and, in the morning, those same voices woke me up for the day. When I went down to have breakfast, the entrance hall was already decorated with flowers; on the ceiling, a middle-aged man cleaned the skylight. I wished him a good day and went to meet my family on the back porch.

“These poor men,” I heard my father’s voice before I reached the outside. “Do you see what you’re putting them through? A man is hanging on our skylight, Luísa.”

I heard a distinct giggle. Marjorie was there. My suspicions were confirmed when I reached the outside and saw my brother and his family around the table, the kids asleep in the trolley.

“I second what dad is saying,” my voice startled my mother, who shifted in her chair abruptly before putting a hand to her chest and taking a deep breath. I laughed and bent down to kiss her cheek. "Feliz cumple, mama."

Rio and my father left after breakfast, taking the kids with them. There was still a list of criteria to be supervised and while my mother could commission anyone to do it, she had decided that she would be the one to make sure everything was as she had intended. She had to call the caterers one last time, re-arrange the flowers in the jars and make sure the musicians were practising their songs.

It didn't take much time. We got to the hair salon half an hour before the time of our appointment.

When we got back from the hairdresser's shortly after six, the vendors in black uniforms were scurrying around like nervous hummingbirds on crack. There were three of them running around, checking the tables and chairs and making sure that the tips of all their forks were facing down and that the bottom was exactly a fingernail's distance from the edge of the table. As my mother checked them one last time, this time alongside my father who had spent the last hour checking the labels on the wine bottles, I went upstairs to my bedroom. I had two hours until the house was full of guests.

After my shower, I did my make-up and sat on the bed, facing the dress hanging on the mirror in front of me, leaning against the wall. The dress billowed in the same light breeze that brushed against my bare skin.

The colour is so deep it's almost black. It reminded me of the sky just before it starts to rain, or the face of the open sea that stares at me as I dive in. And wearing it felt like a dive too. The satin slid against my skin like the cold ocean water would, hugging me and inducing a long shiver across my skin. I looked at myself in the mirror. My light hair fell in waves down my back, contrasting with the tanned skin and the dense colour of the dress. I slipped on a thin white gold chain and put in a pair of earrings, which gleamed beneath the strands of my hair.

I almost missed the knock on the door.

"Eva," I turned around to find Marjorie entering my room. "Oh, you look good,” I smiled at the compliment, “but I need your help, girl.”

“I’m not ready—”

“C’mon. I forgot your mom’s gift and I’m on thin ice since I got her that dress for Christmas and it didn’t fit,” she bent down near my mirror and took the heels positioned next to my mirror. “And I can’t drive in these ones,” she pointed at hers, “so I need Rio to drive me home and the kids are impossible. I think Olivia is about to fall asleep. The sitter will arrive in like half an hour?” She checked her phone. “Can you watch them?”

Marjorie laid the high heels at my feet and I slid my feet into them. “Breathe,” I told her. “Yeah, I can take care of them for a while.”

A nervous chuckle left her lips. “Oh. Okay. They’re downstairs.”

“With my mom?”

I turned to the mirror once more, and, above my shoulder, I saw her head shake. “With Rio and Carlos,” she answered. The corner of her lips pointed up when she saw my expression shift. “Oh, right, heard you two had dinner the other day.”

“Weren’t you in a rush to get going?”

She chuckled again. “This is worth getting scolded off by your mom.”

“What? Talk about your husband’s best friend who you had a crush on?” She rolled her eyes.

“That was in 2017. Those Renault colours made something work for me. Not fair.” Marjorie grabbed my hand while talking and pushed me off the room. We walked side by side, and before getting to the top of the stairs, she stopped me. “So, you’re okay? After the dinner?”

“We’re good,” I said with a gentle nod. She smiled.

“Good,” and then her soft smile changed into something else. Her tone shifted as well. “Because he looks so damn good today, I think you’d curse yourself if you were still mad at each other.”

“Marge, please…”

She shrugged and went down the stairs, fast-paced and focused on my brother, wearing a lean black tuxedo and standing next to the door, already open back, to welcome the guests. Grace was at her dad’s feet, tiny fingers bothering one of the vases in the hall; I knew those pretty pink flowers would catch her attention. And, in front of them, Carlos. His back was turned to me, the blazer accentuating the lines of the triangle build his muscles made up.

Olivia’s small hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head. I kept an eye on them as I walked down the stairs. My hand was on the bannister, as if afraid that such a sight would knock the ground out from under my feet. Carlos said something I couldn’t understand. I could only see his hand, huge compared to my niece’s chubby and tiny one, taking hers out of his hair. Within seconds, a thin sweet laugh echoed off the high walls of the hall. I don’t know what he said to her, but her head was thrown back and her adorable face turned into an expression of pure bliss.

“We can go, now,” Rio’s head turned as Marjorie’s voice rang out. Carlos’ did the same. “Eva can stay with them for a while.”

His gaze lingered on me as he stepped forward, heading to the end of the stairwell. At this point, Olivia had her arms extended in my direction. I took her out of his arms and kissed my niece’s blushed cheek. The subtle scent of his cologne, a dark musky scent, filled my senses when I approached him to take her.

“You look…” he trailed off, his eyes roaming my face and my body.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ve never seen me before…” I raised an eyebrow, a smile dancing in the corner of my mouth that shortly became a small chuckle.

“No, I— I’ve seen you before.” He stuttered and a small pause followed. His gaze made me burn inside. “You look different. You look…”

“Good?” I provided helpfully. “I hope.”

“Yes,” he nodded with a smile. “Amazing.” He muttered.

I felt a thrill of pleasure at his words. We looked at each other for a moment. A moment. That is what it took to feel it again. The attraction was still there; it was not a thing of the moment. It was not the desperation. I could feel it, burning inside of me.

“You’re early,” I said, battling those feelings and my niece’s hand that was trying to pull on one of my earrings. Meanwhile, Carlos took Grace’s hand to follow me.

“My mom wanted to get here early, so…” he explained, his eyes taking in the changes in the house. The excessive flower arrangements and the caterers in the kitchen set up the dinner for the dozens of people arriving shortly. “Your mom really pushed herself…”

“Oh, yeah… You haven’t seen half of it, yet,” he snorted at my answer. “But she’s happy so it’s all that matters.”

“I agree,” his tone was calm and serene, eyes now glued to Grace. “You look happy too,” he looked up at me. “Happier.”

My eyebrow arched up as I turned to him, finding Carlos with a small smile and a blissful expression. “Compared to what?”

His head tilted to the side. “To the last time I saw you. You looked… different.”

“Different?” While he looked for an answer, my eyes met his dark iris for the fraction of the second it took me to lose and rebuild my defences. God. How easy it was to fall into those traps. Olivia twisted in my lap, stealing my attention, so I let her down to the floor and she immediately joined Grace, again pulling on the flowers of one of the vases. “How different?”

“Mad? Angry?”

“Sad. A bit… scared, maybe,” I suggested, and, as my words hit him, his jaw locked and his hand travelled to his pocket. “I’m not scared of you, I—” I rushed to say.

“I know,” a hit of a smile peeked out. “I get you, it’s… “

“Strange?” I suggested. His eyebrows were drawn together. “Not a bad strange. It’s just…”

He nodded. “We will need a bit of time, no?”

“Yeah. Just tiny steps.”

I forced a smile, triggering a reaction from him that broke me more than I expect. His smile came out as broken as mine, his eyes were so soft and his expression so light, so… defenceless… My shields were up, and I was trying hard to not allow my words and actions to mirror my feelings and emotions, but he was just… him. The dark haze over his eyes had lifted. I was so confused. So conflicted.

“I need to thank you again, for the other night,” it was the right call to change the subject and step away from him and the hypnotising gaze. “It was a big,” a loud giggle stole my attention and when I looked over, Olivia was holding a dahlia in her hand, the petals scrunched on her tiny palm. “Girls,” both of the twins looked at me before exchanging a look. “Come oooon. Leave the flowers alone.”

A small chuckle left Carlos's lips when both of them instantly looked at him, almost like waiting for him to defend them. “Tia Eva is right,” he said, scrunching down and wiping the petals of Grace’s hand. “Let’s hide this here and not do this again, ok?” He whispered, hiding the petals amongst the greenery of the vase. Olivia acted as his accomplice, helping him with the task and Grace, with both of her hands behind her back, just stood there looking at them.

That night had been the first time in a while I had the chance to witness their relationship. I knew Carlos was close to both of them, I’d seen pictures and I’d seen him with them at their birthday parties (the only event both of us refused to miss), but seeing them like this? God. I could feel my ovaries melt at the sight.

“You can’t do that,” I told him when he got back up. “Help them create chaos.”

