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hoseoksluna · 4 months ago

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LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door.

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often.

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you.

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality.

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run.

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty.

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok.

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay.

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff.

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship.

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it.

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile.

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it.

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together.

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested.

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion.

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours.

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water.

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you.

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last.

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.”

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of.

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.”

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you.

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common.

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you.

And it no longer shall.

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life.

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.”

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps.

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch.

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself.

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up.

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service.

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you.

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take.

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore.

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening.

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were.

And the process soaks your panties.

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore.

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches.

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age.

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you.

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea.

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste.

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him.

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex.

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you.

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.”

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about.

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body.

And you might as well give him what he asks of you.

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them.

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours.

He didn’t expect that.

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly.

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.”

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you.

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable.

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet.

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over.

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better.

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him.

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now.

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back.

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you.

And you let his following question consume you just as much.

“Were you in love with him?”

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out.

No need for long nights of overthinking.

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?”

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst.

“What’s it to me?”

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers.

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him.

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face.

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore.

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin?

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation.

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?”

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it.

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.”

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about.

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back.

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?”

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?”

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will.

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.”

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead?

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment.

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick.

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer.

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.”

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.”

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety.

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release.

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.”

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.”

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak.

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long.

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.”

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt.

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at.

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water.

And you do.

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out.

“Did you cry for him?”

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?”

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.”

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.”

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his.

The life in you throbs.

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that.

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.”

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again.

“Touch it, please.”

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged.

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain.

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing.

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him.

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.”

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants.

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with.

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally.

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.”

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume.

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit.

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body.

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it.

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away.

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.”

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out.

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him.

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once.

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.”

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity.

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?”

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off.

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth.

Your poor heart skips a beat.

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?”

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you.

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils.

“That’s so hot.”

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.”

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his.

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too.

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle.

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.”

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon.

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty.

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.”

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.”

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.”

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it.

“I want that so bad.”

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.”

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him.

“I didn’t bring any condoms.”

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.”

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing.

“I’ll give you a big load.”

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face.

“Good girl. Such good manners.”

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime.

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.”

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity.

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin.

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you.

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.”

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.”

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish.

“Say that again.”

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.”

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one.

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out.

But only one thing is clear.

“I’m yours.”

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp.

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg.

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.”

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines.

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him.

Blood-hot.

And you feel as though you deserved every drop.

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see.

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning.

They cease to exist.

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?”

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him.

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head.

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.”

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again.

Again and again.

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb.

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world.

Hoseok is that life.

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

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kbbueckers · 2 months ago

Text

anniversary

overview: you and paige celebrate your anniversary

characters: paigexreader

warnings: not enough foreplay, lowk gets right to the point, not proofread, smut (r receiving)

author notes: i wanted to do a paige receiving part at the end too, but i got lazy. i probably will next time tho. sorry this took soooooo long.

you were sitting on the couch waiting for paige to get home from her practice, tonight was your anniversary and you had something big planned. you had decorated the bed with rose petals, playing her favorite music, and had her favorite scent of candle ready, but that wasn't even the biggest part. you and paige took a trip to dubai back in september because you always wanted to go. while there, paige bought you a pink lace lingerie set with tiny bows around the edges. you hadn't got a chance to wear it, until tonight.

you waited in bordem until you heard the door knob. you got up off the couch and ran over to the door, before you could get to the front door paige turned the corner with a smile. "hey." she handed you a bouquet of roses, "missed me?." you took the bouquet and sat them down before giving her a hug, "of course i did."

"what's that in your hand?" you pointed to a small black box paige was holding behind her back. she quickly shoved it in the pocket of her sweatpants before shaking her head. "nothing. okay well, not nothing. but it's a surprise." she smiled before giving you a kiss on your forehead. "whatever, i have a surprise for you too." you smiled and tugged her arm a few times, dragging her upstairs to your shared bedroom. as you opened the door, revealing the surprise you had set up, paige gave a big smile before giving you another kiss. "you did this all for me?" she says with a shocked face.

"sit here for me, mk? i'll be right back" you sat her down on the bed before rushing into the bathroom. paige already had an idea of what was going on, but as soon as you came out of the bathroom in the brand new set, her face got red. she stood up from the bed and looked you up and down. "wow, you look amazing baby." as she walks up to you, you grab the zipper of her sweatsuit jacket. "can i?" you ask with eagerness as she nods.

before you knew it, paige was hovering on top of you making kisses along your jawline. you muttered a bunch of different things as she made marks on your jaw, but she really wasn't listening to a single thing you were saying. "shush baby." she kisses down your body, moving past your chest and to your stomach. she kisses your stomach, leaving marks similar to the ones already on your neck. once she got to the waist of your underwear, she traced her finger around the small bows designing the edges. "can i take this off?" she whispered in your ear, once she got your approval she slowly pulled down your underwear. once paige created a pool around your feet with your underwear, she began kissing your neck. as paige kissed from your neck to your stomach, all you could do was whine in response. "feel good baby?" she muttered against your stomach.

as paige continued to move down your body, she kissed up and down the inside of your thighs, getting just close enough to the place you really wanted her. "paige." you took a deep breath, slightly annoyed by her teasing. paige ignored you and slowly kissed on the inside of your thighs before taking you into her mouth, you let out a loud gasp as you felt her lips latch on to you. paige gave a small laugh, sending vibrations up your body. "feels good p.", you moaned as she flicks her tounge over you.

she swirls her tounge around you before thrusting it inside, earning a loud gasp from you. "oh my god." you say breathlessly. as she continues thrusting inside of you, you can feel paige letting out small hums against your clit, getting you closer to your edge. she keeps going before you finally let out a loud moan, filling the room with sound. once you calm down through your orgasm, she pulls away and gives you a kiss on your forehead. you lay there mumbling about something paige doesn't really here as she walks into the bathroom, getting a warm washcloth to clean you up.

after she's finished getting the both of you cleaned up, she cuddles beside you under the blankets before jumping up. "oh, i almost forgot.". paige grabs the small black box she sat on the nightstand earlier and hands it to you as you sit up. you excitedly open the black box, a ring was staring back at you. but not just any ring, this was a ring you have been raving about for months now, but it had always been too way expensive. "i saved some money up, and i know you've wanted it for a while now so i-." you cut her off, wrapping her into a tight hug. "i love you so much, baby. thank you for everything, really." she hugged you back before giving you a kiss on the cheek, "i love you more."

-kbbueckers💋

#wnba #paige bueckers #wnba x reader #women's basketball #paige x reader #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #uconn x reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball

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hellotailor · 4 months ago

Note

Apologies if you've already done a post on this and I've just missed it, but can I ask for your take on the pyjamas worn by the cast of interview with vampire? I mean technically they're not a 100% necessary item, but just from a quick look there seems to be a lot of variety and they do change over the series

ok, i’m delighted by the specificity of this question, and it turns out that i have a VERY extensive answer.

there’s a lot of sleepwear in IWTV due to the volume of bedroom/coffin scenes, and like any other outfit, these costumes are shaped by characterization and historical period. for instance claudia initially wears a long, modest, frilly nightgown - an old-fashioned style that plays into her girlish doll wardrobe purchased by louis and lestat. however her sleepwear matures over the years, including a trendy lace nightdress with bloomers in the 1920s (note the rectangular silhouette), and a pink padded jacket/pastel robe outfit in 1940s paris. she's following contemporary trends while charting a visible trajectory from child to adult.

when i wrote about the Théâtre des Vampires coven costumes, i noted that while their wardrobes share certain themes (ie. monochrome patterns and stripes), they each have specific personal tastes. that holds true for sleepwear. in the S2 finale we see the coven going to bed in their coffins, with Eglee in a gorgeous (maybe 1940s?) robe, Celeste in a striped pajama suit reflecting her 1920s-30s cabaret style, and Armand in a plain grey set of prison jammies because he's Suffering.

of course, the star pajama outfits all belong to Louis and Lestat, playing into their wealthy domestic aesthetic in S1. they receive multiple bedroom/coffin scenes, and Lestat's gold Leyendecker robe is obviously iconic.

touching on the historical side of things for a moment, pajamas (as in a matching buttondown top and loose pants) were popularized in the western world in the 19th century, as a repurposed south asian import - kind of like how banyans became trendy among the upper classes in 18th century england. this was when loungewear started to catch on as a concept, both in terms of dressing gowns and smoking jackets (which you could wear while socializing at home) and actual pajamas, which became unisex in the 1920s.

back in his human life in the 18th century, Lestat probably slept naked or wore a shapeless white nightgown (and possibly a nightcap, the sexiest of garments). but in New Orleans he adopts Louis' lifestyle, which involves a luxurious wardrobe of fashionable menswear. they're both into shopping and looking good, and i think they enjoy the ritual of getting dressed together each night.

(i also have a personal theory that Lestat may prefer to sleep fully clothed because his formative traumatic memory involves waking up naked in the dark. after all, he doesn't need pajamas to stay warm, and he doesn't have a recent habit of wearing them in his human life like Louis does. then again, maybe he just enjoys having a new outfit for every occasion!)

in Dubai, we only get one scene (iirc) with Louis and Armand in their pajamas, lying in bed wearing outfits that tie into the striped prison bar imagery of their bedroom. Armand is in warmer brown tones (like his Paris wardrobe) while Louis is in black and grey, like the rest of his Dubai outfits. i'd also note that this is the one place where they're genuine in private, meaning that they aren't putting on a show for Daniel. so this is potentially Armand's most relaxed costume in the present day.

the fact that they're wearing this kind of old-school sleepwear feels very appropriate for their whole deal, imo. in the 21st century, a lot of people just sleep in boxers and t-shirts or whatever. there's a slightly 20th century vibe to wearing a full set of buttondown pajamas, and Armand's outfit reads as more stylish (and possibly more wealthy) than your average millennial guy. which makes sense! they're old men.

i think we can assume that every single thing in their Dubai home is ferociously expensive, even when it doesn't need to be. considering the way Louis gives himself a modern makeover in the finale, i do wonder if he'll switch over to sleeping in t-shirts etc next season, or if he'll stick with variations of the same sleepwear he wore during his mortal life.

p.s. all of my iwtv design posts are available on this tag!

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #costume design #louis de pointe du lac #lestat #iwtv costume design #claudia #armand #iwtv meta #fortunatelyhercat #pajamas #asks

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

Text

lee chan as your sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, cock riding, overstimulation, oral (m. receiving). — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

chan's fingers hovered over the keyboard, the couch under him squeaking as his friends shifted closer, eyes glued to his screen. the profile had been a joke, a dare born out of a boredom and too many beers. his bio was something ridiculous, like “lee chan, 25. likes dancing, long walks to the fridge, and avoiding adult responsibilities.” he doesn’t think much of it, just another one of those dumb things you do with friends that you forget about the next morning.

so when that notification popped up, he’d been fully ready to shrug it off.

“oh shit, someone actually bit,” seungkwan snorted, elbowing him in the ribs.

“no way,” vernon leaned in closer, practically draping himself over chan’s shoulder. “what, is it a granny looking for a toyboy?”

chan was already smirking, about to type back something half-assed, but then he clicked on the profile.

silence.

“bro…” was all soonyoung managed, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

you stared back at him from the screen, the photo set in dubai. expensive-ass bikini that screamed designer without being obnoxious about it, a pool so clear it could’ve been a goddamn mirror. every photo after that, some crazy tourist spot, one after the other. greece, italy, fucking bali. you were clearly someone who had their shit together, someone who probably had the same watch collection as his entire paycheck for the last year.

chan’s still staring at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. he’s never seen anything like this before. you look like money, smell like money, like that fancy, understated kind of wealth that doesn’t need to brag.

“are you gonna reply or just keep ogling?” seungkwan’s voice snapped him out of it.

he glanced at the message again. just a simple “hi” but now another one had popped up.

“she’s typing again,” someone whispers, and chan snaps out of it, eyes darting back to the chat window.

“you’re real cute in that profile pic,” it read, followed by a winking emoji.

“well, fuck me,” chan muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “what the hell do i even say to that?”

“anything but something stupid,” vernon quipped, nudging him.

chan bites his lip, glancing at his friends who are all staring at him like this is the most important conversation of his life. and maybe it kinda is.

his fingers hovered again. you were out of his league in every way that mattered, but here you were, talking to him. and what was he? just some dude who loved dance and cheap beer. but fuck it. he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

“hii! you know, you look even better than all those tourist spots. might have to see for myself sometime...”

“oh my god, dude,” vernon whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly.

“he’s going in!” seungkwan half-yelled, covering his mouth in shock.

chan hit send and immediately regretted it, cheeks burning. “what? too much?”