“Oh, I avoided chaos. How do you think your mother would react if she saw this?”

“They will do it again.”

“You’re just worried they’ll like me more than they like you.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Sainz.”

He chuckled again. Large smile being lit by the refracted light coming from the glass door, a few feet ahead of us. Instead of keep walking there, and meeting our mothers standing on the other side of the door, he stood in the hallway; a large abstract painting on his back. Large red strokes over a deep blue.

“Shouldn’t you go say hi to my mother? And let me take care of my nieces?” I asked him. “It’s her party, after all.”

He shrugged. “I’m enjoying the company. And by company,” he pointed at the twins, to which I just rolled my eyes. “I’ll go there in a second.” The corner of my lips tilted up against my will. It was so easy to fall into his sweet talk and charming ways. Before I noticed, my defences were collapsing, again. “She won’t mind me staying inside for a little while, I’m sure. But going back to the subject, stop thanking me. I didn’t do more than what I should have done.”

“You did,” he shook his head, and I just gave him an eye roll as a reply. “You could have just… ignored me, after how I reacted to Rio’s news.”

Once more, he shook his head, but this time, his jaw was looked and his smile turned into a line. “Not again.”

My eyes dropped to the floor, the emotions blooming inside and suddenly taking too much space. Not again. I wish I could trust those words.

“Will we go back to the past every other sentence?” I asked him; eyes shakily travelling up, almost like they were afraid to meet his face.

Carlos moved on his feet, his right hand travelling to his hair. “I wish we wouldn't, but…”

“We fucked up this a bit, didn’t we?” A nervous chuckle left my lips and his curved slightly.

A small chuckle left his lips when his head tilted down. Looking up at me, he said, “maybe we should go say hi to your mom, then. And start this party.”

“Maybe that’s the right call, yes.”

“And give this some time… Like we just said we would.”

“Time. And some wine, too,” I completed. He smiled a bit more and his eyebrows went up once more; the funny expression drew a chuckle from me. “Just to lift the mood, nothing else.”

“Talking about it,” his hand travelled to the small of my back and I started walking in front of him, headed outside. Just the simple warmth and the light weight of his hand made all the cells in my body burn. The girls, noticing we were leaving, followed suit. “Where’s the champagne I asked for?”

“Are you already starving for champagne?”

“Three races without a podium… I think I’m going ill,” he joked and I stepped away from his hand to open the door and let the kids go outside.

Olivia ran to my mother and Grace, always more shy and reserved (and much well-behaved), just walked behind her, looking back at us twice, before I gave her a nod and in her rhythm, she walked her way to my mother. Carlos let me go through the door first and then stepped outside next to me.

“Well,” I resumed when he joined me. “The bottle it’s upstairs, I bet you can find a few drops of champagne in it.”

“Is it worth a try?”

I shook my head, laughing, “it would be a nice show to witness, but I think you can manage by just drinking some of what my mother picked for the occasion.”

“Talking of her…” Carlos said, under his breath. My mom, with her birth smile and open arms, was walking to us. The kids stayed behind, and Olivia was now showing Reyes her two hands full of petals. I refused to not look back and witness the destruction they had provoked on the vase.

Carlos caught my attention when I was about to go against my will and look behind my shoulder. His mouth was stretched and drawn back and just before my mom wrapped her arms around him, his lips formed an “oopsie”. I coughed the laugh I was holding back.

“Carlitos, you came!” She started, smiling wide. “I hope Eva was not annoying you too much.”

“Mom…”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Luisa,” he said, sending me an apologetic look before kissing her on both cheeks. “And no, no, she wasn’t. We were just catching up.”

“It’s so lovely to have you here, my dear. Both of you,” my eyes drifted to Reyes when my mom did the same. Both of them were sparkling. "Perfection."

"Mom, come on..."

"Evita, I didn't even know you were... talking," she gesticulated with her hands and I glanced at Carlos quickly. To the tender smile on his lips, the glistening eyes. My mom's hand landed on his arm, squishing it slightly. "And you look so handsome, my boy," she caressed his face with her other hand. "Make yourself comfortable. Pretend you're home."

"Believe me, it feels like home."

Her smile grew but mine felt heavier. This had been home for him, too. These people, this house… I took a couple of steps and joined Reyes, that welcomed me with a smile but kept looking ahead, at Carlos and my mom, casually talking. She pointed at something or someone, and then gently waved into the distance; When I looked ahead, I saw my dad standing next to the bar, on the other side of the pool. I gave him a little wave and Carlos did the same just seconds before. They walked down the stairs of the porch, down to the garden. My mom’s heels clicked against the stone path around the pool and I bet she made a joke about falling over because while her laughter flew on the wind, Carlos exchanged position with her and hugged her from the side.

Grace walked to the top stair, not daring to walk down alone. “Chili!”

Carlos looked behind, the sun kissing only one side of his face, stretching deep shadows on his portrait. In large steps, he walked up the stairs, “You wanna go see grandpa, too?”

She timidly nodded a yes, and turned to me, asking for permission. Carlos imitated her expression perfectly, almost pouting. A pair of begging eyes stared at me.

“Of course, you can go,” I told her, forcing my lips to hide the gigantic smile I knew I was on the verge to showcase. My niece clapped one and extended her arms, ready to wrap them around Carlos’ neck. “But hey,” both of them turned around, facing me, “don’t let her destroy anything else.”

“Promise,” he winked and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Vamos?”

For a moment I stood there, unmoving. That sight had awoken something within me, something I was not ready to admit that it existed. The warmness of his presence, the sentiment of belonging… It had made me realise how much I missed him, how much I wanted to reach out and just have his hand on me—his hand on mine—so I wouldn’t be so afraid. So I couldn’t be alone.

Seeing him walk around my backyard, my mother on his side and my dad casually waiting on the other end of the path, just like had happened so many times before, it hit me that, whether I liked it or not, he was where he was meant to be. I was where I was meant to be. And I…

God.

That was when the realization came home.

Standing there, looking at them, it felt like I had just come back to a place we should have never left and for a fraction of a second, the last three years had not happened. The feeling was just the same, perhaps stronger. I still cared. I still wanted him. I still needed him, in so many much more ways than one.

Reyes patted me on the arm. “The little ones really like him,” she motioned at them with her head. And that prompted me to look at them again.

They had reached the end of the path, and Carlos was now talking to both of my parents, polite and admirative, brimming with charm as he spoke to them. My father listened attentively, with polite nods. My mother just smiled. I think I smiled too. Grace, standing beside Carlos, staring up at him as if she too found interest in his words, was holding his index finger to keep herself upright. Whenever she released it, Carlos moved his hand, as if he was trying to figure out where the child was without cutting eye contact with my parents; if it took Grace more than five seconds to grab his finger again, Carlos would look down, still engaged in the conversation.

“Who doesn’t, right?” Reyes' voice caught my attention again. When I turned my attention back to her, I found a big smile waiting for me that added so much more to her words than what she dared to say.

I gave her a look. “Don’t start, please.”

“I won’t say another word, I promise,” she said, her smile unwavering. The expectations Reyes was holding us to were starting to mess with my head. To settle them, I took a deep breath. Almost at the same time, Olivia did the same. When I looked down at her, she was rubbing her eye and yawning sleepily. I picked her up. “It makes me happy to see you two together again.”

“It’s quite nice to have him around,” I gave in. “I promised you I would talk to him. We sorted out a few things.”

“Took you both long enough,” she simply said before patting my arm and caressing Olivia’s back and walking away from us, towards one of the servants walking around with a tray with empty flutes.

From my periphery, I caught Carlos’ glance. He was watching me. Us. I laid my hand on Olivia’s back and stroked it gently; her long breaths told me she was probably falling asleep. Looking up, again, he was still watching; a slight smile on his face. My eyes couldn't leave him, and like I couldn't stop a reaction from my body, my head moved in a gentle nod to acknowledge him and my hand lifted from Olivia's back to wave shortly at him. His smile extended and, lifting his hand from his pocket, he returned the wave. Then, Carlos put his cheek against his palm, mimicking a child sleeping, and pointed at Olivia.

I looked down.

With her mouth slightly parted, and her red curls all over my chest, she was indeed sleeping. After a thumbs up on my part and a polite nod from his, he turned back to my dad, perhaps going back to their conversation and I left the porch to lay Olivia down.

Their room was in the place my mom’s old office used to be. Two small beds side by side and too many toys to count. Olivia clung to my lap when I tried to put her down, tiny hands almost dragging me with her to the bed. I could give in if it wasn’t the dress or the hair, or the dozens of people that in a couple of minutes would be waiting outside.