“nah, man, that’s bold,” soonyoung said, barely containing his grin. “you might’ve just scored.”

seconds felt like hours, everyone staring at the screen, waiting. then, the notification pinged.

“lol, that’s cute,” you replied. “where you living rn?”

chan’s hands shook as he typed back. “seoul. just a humble dancer here. what about you? where you at?”

“imma bet she’s like, in some penthouse in new york or something,” soonyoung guessed.

chan rolled his eyes but waited, heart in his throat, until your next message popped up.

“france atm. here for work.”

“what the fuck?” chan whispered, blinking. “she’s in france? who just casually drops they’re in france?”

“she’s high-class, bro,” vernon chuckled, “better up your game.”

chan swallowed, typing back, “damn, france, huh? that’s far. what kind of work are you into?”

“bet she’s got some crazy job,” soonyoung mused, leaning in closer.

your reply came quicker this time. “i’m a director at a company. lots of traveling, lots of meetings, but it’s worth it.”

“right?” chan exhaled, trying to play it cool. “guess i better brush up on my french. so, when are you back in seoul?”

“soon,” you replied. “might need a tour guide when i get there. you up for the job?”

chan felt his heart skip a beat. “hell yeah, i’m up for it. i’ll make sure you see all the best spots.”

“even better if one of those spots is your place,” you teased.

his friends erupted into laughter, nearly falling off the couch as chan’s face turned beet red. “fuck… she’s smooth,” he mumbled, grinning despite himself.

“she’s gonna eat you alive, and you’re gonna love it,” vernon teased, leaning back into the couch, grinning ear to ear.

days passed, and his friends kept throwing out jokes, but none of them actually thought he’d go through with meeting you. it was supposed to be a dare, a laugh, nothing serious. but there chan was, pulling on the finest clothes he owned, trying to look like he belonged next to someone like you. black slacks, a crisp white shirt, the kind of fit that made him feel like maybe he could pass for someone with a little more class, some nice pants, and his best pair of shoes. it wasn’t designer, but it was the best he could do.

he paced in front of his apartment building, checking his phone every two seconds. his palms were already sweating, and his heart raced in his chest like it was trying to break free.

then, he saw it—a sleek black porsche 911 pulling up to the curb, the engine purring like a panther. “no fucking way,” he whispered to himself as the door opened and you stepped out, removing your sunglasses with a casual flick of your wrist. your gaze locking onto his. you were the picture of luxury, the kind of woman who had her shit together and didn’t let anyone forget it.

chan swallowed hard, his confidence from your messages feeling a little shaky now that you were right in front of him. “uh, hey,” he managed, running a hand through his hair.

you smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you approached him. “nice to finally meet you, chan,” you said, your voice smooth, like you were used to making people feel a little off-kilter.

“y-yeah, you too,” he stammered, trying to hold it together. “you look... wow.”

“thanks,” you replied, glancing at his outfit. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “figured i should try to look the part.”

you gave him an appraising look before tilting your head towards the car. “so, you know how to drive?”

he blinked, caught off guard. “uh, yeah, of course.”

“good,” you said, tossing the keys his way. he barely caught them, fumbling a bit as he did. “why don’t you take us for a spin, then?”

“you want me to drive that?” chan asked, glancing back at the porsche, his nerves doubling.

you nodded, a glint in your eye. “you got it, pretty boy. show me what you can do.”

chan’s heart thudded in his chest as he walked over to the car, his hands still a little shaky as he slid into the driver’s seat. the leather was soft under his fingers, the kind of luxury he wasn’t used to, but damn if he didn’t feel like a king behind that wheel.

he started the engine, the car rumbling to life, and glanced over at you. you were watching him, your expression amused but with a hint of something else, something that made him feel like this was more than just a ride.

“so, where to first?” he asked, gripping the wheel a little tighter.

“how about we start with wherever you usually hang out?” you suggested, settling into the seat, your gaze flicking to him. “i want to see the city through your eyes.”

chan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “okay, i can do that.”

chan had never felt so out of his element, yet so at ease. he’d taken you through his world, showing you his favorite spots around the city—the dance studio where he spent countless hours perfecting his moves, a little-known art exhibition that he’d insisted on paying for, despite your amused protests. now, the two of you strolled through a quiet park, the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

as you walked, chan led you to a secluded spot where an old statue stood, slightly weathered but still striking. it was a simple piece, a couple entwined in an embrace, their lips inches apart, forever captured in a moment of almost-kissing.

“so, this statue,” chan started, his voice a little softer now. “there’s this legend that if you kiss someone here, you’re supposed to stay together forever. something about how the artist sculpted it after he lost his wife. he wanted to capture their last moment together, just before they kissed, so they could be like that forever.”

you stopped, staring at the statue, then glanced at him with a knowing smile. “and here i thought you were just a dancer. didn’t know you were into old romantic tales, too.”

he shrugged, a bit bashful. “yeah, well, this place is special. it’s got a vibe, you know?”

“i know,” you replied, stepping closer to the statue, your hand brushing over its surface. “i’ve actually been here before. in fact, i’ve been to every place you showed me today.”

chan’s eyes widened in surprise, a mix of shock and curiosity flooding his expression. “wait, you did? why didn’t you say anything?”

you turned to face him, your gaze locking onto his. “i just wanted to spend time with you. i wanted to see how you experience these places, what they mean to you.”

“that’s… actually pretty sweet.”

you nodded, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, your body almost brushing against his. “you think so?”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you fading into the background. chan could feel the words hanging between you like a challenge and an invitation all at once.

“well,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “there’s still one thing we haven’t done yet.”

“what’s that?” you asked, your voice equally soft, a teasing edge to it.

chan didn’t answer with words. instead, he slowly closed the distance between you, his hands gently resting on your hips. you could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he was holding back, not wanting to rush, but there was no mistaking the want in his eyes.

and then he kissed you.

it started slow, like he was savoring the first taste. his lips were soft against yours, but there was a firmness in the way he held you. the kiss deepened, his hands sliding up your sides, feeling the smooth, expensive fabric of your dress under his fingertips. it was like touching pure luxury, and it made his heart race even faster.

you responded in kind, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath his shirt. he was strong, solid, and the contrast between his ruggedness and your refinement sent a thrill through you. you pressed closer, feeling the heat of his body, the way his breath mingled with yours.

he pulled you even closer, his hands now fully around your waist, one sliding up your back as if trying to memorize every inch of you. there was nothing between you and the world but this kiss, this moment, where time seemed to stretch and bend around the two of you.

the kiss was everything—soft and sweet, yet desperate and consuming, like neither of you wanted it to end. his scent surrounded you, a combination of something clean and musky, grounding you even as the kiss made you feel like you were floating.

you pulled back slightly, your lips lingering close to his. you could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your mouth.

chan’s apartment is exactly what you imagined—small, cozy, clean, and it smells like fresh laundry mixed with something musky that’s all him. it’s simple, a little too bare maybe, but there’s something comforting about it. like it’s a place where he can just be himself.