Some of the noise crawled inside from the open window. Nothing much was happening. As I sat in the bed, stroking her back and waiting for the babysitter, I peeked outside. Some people were already scattered around the big backyard. Next to the bar, around one of the high tables, I found Marjorie—her garish ginger hair gave her away—with Rio by her side. On the other side of the table, holding Grace in his arms, Carlos.

Again, my heart skipped a beat.

Every other minute, a guest would arrive and naturally meet him there. A quick hug and an exchange of words, a couple of smiles and the guest would leave and meet someone else. And he would stay there, waiting for the next one. Like he was family. My family.

A duality of ideas struggled inside my mind.

The way he carried himself there like he was never left and nothing had changed… Natural and carefree, like nothing was weighing him down. Like life hadn’t passed by him and taken him out of our little world and into the limelight.

When I stepped outside, golden winks of light shone around me. The tables were decorated lavishly with yellow candles, and the centrepieces were overflowing with pastel flowers. Sitting down, I found him sitting in front of me, head down and turned to his phone. He raised his head to look at me, a single strand of his hair falling over his forehead. 

“I think you’re meant to sit there,” I looked over at the chair he had pointed at; my mom was sitting next to it. I turned to the card in front of my plate. Despite the dim light, and the cursive handwriting, I couldn’t understand how I had read “Eva” where was clearly written “Ana.” Just like that, I felt like a prisoner of my own mind, a puppet of my subconscious, finding a way to meet him without me realizing it.

“Sorry,” I told him, not even sure of what I was apologising for. “I just– misread.”

He laughed slightly. “I’m sure Ana wouldn’t mind the exchange.”

“Oh, my mom would.”

“You’re sure?” Carlos was looking to my right and motioned there with his head. Sitting at the centre of the huge rectangle table, there she was, too distracted to notice I had sat in the wrong spot.

“She will notice eventually.”

“You can stay until that happens, then,” a smirk danced on his lips. “Or until the others arrive.”

“And where are the others?”

“My sisters are just catching up with some people,” he pointed at Ana and Blanca, talking to a couple some feet away, “and Rio went inside to put Grace to bed. Marge is with him.”

Both of my hands landed on the back of the chair and his were now empty, his fingers intertwined in front of him. I tried to battle the urge to stay, but instead of turning my back to him and walking to my place, I sat down again.

“Just for a bit, then.”

He nodded, smiling. “A bit is just enough.”

Leaning against the chair, he looked around. There were three big ebony tables around the pool, satin tablecloths and fairy lights on the trees and over the tables. Over the pool, on the platform that had taken hours to mount, a string quartet played.

“It’s pretty here…” he said, his dark eyes sparkled under the light of the stars and fairy lights and his smile was easy, while he turned his head to face me. “Interesting, too… but then again, your family never does anything halfway.”

“Interesting?” I laughed. “That’s true. My mom’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“You didn’t inherit that?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

I shook my head, still laughing. “Not at all.”

Carlos took a sip of his champagne, eyebrows drew together but a smile already dancing on his lips. “Sure. I can see that.”

“Really?” My hands fell in my lap and I leaned against the back of the chair, forcing a way too dramatic sigh, that made him snort. He nodded. “That’s amazing since I feel like I'm always one step away from a disaster.”

Our eyes met for a second, “I certainly couldn’t tell.”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks flush and let my eyes fall to my hands. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the guests slowly sit at the tables and mingle. My eyes dragged across the stage, taking in the whole picture. The quartet, dressed in tuxedos and lace dresses, played my favourite songs. I smiled as the violin trilled its notes into the air. I could sense him stealing glances at me, but tried to keep my eyes on the musicians.

“Did you pick the band?” Carlos asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. My eyes made their way back to him.

“Why the question?”

“Just curious,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “I remember you always had great taste in music.” A colour fitted across his cheeks when he spoke. “And your music taste… I remember always getting surprised when I asked you what you were listening to.”

“Always something weird,” I said with a large smile.

“You made me start listening to jazz in the morning,” I felt my heart tug and a streak of pain and true bliss running side my side through my veins. “I remember getting here one morning and you were making breakfast and listening to My Way, and you promised it was better than any therapy I could try.”

“I remember that, too,” I couldn’t stop my smile.

“You were totally right. It’s the best way to start my days.”

My mind drifted to how close we had been all those years ago when we would hang out from the early mornings to the last hour of the night. His eyes met mine and my heart nearly melted out of me at how handsome he looked under the lights. I felt a sudden urge to lean in and run my fingers through the waves of his hair. As if he could read my mind, Carlos' smirk grew and my eyes fell to his lips. God. A blush crawl up my neck as my mind went back to that intimate night, to the raw and genuine feelings.

It was dangerous to be alone with him. Especially because any small action he took was able to completely alter the chemistry of my being and manipulate my mind.

Before I could act on any tricks my mind was playing on me, I turned to the man walking behind me, with a tray in his hand and grabbed a flute from it and tried to distract myself with the feeling of the bubbles tickling my tongue. I curled my lips around the rim of the glass and sipped the champagne. It tasted sweet, with a hint of citrus peel.

“You two are being civil!” A high-pitched voice made itself heard. Ana was walking to the table, with a big smile and was way too excited. I and Carlos exchanged a look. When I tried to get up, her hand landed on my shoulder. “No, no, you look amazing there. I’ll find another place.”

“Ana, my mom—”

“She won’t mind,” she turned to our right, and looking over my shoulder, I could see the confused look on my mother’s face. “Luisa, you don’t mind if we steal Eva, right?”

My mother's expression softened as she saw Carlos sitting in front of me and a nod of agreement followed. Carlos and I exchanged a look.

"Thanks!" She said, sitting at my side and telling Blanca to sit where I should have sat. "So... what's going on here?"

"We're just talking," I said. Carlos was distracted shaking his sisters' boyfriends' hands. Ana's smile was capable of blinding anyone within a two feet distance. "Stop it... Come on, you almost sound like your mother."

"It's only fair I get happy to see my brother and one of my closest friends talking again," Ana explained. "You were talking, right? Not arguing, I hope. Because there's a certain... tension around here."

I could feel my cheeks flush at the mention of tension, knowing exactly what Ana was referring to. Carlos’s eyes were trained on me, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “No, no tension." He said to his sister, his voice smooth as silk. "Just catching up.”

"Just catching up?" My eyes raised from Carlos in the direction of the voice. Marjorie was standing behind him, Rio next to her. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Marge," Rio hissed.

"What? I'm just saying," she replied, her eyes still dancing with amusement. "Where are we sitting?" My brother pointed at the two places in front of Ana and Blanca.

Carlos leaned back in his chair, his eyes still trained on mine. "I was about to invite Eva to join us in Mallorca, next week."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of Mallorca, a place where Carlos and I had shared one of the most memorable summers of our lives as teenagers. Carlos and I and Blanca, Ana and Rio, of course. The thought of going back there with him—them—, now, as adults, sent shivers down my spine.

"Really?" I managed to ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Carlos nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, just a little getaway. Enjoy the break."

"I have work," I said, forcing my eyes to leave him and look at Ana. Another second locked in his gaze and I would say yes. I needed distance. Time. "I have a lot of work."

"You can work from there," Marjorie said. "We're going, too. It would be nice, come on."

"We have wi-fi, you know?" Ana added.

I could feel Carlos's gaze on me, watching me carefully, as if waiting for my response. The thought of spending a week in Mallorca with him and our old friends made my heart race. It was a recipe for disaster, and I knew it. But the pull was too strong. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to feel the way I did that one night all those years ago.

"Okay," I said, finally giving in to the temptation. "I'll go."

Carlos's face lit up with a smile, and I could feel the tension in the air release. It was as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for my answer.

"Great," he said, his voice low and husky.

"Can't wait," I said, taking another sip of my champagne. "It's been too long since we've all been together."

*

The guests chatted over the slow music and the food, arriving slowly at the tables. The smiles and the beautiful dresses painted a beautiful picture, but what was supposed to be a happy evening, was tainted by a mix of melancholy that I could not get out of my head. It was like a fog, making me tire easily and making the voice in my head even more persistent. I could go over the things I should be celebrating — the food, the music, the people and so on. Yet, this sense of unease made it hard for me to join in the moment's happiness. The cause of my distress was seating right in front of me, looking absurdly handsome in his suit and tie.

I wanted to get up from my chair and take him with me. And tell him we were going down a path any of us would find happiness in. That we would find a way to break each other again. That we would make our families part ways again. And each glass of wine made it easier to construct the words in my mind.

It was a mistake, we shouldn't have had dinner. You shouldn't have come closer because now I don't know how to be two steps away from you without wanting to get that close again. I shouldn't have texted you, you shouldn’t have called me. You shouldn't look at me like that—

He was looking at me. Maybe even reading my mind.