“it’s not much,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he leads you inside. “definitely not what you’re used to. not fancy or anything, but… it’s home.”

you smile at him, stepping further into the living room. “i like it,” you say, and you mean it. it’s a place that feels real, lived-in, and right now, it’s exactly where you want to be.

chan watches you carefully, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction, but when he sees the smile on your face, some of that tension leaves his shoulders. he looks at you, a little nervous, but you can see the desire underneath, the way he’s holding himself back.

“so,” you say, stepping closer to him, letting your body brush against his. he’s solid, all hard muscle and pent-up energy, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. “you gonna give me the full tour?”

his breath hitches when you press against him, your lips so close to his that he can practically taste you already. “uh, yeah,” he says, his voice low and a little rough. “i mean, it’s not a big place or anything, but…”

you don’t let him finish. instead, you lick his lips with the tip of your tongue, just a quick, teasing flick that has him groaning almost immediately. his hands twitch at his sides, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you yet.

“chan,” you murmur, your lips ghosting over his. “why don’t you show me the whole place?”

his eyes darken, his hands finally coming up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. “you mean… like, now?”

“now,” you confirm, giving him a slow, sultry smile. “and maybe we can start with the bedroom.”

chan doesn’t need to be told twice. he practically drags you down the short hallway, your laughter echoing off the walls as he fumbles with the door. the second you’re inside, his hands are on you, pulling you close, kissing you like he’s been waiting forever to do it.

you push him back toward the bed, feeling the mattress hit the back of your legs as you fall onto it together. chan’s kisses are hungry, almost desperate, and you can feel him trembling slightly, the anticipation building between you.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under your shirt, feeling the soft skin beneath.

you smirk, running your hands down his chest, feeling the hard lines of his muscles. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you tease, slipping your hand lower, brushing over the bulge in his jeans.

chan’s breath catches in his throat, his hips bucking up into your touch. “shit,” he groans, his head falling back as you palm him through the fabric.

you undo his jeans, sliding them down just enough to free his cock, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes as the cool air hits him. he’s already rock hard, thick and pulsing in your hand, and when you lean down to take him into your mouth, the sound he makes is nothing short of pathetic.

“fuck, oh fuck,” he moans, his hands gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white. “shit, your mouth… feels so good.”

you hum around him, swirling your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum there. chan’s hips jerk involuntarily, and you can feel how desperate he is, how much he’s holding back. you start moving your mouth up and down his length, taking him deeper each time, and the way he’s losing his mind over it is almost enough to make you lose control.

“i… i can’t—” chan gasps, his voice shaking as he tries to hold on. “i’m gonna… fuck, i’m gonna cum.”

you don’t stop, sucking harder, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. chan’s moans are getting louder, more broken, and you can feel his cock throbbing, his whole body tensing up as he gets closer and closer.

“fuck, i’m cumming, i’m—” he chokes out, his hips bucking up as he spills into your mouth. his whole body shakes, his moans turning into desperate, breathless gasps as he rides out the high, his fingers digging into the sheets like he’s afraid he’ll float away.

you don’t let up, even as he starts to soften in your mouth, your tongue teasing him, milking every last drop out of him. chan’s breath comes in ragged pants, his body twitching uncontrollably as you keep going.

“s-stop,” he pleads, his voice hoarse, almost broken. “too much… can’t…”

you pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you crawl up his body. “too much?” you ask, your voice full of teasing. “we’re just getting started.”

chan barely has time to process that before you’re straddling him, your body pressing down onto his still sensitive cock. he gasps, his hands flying to your hips, but he’s too overwhelmed to do anything more than hold on as you start moving.

“fuck, fuck, i can’t,” he whimpers, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes screwed shut. “i can’t, it’s too much.”

“you can take it,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him, your hands sliding up his chest. “just relax, let me take care of you.”

chan groans, his hips bucking up into you even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him to stop. the overstimulation is driving him insane, every touch of your body, every movement making him tremble, his hands gripping the pillow like it’s his lifeline. he’s never felt anything like this before, never thought he could feel this good and this overwhelmed at the same time.

you can feel him trembling beneath you, his whole body tense with the effort of holding on. it’s almost too much for him, but you don’t stop, not yet. you want to push him just a little further, want to see how far you can take him.

chan brought out something in you that you hadn’t felt in years. it wasn’t just the excitement of being with someone young and full of life—it was how he made you feel, like every moment with him was a break from the weight of the world. he had this way of dragging you out of your high-stress life and dropping you into something simple, fun, and completely unpretentious.

like that time he took you to the amusement park. you hadn’t been to one in ages, but there you were, screaming your lungs out on roller coasters, laughing so hard you thought you’d cry, and holding his hand through it all. it wasn’t fancy, wasn’t anything like the high-end places you usually found yourself in, but it was exactly what you needed. chan made you feel alive in a way you’d forgotten was possible.

then there were the movie dates, sitting in those darkened theaters with him, your feet up on the seat in front of you like a couple of carefree kids. he’d always pick the cheesiest movies, and you’d groan, but somehow, they ended up being exactly what you needed. you loved watching his face light up during the action scenes or how he’d lean in close to whisper jokes in your ear, making you laugh so much you’d miss half the movie.

but it wasn’t just the dates. it was the little things. like when he’d have one of his fashion shows for you, parading around your massive living room in the new clothes you’d gotten him. the way he’d strike ridiculous poses, just to make you smile, or how his face would light up when you genuinely praised him, making him feel like he was on top of the world.

and you loved being by his side when his friends came over. they had this infectious energy, pulling you into their world effortlessly. you even found yourself spoiling them now and then, slipping one of them some cash or buying them a round of drinks, because they took care of chan so well, and you appreciated that more than you could say.

chan balanced you in a way that was almost scary. no matter how tired you were after a long day at work, he was your constant source of energy, always there, always ready to make you feel better. you’d stop by some luxury brand store on the way home, picking up a few things for him because you knew he’d love it, and because it made you happy to spoil him a little.

you knew that when you walked through the door, he’d be there, waiting for you. sometimes, he’d pull you into bed, his arms wrapped around you as he coaxed you to sleep, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you drifted off. other times, he’d be more playful, those dancer’s hips of his working magic as he eased the stress out of your body in ways that made you forget all about the bullshit of the day.