What the hell is in you, Carlos Sainz? Why do you make me feel this way?

That look of his sent shivers down my spine. I felt naked. It truly looked like he was reading my thoughts. My heart sank and the feeling of it dropping down my gut got worse with each second. The world was silent and reality got darker. Everything in my periphery disappeared. It was all him, again. And as I felt my structures gradually falling apart, his seemed to grow stronger. He didn’t look away for a second. I didn’t either.

Mentally, I was cursing him and his presence, his charm that easily attracts anyone and makes them hover around him like bees around a flower. Only God knows the shiver that struck me when his tongue pierced his lips and traced the red, plump skin. That was when I broke eye contact and directed it at my brother.

“The bottle, please,” I asked.

Rio filled my glass, “Don’t you think you had enough?”

No. I hadn’t had enough to deal with everything, especially with his presence, which made my thoughts and emotions too tangible. I could feel the impact he had on me by just paying attention to the thump of my heart that skipped a beat when my gaze circled back to my brother’s left and found him looking at me. In the same way that I couldn’t focus on my food or the trivial conversation going on near me, the same seemed to happen to him.

It was shortly after we sang happy birthday to my mother and ate a slice of the cake that she let us leave the table. Marjorie followed and sat with me on one of the couches near the bar at the other end of the dance floor. We had a good view of the few people who were already dancing on the floor and of those who were still chatting, sitting in chairs that had not been assigned to them initially.

The platform over the pool was now clear (another band would start in a few minutes), so I had a nice view of the two men from where we were sitting.

“I’m pretty sure they are talking about me,” I said. Marjorie passed me a cup with some cocktail she had picked for me. I had a sip, but the flavour wasn’t as nice as she said it would be. “I won’t give it 10 minutes until they come here to talk to me.”

I was mistaken. A little over 15 minutes had passed when Sainz Sr waved at me, asking me to join them. Marjorie wished me good luck. She knew I would need it.

My father was having a whiskey and there was no drink in front of Sainz. The man, sitting in my mother’s chair, pointed to the chair next to him as my own. He pulled his chair a bit away from the table, shaping a triangle with our three chairs. My father had a big smile on his face.

“Although I already have an idea, tell me— what is my father bothering you about today?” I asked Sainz, making both men chuckle.

"Don't blame your father. We were talking about your brother and I noticed that I haven't been able to talk to you about the recent news," Sainz said. My father leaned his back against his chair and became an observer. I didn't hear his voice for the next few minutes.

Something Carlos and his father had in common was the way they communicated. They knew how to talk and conduct a conversation; they were educated, cultured and, in addition to knowing how to speak, they knew how to listen. Part of being polite was leaving some words unsaid or disguised between the lines until the right moment to uncover them arrived, or the person came to the conclusion by themselves. Having grown up with them, I had adopted some of their ways and the skill of knowing how to read what was purposely left unsaid. Over time, Carlos learned that there was no point in beating around the bush with me. His father, however, continued to approach me in the way he always had—namely, politely leading me to his topic of interest. While I knew what his main issue was, having already lifted the veil by talking about my brother, he started by actually congratulating me on the win and the season. Inevitably, we talked about Rio and his sudden, for me at least, switch to Formula 1. Then the conversation got to the point Sainz had been aiming for; his voice and posture changed.

"Without Fabrizio leading your team, what's the plan for next season?" What's your plan, Eva? He wanted to ask.

I looked at my father and then at the Spaniard.

"I think we're still figuring that out," was all I managed to say.

"Eva doesn't want to accept proposals for other categories," my father interjected. "I've been trying to get her to be willing to listen to the proposals and talk to the teams. I don't understand why she refuses."

"I have a team, I don't need another. I need sponsors to take the team higher." I explained. Perhaps there were one or two more lines of reasoning, but I didn't venture further.

From the look on Sainz's face and the heavy sigh the man gave, I realised my father had told him more than I expected. Although I hated not knowing what was discussed about me, having them discuss their kid’s future wasn’t anything new. My father had needed Sainz's advice in managing my brother's career and our family's motorsport path, so it was not surprising that he would seek advice from the man who had done so much for us and our modest team. Much less that he would ask him to help manage my career since he had been very successful where Carlos’ was concerned.

"If it's fear or insecurity you're feeling, believe me, we've all felt it," I focused on the deep voice filled with a strong Spanish accent. "We all had our first time. I had my first race and I don't remember much, but it wasn't as perfect as I wanted it to be. Maybe you should talk to Carlos. You must remember his first one better than I do." He let out a quick, husky laugh. I looked over at Carlos, sitting at a table nearby. "He was excited, but it must have been scary."

"I'm not Carlos," I said. "This isn't about my first race. I just want to make sure I'm not going too far, too fast. I'm inexperienced. I started properly racing at the age some drivers win their first titles."

"You've won a championship now. What difference does it make how long ago you started?"

"A few days ago I made mistakes that could have compromised a season's work because I was too emotional and aggressive on the track," I explained. "There’s still a lot I need to learn. And I’m doing it with this team. I’m growing with this team and I would love to see it grow with me."

"It's easier to regret something you didn't do than something you did. If it doesn't go well at least you know it's time for a change. If you stay one more year only in the Challenge with the same team, you won't learn anything." He paused, perhaps trying to give me room to speak if that was what I wanted. "I'm not saying you shouldn't stay in the Challenge. I don't know which teams have approached you, but if there's an opportunity to do another season, go for it. There’s no such thing as spending too much time in the car, especially if you feel the need to work on your race craft and gain more experience. But do it while taking small steps in other categories - Le Mans, WEC... Small steps. No one expects you to win a race on your first try. And as long as you enjoy racing, the result is nothing but a number. Looking at that number will make you feel better or worse, but it won't condition your love for the sport."

His words were kind and he didn't try to push me into anything. I could feel that he was honestly trying to help me. I just nodded. Carlos, on the other side of the table, was still looking at me.

"If you don't mind me adding," the younger man said, "you have a lot of potential. Don't waste it because you are afraid."

"I'm not afraid," I said, frowning. "I'm not afraid. If I was, I would have never started racing."

"You don't need to prove anything," Sainz, the younger one, added. "If you only want to race in the Challenge because you already know you can do it, you're wrong. You don't need that. Stop doubting yourself. Your performance in the last few seasons is clear enough proof that you are capable of moving up."

"I don't think Eva is doubting her ability," my father said, trying to appease the situation.

"It's not about ability, Alessio. She can't get better if she doesn't trust herself," he said.

If she doesn’t trust herself.

“Do you fear it, sometimes? Racing?” “There’s this thing my mind does, I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.” “How do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”

I had shared it with him, and now he was voicing it to the world.

"I’m right here,” I said. “Stop talking like I'm not."

"Just saying," the younger man continued. "There was a time I needed someone to tell me to move up, especially when the right opportunity came along and I didn't believe I was good enough for it. Sometimes people know we're ready before we know it. Fear is a human emotion — I don't want you to ignore it, but you can't let it control your life."

I looked at the three men and then at the rest of the people around us, whose attention had been drawn by Carlos’ intense rhetoric. He had been raised to have such a strong conviction and be able to defend his beliefs and stand up for himself, and that was one of the things I appreciated more about him, even when he was criticizing me for my choices or having difficulty making one. But this felt more like betrayal.

“Well,” Ana propped her elbows on the table. “I thought today was not the day for this kind of conversation, but…”

Rio ran a hand through his hair. He was standing behind Carlos, both hands on the back of his friend's chair. I looked at him. He looked away. Even though he was one of the focal points of this mess, he didn't want to get involved in the argument.

"I think it ended here, Ana. Don't worry,” I added. “I’m just still deciding what to do, nothing will be solved tonight.” I pushed my chair away from the table. "I need a drink."

*

The night air was getting colder and still, the clink of glasses and rattle of laughter echoed in the garden.  After a couple of drinks, Ana was able to drag me to the dance floor. I closed my eyes and immediately flashes of colours from our last night together painted the inside of my eyelids green, yellow and purple. I could feel the air shift around me as I stepped back into it and was soon caught up in the rhythm of our history. The roots of our friendship made us dance and sing together to the hits we knew so well. And then there was just us, as it has been many times before.

After a couple more songs, guests began to leave, in small groups at first and then in a stream until we were left with our close friends. My father started to redirect the remaining guests to the fire pit he had built during the pandemic. It constituted a nice area at the end of the garden that had demanded long weeks of hard work. The laughter began again as my father threw stories of a long and happy marriage onto the flames.

I stayed by the fire until the wood burned to red-hot ash. The flames had long since died, but the heat was still warm enough to make my face flush. I stared at my father and his misty eyes filled with memories as he told the crowd about meeting my mother for the first time. Catching a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Carlos staring at me with a burning intensity in his eyes. For the first time that night, he looked away as soon as he realized I'd seen him. I took a deep breath. We hadn't exchanged a single word after our exchange at the table. In fact, I tried to not be near him at all.

He was standing behind Ana and Blanca, who were sitting with their boyfriends on the benches.

The feeling of the fire warming my face was making me feel sick. I couldn't tell if it was the temperature or the weight of Carlos’ gaze falling on me, but I couldn’t physically bear to stay there another minute. The crackle of the fire softened as I walked away and I was able to breathe air that was free of smoke. The walk to the bar seemed like it was taking hours, although it probably didn’t take me more than five minutes.

Wine and whiskey were on display in elegant decanters. I could recall the feel of them in my mouth as I read the labels of the fancy bottles on the counter of the bar. The two men inside were starting to pack their things and just one of them stopped to answer my request. I left the second he handed me the green and fresh glass bottle.

I looked around. The band was arranging the instruments in their cases and different groups of workers were collecting chairs and grouping them in sets of three so that they could efficiently transport them to the van. The only place I could sit was on the couches under the wooden gazebo on the porch, where usually would sit a table used for our meals, especially in the summer.

The house was silent. I could see my nieces’ babysitter in the kitchen, looking over to the garden. It was late, almost four in the morning. I sat on the armrest of the couch, large enough to serve as a seat and high enough to give me a view of the garden above the fence that surrounded the porch.

I now had a pleasant view of the garden and the circle of orange light and the yellow veil of smoke that spilt across the night sky, while the colours of the red flames glowed like a sunset, flickering light into the thick trees bordering the garden. In a corner near the bar, the workers were taking a break, gathered in a semi-circle, chatting and smoking cigarettes.

“You're avoiding me,” Carlos' voice shook the silence and made me shudder with fright. I didn't expect Carlos to leave them and follow me. “Don't try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I took a sip of the water, directly from the bottle.

The porch planks groaned in time with the steps he took to reach me. I followed him with my eyes. “What’s going on? I thought we were okay.”

“We are,” I got up from where I was sitting and walked to the fence, facing the view of the garden and focusing on the warm orange circle on the other side, far from us, and the shadow of the people around it. “You should go back there before anyone starts looking for you.”

“Would you listen to yourself?”

“What?” I turned around, but it was too late. He was already standing next to me, looking devastatingly handsome in that tuxedo, his hair in disarray. He leaned against the fence, facing me.

He didn’t reply. Just shrugged, shaking his head while facing the dark wood under our feet. From here, I could hear the voices muffled by the distance and brought to us by the wind, not too cold despite the hour.

“My mother has a theory about dinner parties,” I said. “They are a nice way to get to know people and their stories. The truth comes out too easily, there's no way to hide what lies inside. That’s why she likes to throw parties like this one.”

“That’s no surprise. Everything flows easily with wine and good food.”

I just nodded. The soft wind picked up my hair. I looked over at him, just in time to see the wind do the same to his. The dark strands fluttered in the air until he passed his fingers in between them, settling his hair down.

“Is that what you are afraid of?” A pause. He looked at me too. “To say something you don’t want me to know?”

“No, not at all.” I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t like to share with you.

"Then what?"

I couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze roaming over me, pushing my secrets out of me. I didn’t know the answer because I couldn’t discern anything that was going on inside my head. The amorphous nature of our relationship has been the root of this constant despair in my mind, split between blooming affection and stale anger. His presence brought back this stupid and juvenile attraction; made me feel both weightless and strung tight in the most delectable way possible. But his presence now is also supplemented by the public's indelible claim on him - the way people behaved in front of him, talked to him, the way they almost worshipped him.

It brought back the chasm between us that I was trying, consciously or subconsciously, to sweep under the rug. It is almost painful to see how in the face of it all he was still so natural, so much himself. Even after all that time, he was still the 18-year-old that left home to try to make a name for himself and for all of the relief that brings me, it also reminds me of the loss, of pulling apart, of his hand slipping from mine.

Time went by and the distance between us grew bigger, but he went across that road and come out on the other side with no injuries. He was able to come back to our reality with no need to adjust to the changes time and he himself had inflicted on us. Meanwhile, I was having a hard time trying to understand my feelings and the nostalgia for the moments we didn’t get to live out. Once again, I was being selfish. I just wanted to see him struggle and have confirmation that I had some kind of impact on his life.

And on top of that, the way he had spoken to me earlier grated. “She can't get better if she doesn't trust herself”.

Lastly, I was truly afraid of something. I didn’t want to fall again because it seemed so easy, dangerously easy.

My eyes met his when I looked back at him. His hazel eyes focused on mine as if they reading my mind, or trying to. Everything around him disappeared; a mist was settling over the world around his figure.

“Don’t,” I said and he frowned. “Don’t try to read me. It’s creepy.”

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “C’mon, Eva. Have I done something wrong?”

“Really need to ask?”

“I just want the best for you. But I know that whatever this is, it goes beyond that.”

I couldn’t force my mouth to stay closed and prevent myself from blurting out the thoughts blazing at the front of my mind. “I’m just afraid. I can’t do this. I can’t pretend things were always like this and maintain a friendship with you as if nothing happened. As if nothing happens every time you’re nearby. You were—”

“I don’t want you to pretend, we—”

“We is not a thing. There’s you and there’s me and they’re two very different people in different phases of life and I don’t need to drag you into my mess.”

“You’re doing what I did to you once.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m telling you I can’t do this. I’m not being a coward and just… abandon you with doubts and… a broken heart.”

“Eva, what are you—? Why?”

“Because you’re right. I don’t trust myself. I can’t be good for myself or anyone else. Also, I don’t trust you. I appreciate everything you did for me these past few weeks, but…” I pause. His eyes were getting darker as I spoke. “I can’t.”

Carlos stepped closer, his eyes drilling into mine. “What don’t you trust about me?” His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. Despite my best efforts to distance myself, I couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

“Myself,” I whispered. “I don’t trust myself around you.”

Carlos took another step closer, his body almost touching mine. “Why not?” His hand met mine, and the firm touch of his warm fingers stelled my shakiness. 

Gently, I shook my head and pulled my hand away from his. “I just—”

“You just?" He paused. The silence fed my urge to talk, but the words seemed to refuse to appear. "Eva, be honest.” His voice filled with insecurity and a pleading I didn’t expect.

My mind raced trying to find the right words to say, but it was difficult with his eyes piercing into me like that. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "Every time you touch me, I want more. Every time I remember... that night, I feel like I'm on fire." I paused, my eyes locking with his. "And I can't do this, I can't trust you."

I can't start this crossing and know I won't fall over.

“Is it that hard, to trust me again?”

I lowered my eyes. His tie, the unbuttoned blazer, the way his pants folded where they met his shoes, the dark planks. The tunnel vision widening.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded and then the boards creaked again as he started to walk away from me.

“Mallorca,” he turned back and spoke again. His voice made the silence go away. It rang clearly, but with an ounce of despair. Perhaps it was as difficult for him as it was for me. “Not for me—do it for my sisters.”

“I’ll try.”

ayooooo, as promised the chapter is here! posting today cause i'll be partying all night and i just know ill be too dead to do anything tomorrow. so, again, thank you for the support. you all have been amazing. i can't thank you enough for reading! a special thank you for the ones who reblog and leave comments or messages! i hope you enjoyed this chapter! summer break in mallorca is comiiiiiiing [yes, those dts and don't blink episodes live in my mind rent free] now, i have two questions: 1. would do like me to share the spotify playlist I've been putting together and listening to while writing? and 2. do you know those instagram au's some people do? I'm obsessed with them. they're my guilty pleasure. i was thinking about doing something similar between chapters. what do you think? thank you! all the love, bru 🤍

[fluffyjothoughts]

Hi! First of all I want to say that I am very happy with this site!

I would like to ask what the boys would be like on their wedding day, how would they prepare for the big day and the reception after the wedding?

okay okay, we’re doing this, someone play the march and my aisle song!

Kris: He cannot wait. He’s buttery and all smiley, absolutely thrilled to get married to you. Very involved with the planning, and practically cries from joy when he sees your dress for the first time. You do a first look and he’s already near tears. Lets a few tears fall when you’re walking down the aisle. Gentle but passionate kiss.

Bojan: He is a mess. but in a cute way. he’s asking his groomsmen if he’s looking okay for the entire day, swallows a packet of breath mints and is shaky all the way through. sobs before the doors even open and barely gets through his vows. this man is pretty much ready to ravish you with that first official kiss of yours. seriously, he’s in love love.