“missed you,” he’d murmur, his voice husky and full of affection as he pressed a kiss to your neck.

“missed you too,” you’d reply, your hands finding their way to his hips, pulling him closer. “you always know how to make everything better.”

and it was true. chan wasn’t just a breath of fresh air—he was your escape, your balance, the thing that made everything else worth it.

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equatortravel · 6 months ago

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imrkos · 12 days ago

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LOST IN THE FIRE (R.C)

synopsis after the infamous scandal involving Yn and her now ex-boyfriend goes viral, Yn is forced to leave the only world she's ever known and adjust to her new life in the Outer Banks. Sent to live with her aunt, uncle, and cousin Kiara, Yn finds herself hanging around the type of people she swore to never be seen with and quickly becomes entangled in the rivalries between the Kooks and Pogues. And one thing Yn doesn’t take is crap from others which only catches the attention of Rafe Cameron who seems to be seriously smitten about her despite her association with his sworn enemies. But to Rafe’s disinterest Ward seems to have a new idea involving Rafe having to make Yn head over heels about him and use her elite status to cover up what he’s been doing behind everyone's back.

( previous <- MASTERLIST -> chapter two )

CHAPTER ONE : smau + written

WORD COUNT: 3089

10:24 PM — ARRIVAL.

Your name, his name, your face, his face, all plastered across every headline, all on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, and even made its way onto Facebook. The video of you slapping your ex and tossing your ring at your own best friend — the ring he gave you and supposedly designed himself — was now as viral as it was scandalous.

The paparazzi, the parties, your vacation to Dubai, and then Paris were all gone as soon as you answered your phone the next morning. “Pack your bags.” was all your mother had said, she didn't even sound angry, which was even scarier.

You knew you should've waited till the gala was over, but when Gossip Girl posted that picture of Caleb and Gigi, your presumed “ride or die” you couldn't help but mess with them.

You first texted Caleb that you were needy and waiting for him in a room upstairs — you didn't show up — then you texted Gigi, something about her ex waiting for her, and as you presumed she went in and it happened to be the same room Caleb was in, and then you entered.

Long story short, thanks to your new BFF and accomplice Gossip Girl, you found out they were expecting and lucky them they were having a girl! “What great parents you guys will be! Sad she’ll grow up with a skank of a mother and a coward of a father but I guess it works.” The next thing you know Gigi is aiming toward you and falls, Caleb then tries grabbing you and you slap him, toss your ring, say a few nasty words, and the end.

How you guys ended up on tape will forever be a mystery, even Gossip Girl couldn't figure it out. But Caleb assumed you had gotten one of your friends to record and threatened to sue. Pathetic but that was your mother's last straw and now you're here, on a train — which you weren't too happy about — going to see family you haven't seen since you were seven.

Last you heard, they were doing well with their restaurant, and your cousin, Kiara, often got into trouble with some kids that your aunt and uncle disapproved of.

From what you’ve searched up on your way there it seems like they live by the beach which you don’t mind but compared to your room back in the Upper East Side it wasn’t all that. You also noticed that she followed you about two hours ago, you requested to follow her and she almost immediately accepted.

Interesting, you thought, you quickly took notice of her friends, they were all over her feed — the same ones your aunt and uncle disliked you assume. Her life looked completely different from what you were used to, she had pictures of her by the beach with her friends, some of herself, and turtles..lots of them.

Would she be your first choice for a friend? No, but she was family after all and one thing you did prioritize was your family. Suddenly you hear the intercom and watch as people start getting off. Gosh, how you missed New York already.

“Y/n!” You hear as soon as you step out of the train, your aunt stands there with a warm smile plastered on her face — you can tell she was forcing it, she seemed happy to see you, yes but she looked too happy. Your uncle stands to her right as he waits his turn to greet you, he looks the same way he looked all those years ago.

“Hey,” you greeted, “It's been so long!! When your mom was on the phone with me and suggested you come here I was so excited! Maybe you can help Kiara stay out of trouble.” Kiara, you noticed she wasn't there “Kiara, she's at home. Hurricane passed the day before so she decided to stay.,” your uncle Mike says, That answers your question.

10:38 PM.

“So how was the ride?” Terrible “It was alright.” You’ve been answering questions non-stop for the past 20 minutes, the car ride only seeming longer the more she kept asking questions. How’s New York? I heard you want to go to Princeton, your brother, how is he?

The endless questions would replay in your mind as you sat in the backseat of their car. New York's perfect, I actually want to go to Harvard, Princeton is my mom's dream, My brother? He stopped responding to our messages a few months ago.

You sighed looking out the window and watching the world go by. Every now and then you’d catch a glimpse of something that reminded you of home, yet none of it felt like home. You could feel your uncle's eyes on you from the mirror “You’ll get used to this.” you stay silent only looking at him for a second before looking back out “No paparazzi bothering you here, beach days 24/7, I guarantee you’ll make friends fast.” he continued, you only gave him a slight smile.

As you turned onto a narrow street flanked by rows of beach cottages, your phone buzzed. Mom displayed across your screen “I sent you there for a reason, don't make me and your father look even worse.” She was replying to your previous message, four hours later.

Once in a while, you'd wonder how your dad ended up with someone like your mom. They were total opposites. Your mom grew up with wealth and influence, and that's how she landed her roles. Your dad on the other hand came from a humble upbringing, he went to school for music despite your grandparent's disappointment, failed, got back up, and ended up with multiple hits.

They were yin and yang, so different yet they worked.

You always imagined your life with Caleb, would it end up like your parent's relationship? Disagreements here and there but always finding yourselves back to one another, or like his parents? Perfect on the outside but broke from the inside.

Love scared you, yet you seemed to yearn for it.

As you got out of the car, the salt air hit you immediately, and for a second, you almost forgot about the mess your life had become. The waves crashing in the distance gave off an oddly calming effect, but you knew that wouldn't last long.

“Here’s home,” your uncle Mike said, A modest beach house, white with baby blue exterior shutters. It definitely wasn't what you were used to but it was pretty.

“Let's get inside sweetheart, let's hope the wifi’s back up!” you nod and earn a reassuring smile from your uncle as he grabs your bags from the trunk. You quickly take notice of the difference between their house and yours, pictures of all three of them smiling, baby pictures, of course, the half-burned candles, the atmosphere feels warm and peaceful compared to the lonesome one you're used to.

You could hear your aunt snickering with someone on the phone but you paid no mind to it, “Your room is upstairs, three doors down to the left, make yourself at home” Mike said coming down the stairs “Thank you” you reacted making your way upstairs.

The room was cozy and you had a great view of the sea, you couldn't complain. 10:47 Your phone lit up, a message from Instagram,

Kiara 🌺: Hey, wanna go to a Boneyard? I'll be there in about 10 minutes. Get ready.

You stare at the message for a while…Boneyard? You hadn't even met the girl in person and she was already asking to hang out.

You: Your parents fine with it? lol

Kiara 🌺: Fine with me showing my cousin around late at night? Yes of course :)

You chuckle and send a simple “right” text before turning your phone off, So much for staying out of trouble.

You decide on a simple tube top and ruffled skirt you had bought before leaving, your mom had picked out most things in your luggage, you could say many things about her but you couldn't say she didn't have taste.

You hear three quiet knocks before turning around and being met by an awkward-looking Kiara “I was at the Boneyard and remembered you were coming today,” she rambled before sitting down next to you

“It looks cute, your outfit.” she compliments “Thanks. Thought I underdressed but, I'm assuming this Boneyard thing isn't very glitz and glamour.” she snorts “Yeah no,” she gets up before talking again “Can I use it?” she asks pointing at the bathroom, you nod frantically and she smiles closing the door behind her.

You didn't know what to feel about her. She's out there. You're also out there. Maybe you guys will get along after all? But Gigi was out there as well and look at how that ended up.

Your head turns once you hear the door open “Alright so my friends are waiting for us there so we should get going” she says, you quickly stand up straightening your skirt, “You walked?” she turns her head towards you motioning for you to lower your voice, right, her parents.

You guys quietly make your way downstairs and out the door making sure you don't make a sound, “No, I didn't walk, JJ, my friend offered to drive me and I said yes but I kinda thought we could drive there together so he went back.” she answered as soon as you guys made it outside, “Oh” you reply following Kiara to the car you were just in “My dad is gonna kill me, get in” she says opening the passenger door for you.

As you guys make your way to the Boneyard, Kiara breaks the silence and starts asking questions. — like mother like daughter. “Gossip Girl who is it?” “I'm not too sure myself” “How come you've not gotten into acting or singing?” “My mother” “Princeton? So you're really smart” “More like my mom bribed a few people there but I guess”

The rest of the car ride consisted of pure silence beside the hum of the car engine and Kiara’s occasional humming along to the radio. You on the other hand stared out the window drifting back to your thoughts from earlier.

What are my parents up to right now? Is your brother wondering what you're doing right now? Has he seen the many articles with your name plastered on them? Has Kiara?

When the car finally pulled into a gravel lot near the beach, the first thing that hit you was the cool breeze followed by the smell of wood burning. You weren't sure what you were expecting when you heard Boneyard but this wasn't it.

A crowd of teenagers gathered together, sitting on the hoods of cars, some in small clusters, others laughing, dancing, watching a group of guys throwing a football around. It was everything your mother kept you from. Kiara immediately headed toward a circle of people, and you followed, trying your hardest not to stand out too much. But soon enough there were eyes on you — curiosity and intrigue written across their faces. You could hear the snippets of whispered comments and almost hidden glances. You could tell they all recognized you, but you couldn't tell if you were welcomed here or if they wanted you out.

“Yo, Kie, who's this?” a voice suddenly called out, sharp and demanding, cutting through the noise of people around you guys.

You turned to see a guy walking towards you, he was tall and lean, with messy blonde hair that fell just above his eyes. His demeanor was confident like he was used to the attention, having people notice him. When he locked eyes with you his gaze flickered — he looked like he was trying to figure you out. He slightly squinted his eyes, it was hard to tell what he was thinking at that moment but you felt a slight change in the air.

Kiara rolled her eyes but replied “My cousin, Y/n.” she seemed unfazed by his intense stare. “Y/n, this is Rafe-” she continued before suddenly getting cut off “Rafe Cameron.” he extends a hand out but you don't take it, leaving him puzzled but soon his puzzled expression turns into a smug one.

“Alright,” he says leaning in just a little too close, his eyes still fixated on yours “Ms.L/n would you care for a drink?” you shake your head no, keeping your mouth shut, slightly amused at his offer. Rafe takes a step back, his eyes now wandering on your body, he takes notice of your outfit. “Well, I'll make sure to keep an eye out for you Ms.L/n,” he turns to Kiara and back to you “Just be careful, you don't want to get lost with the wrong crowd” he winks.

Before you could respond, Kiara was already pulling you away, leading you to a firepit, you noticed it was surrounded by her friends you recognized from her Instagram. “Gosh, he's so annoying” Kiara complains, you nod, still feeling Rafe’s eyes on you as you sit down next to her.

“I kinda guessed he'd walk up to you guys, I mean hey look who it is!” the blonde-haired guy says, earning himself a slight nudge from the guy beside him “Ignore him, I’m Pope, it's nice to meet you! This idiot is JJ and this one over here,” he says pointing to the guy next to Kiara “Is John B.” You notice them all staring at you waiting for you to say something “Y/n, Y/n L/n, nice to meet you guys.”

“So, Rafe Cameron?” Jj asks, “I think I know better than to associate myself with somebody like him.” They all laugh in unison, “Yeah, he's a bit crazy” John B says “A bit? He’s like a total lunatic.” Kiara adds — Crazy lunatic huh?

11:58 PM.

You had been keeping yourself busy talking with some guy you met a couple of minutes back. His eyes often drifted toward a girl a few feet away from you guys and you quickly understood y'all were in the same boat “Trying to get over her?” you asked “Hmm?” he mumbled turning back to you “Oh- She’s y’know- it's complicated.” You nod, and he gives you a sheepish smile taking a sip from the drink Kiara offered you guys — some cheap-smelling liquor with orange juice.

You were pulled away from your conversation when you heard commotion starting on the other side of the beach. Kiara and Pope looking helpless next to JJ and John B arguing with some guy, you quickly make your way to Kiara’s side listening to the argument unfolding,

“She doesn't want it, asshole!” the guy spits back, slapping JJ’s cup away causing it to spill onto John B. “Topper please.” you hear the girl next to the guy plead “We’re laying low. Being normal.” Pope chimes in trying to calm the situation down but to no avail “Oh my god” Pope lets out as soon as John B pushes Topper

“Don't make me drown you like your old man,” Topper said, causing John B to lunge at him but misses before being punched by Topper, falling to the sand.