Jan: Seems relaxed and easy going but is so nervous and excited he practically cannot wait anymore. Surprises literally everyone by how much he ends up crying and apologises throughout his vows if they don’t capture his love for you (and they end up being the sweetest fucking thing ever too). he keeps looking over to you for the entire night and feeling extremely proud of himself for marrying you.

Jure: He’s pumped. Would do one of those jokes of all of his groomsmen fixing up his hair, breath and suit before coming to you and kissing you. Ends up giving another dramatic dip kiss on the aisle. Cocktail bar is necessary, and throughout the night is already saying “my wife” to everyone extremely giddy.

Nace: The gentlest soul out there. idk he seems like the type. Cries a lot and is in general the sweetest man ever. holds onto your hands softly and just immediately pulls you in for the most romantic kiss ever. holds onto you for the entire night.

[notquitedeadpod]

It's the day of the NQD S3 finale party!

To celebrate, I've put together a list of cocktails and mocktails inspired by the show. They're hidden under the cut!

Some of these take a while to prepare because they involve brewing tea in advance!

Casper A long drink with fruit, florals and spice

Ice 50ml Cherry Brandy Juice of half a lime 150ml Iced Hibiscus Tea 100ml Ginger Beer

Add ice to a hi ball glass, then build the drink over top, starting with the brandy and lime juice, then the chilled tea, and finally topping the drink with enough ginger beer to make the drink long

Neige A refreshingly bright fruity drink balanced with mint

Ice 1 tsp dry vermouth 1 tsp honey 1 tsp freshly squeezed lemon juice 50ml spiced plum liqueur Splash of champagne (or any sparkling white wine) 5 fresh mint leaves, crushed, plus 2 for garnish

Add ice, vermouth, honey, 5 mint leaves, lemon and spiced plum liqueur to a cocktail shaker and shake vigorously. Strain into a martini glass and dress with two mint leaves

Alfie A refreshing twist on a peachy classic

Ice 4 peach slices 5 mint leaves 1 tsp honey 25ml peach schnapps 100ml prosecco Lemonade to finish.

Add the peach, mint, vodka and honey to a glass and muddle/crush until the peach and mint begins to break down. Add ice, stir, and pour over your prosecco. Top with lemonade to finish.

Snow Blood A sweet, citrussy drink with a bright minty twist.

Ice 100ml iced blood orange tea 1 tsp simple syrup (sugar + water) 5 crushed mint leaves Lemonade or soda water to finish

Brew blood orange tea in advance and leave to cool. When time to serve, add ice and mint leaves to glass. Add syrup and tea, stir to combine. Finish with a dash of sparkling lemonade or soda water.

To make this alcoholic, add a shot or two of good quality vodka before you stir.

Sleepy Predator A cosy, floral drink to lull you to sleep after a night on the prowl

Ice 150ml lavender tea 30ml elderflower cordial Soda water to finish

Brew lavender tea in advance and leave to cool. When time to serve, add ice, tea and cordial to a glass and stir to combine. Finish with soda water.

To make this alcoholic, add a shot or two of good quality gin before you stir.

[dispatchvampire]

Damsel in This Dress

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Not many, probably mostly swearing. This is just a bit of fluff.

Rating: PG-13 mostly for language

WC: 1000-ish.

Summary: Layla finds herself stranded at a Stark gala, with her terrible ex circling like a shark. Enter an unlikely savior in the form of one smoking hot Winter Soldier.

Most people would be absolutely elated to be a guest at a Tony Stark party. All the glitz and glamour, celebrities at every turn and, in Layla’s case, not a single place to hide, dammit. 

She wasn’t there as an actual guest, really a plus one for her parents, who actually were the guests of Mr. Stark as newly minted business partners. They just merged the R&D department of their alternative energy company to Stark Industries, where she was due to start work in the following weeks. By all rights, Layla should be over the moon with the trajectory of her life. 

‘Should’ being the operative word. No, the rain on her parade came in the form of Charleton Zednik, son and heir apparent of a separate business partner of both her parents and Mr. Stark. He also happened to be her absolutely abysmal ex. 

As tight as her cocktail dress was, somehow Charleton managed to cling even more tenaciously. 

Maybe it wasn’t the most charitable thought, but she’d rather have a raging case of herpes than carry on one more day with his bland ass. He was so rigid, she wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t shatter if he hit the ground for any reason, and what he lacked in imagination, he more than made up for in possessive personality. Since she’d broken up with him over two weeks ago, he’d been blowing up her phone, her socials, and had even had her parents lobbying on his behalf. 

On paper, they were the perfect couple, two scions of an up-and-coming green energy revolution, and if arranged marriage was still a thing, Layla knew she would have been out the door the moment Charleton first looked in her direction. Her parents meant well, she knew, but damn if they weren’t still unreasonably old school about some things. 

It was late in the evening and she found herself alone, at the bar, relishing her reprieve as Charleton had to step away and take a work call. Hopefully he’d be gone long enough for her Uber to arrive so she could make a break for it. She ordered a double lemon drop while she waited. 

“You look how I feel,” a gruff male voice beside her remarked as her martini glass appeared in front of her. “Are you okay?”

Layla was mid-sip as she turned to reply to the kind inquiry and promptly choked on her drink. In front of her was Bucky Goddamn Barnes. The Winter-Fucking-Soldier, all six feet four inches of him, in an impeccably tailored tux, with his luscious dark hair artfully tied back and sea-glass blue eyes soft with concern. 

Flailing for a napkin, she nodded her thanks as he pressed several into her hand. “Um, yeah. Thanks,” she choked out as she blotted her face and attempted to quell her mess. “Sorry. Really. I’m fine.”

“All evidence to the contrary aside.” His smirk should be registered as a lethal weapon. 

Layla ducked her head, snickering even as her cheeks filled with mortified heat. “Right.” She sipped her drink again, regaining her composure enough to look the man in the face when a movement over his shoulder caught her eye. 

Whatever her face did in that moment must have been dramatic, because Bucky immediately moved closer to her and glanced quickly over his shoulder. Taking a hold of her elbow, he shifted to put himself between the approaching man and her. “Do you need to leave?” 

Charleton’s eyes met hers across the room and the scowl on his face grew in intensity as he sped up his approach. Layla looked up at Bucky, who appeared poised to deal with whatever answer she gave him. “Yes please.” 

He nodded once and threw a twenty on the bar. “Let’s go.” Gently, he ferried her through the room, the path in front of him opening up as if by magic. If that magic could be attributed to a scowling former assassin with a beautiful woman on his arm. 

In no time at all, you were both in the elevator watching the city lights fade on the ride to one of the upper floors. For all that he’d been in her space to get her there, the moment the doors closed, he stepped away and maintained a respectful distance. 

“Why are we going upstairs? Why not just hustle me out of the building?” 

“He saw us together, right?” 

“Right…?

“Then chances are good he’s expecting us to make a break for it and leave, so he’ll likely head down to the lobby and to wait and make a scene there.” 

That did sound like him. She was suddenly tired. So, so tired. “So then where are we going?” 

“My place,” he replied as the elevator dinged to a halt. He held an arm out and allowed her to precede him onto the penthouse floor. “At least until he cools his jets and leaves.” 

“I don’t see that happening anytime soon,” she muttered, feeling both vexed at her ex and slightly exhilarated at the idea of being alone with Bucky. This was not how she saw her night going in the slightest, and suddenly wondered if she remembered to put on matching underwear. 

The giant gave her a million-watt grin as he tugged off his bowtie and tossed it onto the dining room table as he led her through the large, open concept room to the kitchen island. “Then you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

[beefrobeefcal]

Something about Mouse defending Frankie’s honor is just so sweet to me.

Like maybe, they’re out somewhere, and they’re dressed up nice or something and a guy tried hitting on Mouse and she tells him like, my boyfriend is right here, and he starts talking shit ab how chubby Frankie and how she’s too good for him and she shuts it down. Maybe when they get home Mouse assures Frankie by like, kissing and rubbing his tummy (worship basically😭)

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, got me right in the giblets, Nonnie! We love to see a feisty Mouse defend her Catfish. I'm sorry that they never made it home.

I hope it lives up to your vision. Enjoy!

Beefro 👌🥩💜

--------<3----------

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Frankie one shot

The Catfish & The Mouse: Baby's Got a Temper

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader (Mouse!)

Summary: A lovely evening turned upside-down by a temp.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 2,517

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), Nasty Temps, Truck Sex, Public ? Sex, Body Insecurity, Belly Worship

Author's Notes: Our Mouse is ready to fight anyone who disrespects her Frankie. Thank you, Nonnie for your contribution to the THOT TANK.

Not proofed. Enjoy!

__________________________

You were so excited. You’d finally been invited to a work-related function in recognition of all the hard work you’d done, and the night was finally here.

Frankie had even gone out and bought an outfit for this evening and gotten a haircut.

He looked amazing in an all-black outfit, the top button of his shirt open, no tie. You’d opted for a cocktail length, black bodycon dress with a plunging neckline.

When you walked out of the bedroom to the den, Frankie looked at you from the couch and stood up abruptly. His eyes bugged out roamed over your body and he swallowed thickly.

“Give us a spin.”, he crooned, walking towards you with a dark look and his hands in his pockets.

You moved slowly in a circle and looked at him doe eyed. “Do I look okay?”

He reached a hand out and tugged you by the waist closer to him. “Princess, you look good enough to eat.”

*****

The venue was gorgeous, and you quickly found your fellow invited co-workers while Frankie went to the bar and ordered drinks for you both.

The evening was going well; presentations had been made and you were all taking your seats as the food was going to be served. You and Frankie chatted with your co-worker Elise and her newly minted fiancée, Maggie, through dinner, and as they discussed their upcoming wedding. Frankie’s hand gently caressed your thigh under the table, and you took it as nerves given you rarely did anything like this and the current topic of marriage.

Little did you know that Frankie already had a ring hidden in his toolbox in the garage – somewhere you would never look - waiting for the right moment.

Frankie watched as you listened to Molly explain the reason for their wedding colour scheme. He took in how your hair sat in your updo, and the freckles that sat on your shoulder that he would kiss as he held you in bed at night. He listened to your questions and laughs as you talked, and watched your hands move with your conversation, imagining the ring he picked just for you on your left ring finger. He loved you, probably more than he thought possible, and he couldn’t wait to give you his life, soul, and last name.

Not knowing the deep thoughts Frankie was swimming in, you turned and excused yourself to the washroom and asked if he needed another drink.

“Uh, sure, baby… just another whisky, neat.”, he said smiling, clumsily returning to reality.

After visiting the ladies’ room, you went to the bar, waiting for your turn to order. You suddenly felt a hand touch your waist and turned to see a man you did not know at all. He was Frankie’s heigh, but slimmer and much more angular and sharper looking; nothing gentle about his gaze that washed over you.

“Can I help you?”, you asked, trying to move out of his grip, but he pulled you in tighter. You could smell the alcohol and cigars on him.

“Yeah, sugar, you can. Tell me your pretty name so I know who’ll be sitting on my lap the rest of the night.”, he purred, his southern accent thick.

You pulled yourself out of his hold and stepped back. “I’m here with someone, my boyfriend.”, you said curtly.

“And who might that lucky fellow be?”, he drawled as stepped closer to you.

You looked towards your now empty table, seeing Frankie walking across the room towards you. “Him.”

You nod your head towards Frankie, and the man turns.

*****

Frankie watched for you to head to the bar. He was nervous in these kinds of things, fancier events. He was a blue-collar guy who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, and most of the men there looked like they hadn’t seen a hard day’s labour ever. While he felt he was dressed the part for this evening, he could help but notice the stares you got as you walked through the venue. He watched the eyes rove over your body in your dress, and then saw the wide eyes that followed when they saw who held your hand.

He looked at the bar and saw you there, backing up from a guy whose hands…

No. No no no. Hands off, fucker. Frankie thought angrily as he stalked towards the bar.

As he got closer, he heard the guy laugh and say, “The fat guy? Baby, he’d probably get grease stains on your pretty dress.”

Frankie felt like he got the wind knocked out of him. He looked at you, seeing your body language morph from defense to attack mode.

“Excuse me?”, you snarled at the man, eyebrows high.

“Honey, a cute little thing like you deserves to be on the arm of someone who knows how to say ‘no’ to seconds.”, he smiles, then points his thumb to Frankie. “Him? He’s a fat guy with a gut that needs some fucking discipline drilled into him. Not worth your time, kitten.”

Your jaw tightened and your eyes burned. “How fucking dare you…”, you growled, feeling your first tighten and pull back.

Frankie stepped in front of you, his back to the man, and gently putting his hands on your sides to guide you away. “Not worth it, baby. Remember, you’re here for work. I’m okay, Mouse. Walk away.”, he said in a hushed tone, eyes trying to connect with yours, but you kept moving your head shooting daggers at the man.

“Did you hear what he said about you?!”, you barked, trying to get around Frankie to get back to the man, but he held you back. “No, it’s not okay, Frankie! Let me go!”

You ripped Frankie’s hands off you. Stomping towards the man, Frankie desperately tried to get another grip on you.

“What’s your problem, huh?”, you bark at the man, jabbing his chest with your finger.

“Baby’s got a temper.”, he cooed, then sneered at Frankie. “She a lot to handle, fat boy?”

You felt flames burning through your veins and you wanted blood. “Call him that again. I fucking dare you.”, you snarled.

The man’s grin started to fall, the feral look in your eye caught him off guard, and he spat, “Crazy whore. Hey, fat boy, get your bitch on a leash when you’re in public next time.”, then turned to walk away.

You went to lunge at him, but Frankie caught you.

“Mouse, stop. Come on… you need to cool down.”, he said in calm yet stern tone while he held you back. He could feel you trying to pull out of his grip, but he held firm.

You hadn’t caused a huge scene but there were some spectators still watching you both, and Frankie needed to get you out of there.

Elise and Molly had witnessed the whole thing and informed you that the man was no more than a temp filling it at one of the other firms. It didn’t help. He’d insulted Frankie – your Frankie. You were furious.

Frankie thanked the ladies, and as you walked down to the parkade, he looked dejected. The words had gotten to him and you could not allow them to sit and fester in his mind. Your fists were balled so tight you thought you might break your fingers at the thought that those words made him feel as bad you felt angry.

Getting down to the parking lot, he unlocked the passenger side door for you and went to open it, but you slammed it closed and pushed Frankie up against the truck, caging him in between your hands.

“Mouse? honey… what’s-”, Frankie asked, confused.

“I love that you love to eat. I love feeling your weight on me when you fuck me.”, you growled aggressively between deep breaths.

 “I love knowing that this,”, your hands grabbed his belly, giving it a quick, firm shake, and Frankie let out a small whine. “This is because you love to stuff yourself on the food I make you.”

“I love knowing that when I’m done with you, your jeans don’t fit. I love knowing that no matter how much you eat, you will always have room for pussy.”

Frankie’s lips were parted, and he was panting. You were like watching a tornado – sublime, terrifying; he was awestruck.

“I love knowing that when you fuck me, I’m your princess.” You leaned in and ghosted your mouth over his. “Now get in the fucking truck, fat boy.”

Frankie crawled in the passenger side, and you hiked up your dress to your hips and crawled onto his lap, slamming the door behind you. You kissed him roughly, and Frankie moaned into your mouth, and you started to grind your hips into his.

You pulled back, hips still grinding, and ripped open the buttons to the dress shirt he had on, your heated gaze burning into his abdomen.

“You’re so fucking hot, Frankie…”, you panted, and your hands went to his belly, kneading and gripping him.

“Belly’s all for you, princess… getting fat for you.”, Frankie whined as he grabbed your waist with his large hands and ground up into you.

“Put the seat back.”, you moaned, continuing your gyrations and your fingers pressing into his chubby tummy.

Frankie adjusted the seat, you shifted back and opened his pants, pulling his leaking cock out. Frankie hooked a finger in your thong to pull it to the side, and you shifted over him and slid down on his member slowly.

Frankie watched your face as your adjusted to his size and held you but the back of your neck, pulling you in for a gentle kiss.

“Yeah, my feisty girl… look so fucking hot, ready to fight… no one fucks with my baby.”, he whispered against your lips before he opened his mouth and pushed his tongue into yours.

You started moving up and down, and you sat up from the kiss. You looked down at Frankie and saw his lust-blown eyes shaded by heavy eyelids, his reddened kissed lips and his belly marked red from your fingers and framed by the de-buttoned shirt. Your hands went to his stomach, and you started to ride him faster, holding on to him as you bottomed out on him repeatedly.

“Oh fuck… Mouse… oh my god… keep going… fuck… fuck… you feel so good… my fucking hero, baby…”, he cried out.

Your walls started to tremor, and your orgasm hit you. “Frankie… I’m…. oh god!”, you wailed.

“Close… pr-princess… m’close… oh fuck… fuck…”, Frankie whined followed by a strangled moan.

You could feel your mixed spend seeping out and coating his lap and your thighs as both panted. No doubt the truck had been rocking and it certainly wasn’t soundproof, but neither of you cared in that moment.

You flopped on top of him, he hands went to your back, and rubbed soothingly, while he planted kisses in your hair and whispered, “Sucha good girl… love you so much, princess… deep breaths, honey… deep breaths…”

You felt completely fucked out and were ready for bed. Once Frankie was able to get into the driver’s seat, he turned on the truck and right before he pulled out the of the stall, he saw the man sitting in the car parked across from you, eyes wide.