“Holy shit!” You yell out, “Stop him!” You say, Pope only shaking his head clearly shaken up, you scoff looking around, your eyes locked with Rafes, he was standing, his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed by what was happening. “Hey” he mouths at you, you roll your eyes turning back to see John B fighting for his life “Fuck” you mumbled.

“Stop!” Kiara yells out getting closer to the two guys fighting “Topper!” the girl — his girlfriend you assumed — yelled out. Suddenly you see JJ, gun in hand, pointing it at Topper's head “Your move, broski.” Your eyes widen at the sight of the gun “Put the gun down, JJ!” the girlfriend yells out, JJ laughs “Did you say something, princess?” John B looks at JJ, shaking his head “Cool out, JJ.” he says trying to regain his breath “I was saving you, bro.” he replies,

Kiara looks over at you, she looks distressed, her hair blowing onto her face, and she has a firm grip on your arm. JJ raises the gun to the sky “Get the fuck off our side of the island!” he yells out firing a few shots into the sky, the people around you panicking — you were too but stay by Kiara’s side.

JJ comes closer to you guys “What the fuck!” you say shoving him slightly “What? I just saved his fucking life!” he cursed, you only looking at him in disbelief “Oh yeah? By pulling a gun out at someone? You're a real fucking genius!” You yell “Listen here, Angel this is how it works out here! Pogues versus Kooks. It's been this way forever, and you can't come here suddenly and tell us what’s right and wrong! Y’know, you seem to really fit in with those Kooks! We’ve all seen those headlines, you aren't a saint.”

“JJ!” you hear Kiara yell, you only look at him and smile “I don't know who you think you're talking to but just know I have eyes and ears everywhere, call me all you want, and don't be surprised when something of yours is leaked to the public. It's a small island, right? I'm guessing things spread around fast here. Watch your tone.” You warn before walking off “Yn!” you hear Kiara yell out as you make your way to the car

“Told you.” you hear, “Told me what?” you ask already expecting to see his face, probably leaning up against something, his signature smug face. “I don't think mommy and daddy would want to see their perfect Angel hanging around people like those Pogues.” you lift your head now leaning against Kiara’s car — you were right, he was leaning against what you assumed was his car, looking down at you. “What's up with this Pogue, Kook thing?” He shrugs “It's been this way for as long as I can remember. You're too pretty to be hanging out with them.” he says leaning in close, just like earlier.

“How about I drive you home?” he suggests “As if.” he chuckles, bringing a hand to his face, and fixing his hair “I like you,” he says “I’ll see you around, doll.”

“Oh no, you're not.” you laugh

“Oh trust me. We’ll be spending a lot of quality time together. Sweet dreams, pretty girl.”

NOTE: Hello!! hope you enjoyed this lol, was gonna upload it thursday but oopsie and then yesterday it snowed so yeah I went out :> but anyways thank you for reading!

TAGLIST: @vwosnz // @high-functioning-cosplayer // @bettys-redwinesupernova // @bambiangels // @grapejuice32 // @amterasuu // @starkeyszn

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leclsrc · 1 year ago

Text

in so deep ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, charles has a huge crush and is a lovesick bloke, smut, humor, Fluff

word count: 13.1k

It takes you many cities, a botched Halloween costume and a failed break-in to realize how much Charles likes you. It takes Charles several years to realize he doesn’t need to do much to have you like him back. title from this

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, praise central, size kink, unprotected sex

auds here… thank u for all ur love during my periods of being awol .... i wrote this over the course of a week and i hope u all like it!!! its very much a self indulgent thing... :P

The first time Charles realized he liked you, you were both posed for a picture.

It happened at a dinner party in London, in late autumn, thrown by you to celebrate your first year on the paddock as a reporter. Few friends had been invited but, with how noisy everyone was and with the ease of conversation, it felt like a houseful of people in your narrow dining area. Lando was in front of the mirror, tipsy, demonstrating his best rendition of an Irish accent to a genuinely interested Alex and Lily.

Max was playing with your pet cat, Gene Kelly, and mentally plotting a heist to sneak him out with Pierre’s help. Your boyfriend, Liam, was making himself a cocktail. And Lewis had been roaming around with a glass of dry wine and his brand new film camera to document the night’s festivities—but the host was nowhere to be found. Unbeknownst to everyone, full off dinner and tipsy off cocktails, you’d ducked into the balcony to find where Charles had run off to for the night.

The music was muffled when you shut the door, leaving it ajar just a little bit. Lissie had played Cocteau Twins and was singing whatever gibberish lyrics played, fully drunk off a bottle of Tito’s. Still laughing over her predicament, you turned to Charles and refocused your attention on him. Is it boring?

What w… what is? He asked, turning to you. Briefly his eyes flitted to your hand, the bracelets clasped onto your wrist. He noticed you held matching bottles of beer but yours remained full, nail tapping idly on the semi-opaque glass.

My party, you responded wryly, cocking your head to the side. A loose tendril of hair fell over your eye and he itched to tuck it back in place, thumb over your ear. You continued, still pressing for an answer. You left to smoke but you didn’t come back.

I like the view. A half-lie but truthful in some way. He squinted to try and make out blurry, faraway signage. I should move here. Monaco makes me sick. He tried to say it jokingly, but was betrayed by the raw tone of his voice. You hummed quietly, to signify you were listening.

So move. Who’s stopping you? You smiled slightly. Aside from your ludicrous career, of course.

You had a natural disposition of—something. He didn’t quite know how to describe it, almost like the rest of him had yet to catch up with something only his heart was already decided on. You spoke and acted with some kind of smoothness that only the most popular kids in secondary school could have reins over, but you always claimed you weren’t very popular in your teenage years. He just knew he liked hearing you talk, watching you smile. He felt something—but he didn’t want to name it even if he knew exactly what it was. Instead he played into your joke. Yeah, I’ve been told I should move to Dubai instead, become a prince.

You laughed aloud. You are terribly unfunny, you know that?

Am I? He asked. Just then, as the cotton of his tee brushed against your bare shoulder, Liam brashly tugged the balcony door open to find you. He had this drunk smile on his face, brushing his blond hair out of the way and raising a Leica to the two of you.

Hey, I got Lewis’ camera. Smile, Liam had said, eyes squinted behind it. You remained still, half-turned to the camera, and Charles gave a smile whereas you remained in a neutral, half-smiling pose. And right there, at that very moment, as a giggle escaped your lips from having to pose so quickly and even awkwardly, Charles realized with a damning force that he had a massive crush on you.