Frankie smiled and winked at him before he exited the parkade.  

__________________________

TAGLIST:

@harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity

[brandochunderdarkseas]

That is a pâté fermente based French country bread, with saint angel cheese left out till very ripe, topped with oven roasted strawberries.

Also some pistachios, pluots, and butter for some extra bread. The sparkling pairing was a cocktail, with a strawberry juice, Pimms, honey, and vanilla syrup taking the place of your regular cassis-style, saint-Hilliard sparkling (not actually method champenoise)

For supper it was new potatoes, boiled and dressed with an onion, sriracha, mayo, red-wine vinegar, with garden thyme flowers and leaves. Garden peas with apple mint and butter, boiled. Tuna tataki, with a strawberry, miso, butter sauce. A green salad with sweet potato croutons, strawberries, pecorino, and a basic lettuce salad. Dressing was prickly pear vinaigrette.

Finally, just whipped cream, with strawberries macerated with orange zest and orange blossom water and some sugar and honey.

There was also a quite nice Curvée, and a rather delightful grand cru, both of which I’d never had before.

[e-m-p-error]

Valentino's Clubs' Signature Drinks Part One

Two signature drinks at all of Valentino's establishments are the True Love's Diss and True Love's Kiss. True Love's Diss is gin, sweet vermouth, rose extract, and Campari. It is garnished with rose petals. True Love's Kiss is also garnished with a rose petal and heart-shaped edible glitter. It is a sweet sparkling wine drink with strawberry juice mixed into it. Both drinks have a dash of Love Potion in them.

Bloodsport - Sports Bar; Full bar, 30 Big-Screen TVs + All Sports Packages Available, Full Kitchen

Bloodsport Signature Drinks

Poison Apple - Hard apple cider with a splash of orange liquer

Dark Side - Black cherry martini with a (dyed) black cherry for garnish

Brite Lite - Strip Club; Exclusively Insect Sinners Work Here; Full Bar, VIP Rooms, Drug Vending Machines, Bar Snacks Only

Brite Lite Signature Drinks

Orchid Mantis - Kiwi liqueur, prickly pear vodka, orchid elixir syrup; Velvette Inspired

Lightning Bug - Rum, pineapple/mango/mangosteen/papaya vodka, cognac

Club Hell 666 - Strip Club; Full Bar, VIP Rooms, Drug Vending Machines, Sports Bar-Esque Kitchen

Club Hell 666 Signature Drinks

Angel's Web: Peach mint julep with a hint of strawberry syrup at the top; Angel Dust Inspired

Secret Admirer: Rosé wine, strawberry syrup, rose petals, club soda, and a splash of maraschino cherry juice with a hint of lemon and lemon peel for garnish; Angel Dust Inspired

Dick Heaven - Gay Bar; Only men work here; Full Bar, VIP Rooms, Drug Vending Machines, Free Use Sex Rooms, Attendants Paid Via Tips In Glory Hole Stalls, Traditional Bar Food Only

Dick Heaven Signature Drinks

Valentino Loves A Good Peach - Peach schnapps, mint leaves, strawberry syrup, lime juice

Tender Kisses - Spiked cherry lemonade with a dash of rose extract

Glory Hole - High-End Sex Club; Full bar, Dancefloor, Bathrooms + Glory Hole Stalls, Drug Vending Machines, Pay-To-Play sex rooms/toys/gear/lube available in each room, VIP Brothel Upstairs, Showers, Full Kitchen

Glory Hole Signature Drinks

Teal-quila Sunrise - Raspberry syrup, tequila, blue curaçao, lime juice, orange cognac

Glory Hole Garden - Lavender syrup, coconut rum, blueberry sparkling wine, garnished with a green cherry soaked in lavender syrup, has a dash of Love Potion in it

Heartbeats - Karaoke Bar; Full Bar, Full Kitchen

Heartbeats Signature Drinks

Throat Tamer - Piña colada with a lemony twist

Gold Standard - Classic Bronx cocktail with a dash of tangerine schnapps

Horns - Imp City Strip Club; Full bar, Dancefloor, Bathrooms + Glory Hole Stalls, Drug Vending Machines, Meager Kitchen

Horns Signature Drinks

Bubbly Black Widow - Black vodka, cranberry juice, coconut creme, and brown sugar boba

Love & Sex & Magic - Cherry vodka, kiwi syrup, blue curaçao, maraschino cherry juice, garnish with kiwi slice

Number Of The 63457 - Strip Club; Exclusively Hellborn Work Here; Full Bar, VIP Rooms, Drug Vending Machines, Traditional Bar Food Only

Number Of The 63457 Signature Drinks

Bitter Envy - Blue Curaçao, Midori, Raspberry Syrup, Melon Whip With A Hint Of Chocolate; Leviathan Inspired

Bittersweet Lust - Mangosteen Vodka, blue raspberry syrup, burnt martini; Asmodeus Inspired

NYMPH-O-MANIAC - BDSM Club; Older than Spark Plugs; Full bar, planned scenes for show, rooms/floor space available for scenes among patrons, pay-to-play toys/gear/lube available, bring-your-own-gear encouraged only for dress

NYMPH-O-MANIAC Signature Drinks

Skanque - Apple vodka, apple juice, orange juice, blue curaçao, red wine, rosemary and apples

Lot Lizard - Cherry/vanilla vodka, vanilla cream, garnished with a rose petal and a cherry

Pussy Paraíso - Lesbian Bar; Only women work here; Full Bar, VIP Rooms, Drug Vending Machines, Free Use Sex Rooms, Brunch and Bar Food Only

Pussy Paraiso Signature Drinks

Check Out My Melons - Cantaloupe puree, simple syrup, white rum, maraschino cherry juice, lime juice, seltzer, food coloring

Eelectric Pink - Vodka, chilled green tea, simple syrup, lime juice, mint, grenadine

R3D - Imp City Nightclub; Full bar, Dancefloor, Drug Vending Machines, Meager Kitchen

R3D Signature Drinks

Royale Flush - Black currant liqueur, sparkling red wine, berries

Black Mage - Black vodka, lime juice, maraschino cherry juice

Redlight - Sex Club; Full bar, Dancefloor, Bathrooms + Glory Hole Stalls, Drug Vending Machines, Free Use Sex Rooms, Pay-To-Play toys/gear/lube available in each room, Showers, Full Kitchen

Redlight Signature Drinks

Chica Cherry Limeade - A cherry limeade with amaretto vodka

Chum The Water - Grenadine, pomegranate vodka, blue sugar crystals

Shymmer - Strip Club; Attached to Shyne via a corridor; Full Bar, VIP Rooms, Higher-End Kitchen

Shymmer Signature Drinks

Day Drinking Special: Shymmer's Chocolate Mojito

Night Life Special: Shymmidori Martini - Melon Martini

Shyne - Nightclub; Attached to Shymmer via a corridor; Full bar, Dancefloor, Bathrooms + Glory Hole Stalls, Drug Vending Machines, Sports Bar-Esque Kitchen

Shyne Signature Drinks

Fruit Popper - Grape/green apple vodka, cream, whipped cream, berries, cherries, and apples to garnish, mint; One of those berries also has a surprise pill in it.

Candyland - Cotton candy vodka, birthday cake vodka, Nerds; Beelzebub Inspired

Part Two Here

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𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽 / 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂 . ► PETER GRAHAM

★ ⸻ 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Sixpack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Slender frame. Muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused feet. Calloused hands (fingers sometimes have guitar grooves from playing). Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulders. Underweight. Average Weight. Overweight.

★ ⸻ 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

★ ⸻ 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

Pale. Fair. Rosy. Peachy. Gold. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth (facial area). Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred.

★ ⸻ 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Deep set.

★ ⸻ 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Short. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Floor length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Streaked. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

★ ⸻ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 .

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Shin tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Lower back tattoo. Hand/finger tattoo. Foot tattoo. Neck tattoo. Face tattoo. Back tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

★ ⸻ 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

★ ⸻ ��𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Natural soap. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain. Grass. Ocean. Autumn leaves. Baked bread. Freshly baked cookies. Smoke. Campfire. Lavender. Trees. Pumpkin Pie. Musk. Rose. Gingerbread. Peppermint. Oak. Honey. Lemon. Vanilla. Coffee Cake. Mint. Raw hyde.

★ ⸻ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒

Jeans. Tight pants. Over-knee socks. Tights. Fishnets. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tank-top. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sports bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter.Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Plaid. Black. Dark colors. Fur.

★ ⸻ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stilettos. Bare feet. Loafers.