Liam had left shortly after to resume taking pictures, but would later confront you over your “weird, odd, fucking closeness with the Monegasque bloke” that you would vehemently deny despite a gut-churning feeling boiling low in your stomach. But that’s later. Your conversation continued calmly, along the passive whir of London and the streets below. You both people-watched as you thought of things to say—finally Charles said, Are you interviewing me next weekend?

I always try to get out of it when it’s with you. You rolled your eyes, feigning irritance, then smiled to break the illusion. I think so.

I’ll make sure I have good answers. You’re too smart. Hurts to be in the same room.

Like you aren’t, you said back, but the rebuttal is shy in nature, like he struck you with a compliment so high you couldn’t bear to return it. He felt then like this was the kind of moment where you would start holding hands any minute, timid touches between clinks of bottles. He remembered Liam existed and screwed his eyes shut. He wished so hard to be able to kiss you. Abandon all sense and just kiss you.

—

“It’s 2023 and still London has the most rubbish ass, fucking cunt, stupid wanker stoplights,” Lissie huffs beside you, checking her watch. “Right then. We’re going to be late. You know how Lando is when people are late. Especially because this is his event.”

“We’re not people to Lando,” you reason, tapping the steering wheel. The ETA on your navigation app tells you you’re still twenty minutes away. “We’re his best friends. If he can’t forgive us, we should kick him out of the group chat.”

“Ooh, and add Alex,” Lily pipes up from the backseat, where she’s redoing her eyeshadow to pass the time. “I keep telling you guys he’s funnier than Lando.” Both you and Lissie make faint, vague sounds of dissent and she grunts again, deflating.

“No boyfriends in the group chat,” Lissie repeats an age-old rule that’s been around for as long as you three (four, including Lando) have been friends. “Or girlfriends, in Lando’s case, but we haven’t worried about that much, have we?”

You��re all en route to watch Lando crank out a brand-new deejay set, one he’s spent the summer break working on. It’s all house and inspired by beach music, and he’s very proud of it, so of course you’re all showing up to laud him. You’re not the only ones, though, apparently—whoever’s in the city is showing up to show their support, which includes a whole stretch of drivers.

“Oh, my God!” Lily says all of a sudden, eyes wide at something on her phone; you both gesture for her to show you and she does with speed. “Do you guys remember this? God, Instagram archives are a godsend.”

“Your dinner party in Chelsea!” Lissie coos, immediately sidling into a fond awwww! You tap at the story Lily had then posted: a video of everybody eating. You tap again to view the one she posted a few days later, which was a collage of Lewis’ camera scans he’d gotten developed overnight. There in the upper right corner, you almost immediately spot your photo with Charles.

“Oh, Christ, that picture.” Memories of your subsequent arguments with Liam flash past your head. Playfully, all you say is, “And I never had a boyfriend again.”

“Liam was an Irish arse, anyway.” Lissie scoffs. “Nobody liked him. Lewis joked about cleaning his camera after he used it that night. Plus, you actively avoid dating, so don’t complain.”

“Fair,” you say with a slight smile. Your mind lingers on the picture, the imprint of it burned fresh into your mind.

“You—it’s also because you can’t take a hint, babe.” Lily says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how many guys have, you know… fancied, or, like, had crushes on you, and you just never knew?”

“Are you saying somebody fancies me?” You ask, voice whittling out playfully as your eyes count down the seconds to the green light.

Funnily, silence is all that answers. Beside you, Lily and Lissie exchange a look—one that communicates their years-long amusement over your cluelessness. You whirl back to them, eyebrows raised, and double down: “Wait. Does somebody fancy me?”

“No!” Lily ekes out; you don’t miss Lissie’s poorly-hidden laugh. “No. I’m just—it’s just—no.”

Truth is, it truly seems like the only person in the entire paddock (team and Sky Sports staff included) who hasn’t caught on to a certain somebody’s boyish crush is the crush herself, oblivious as ever, even years and years later. One might think you’d have realized eventually, but perhaps owed to your type A personality and immersion with work, and Charles’ pathetic and total inability to express how much he likes you, the crush has always remained just that, despite your two friend groups’ best efforts to hint at it.

It wasn’t to say, though, that you didn’t sometimes entertain the idea of liking him, too. On that one rainy race weekend when he’d brought you a plastic cup of soup, and embarrassed, laughed sheepishly at Lissie’s joking request for one; then returned twenty minutes later with soup for everyone in the media pen. Or that time in Monaco where he’d pretended to be your boyfriend at a bar to ward off a creepo from hitting on you any further. Or another time, in Budapest, when he’d drank half his body weight in jello shots and slurred out a goofy, heavy I’m soooo sorry, baby while you helped him into the passenger seat of his car.

That one, singular time in Cancun you told your friends once and never again.

But those are isolated incidents, you suppose; plus, dating someone you work with has never seemed like a remotely good idea to you, and you don’t think it ever will.

For all your thinking on the topic, you fail to realize that you don’t know much at all—you don’t know the fact that Charles has liked you for years, after getting to know just how charming and funny you were as a friend. You don’t know that he still gets gut-churning butterflies when he sees you, hands shaky and face tinged pink. You miss the fact that he’s not had any long-term partners in the years of his liking you. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t lie.” You narrow your eyes as you rev the car and continue the trip.

“We’re not,” Lily says loudly and a touch too defensively, crossing her fingers. Quietly, she continues, “You should just pay more attention.”

Whatever she meant to say is lost on you as soon as you make a left and spot the club Lando’s at, already teeming with high-profile guests and their high-profile cars. Half an hour later you’re in—valet and being on the guest list effectively cuts your entrance time in half. You separate at the entrance—you, to find Lando; your two girls, to find your reserved table. You find him eventually, busy behind the booth churning out high-frequency tropical music; he pauses for half a beat to flash a huge grin and a thumbs-up before redirecting his attention to the knobs and sliders you can’t seem to guess the functions of.

These kinds of parties are affairs in and of themselves. They mimic the afterparties during the season—nothing if not shows of opulence and networking: champagne paid for by business magnates, yachts that barely make dents in anybody’s wallets, thick CVs, fruity cocktails spilled on pieces of clothing that cost upward of 3000 pounds. You make eye contact with at least seven skeevy businessmen before you spot your friends, but only because you hear them first—by them you mean Lissie, her loud voice raised even more to match the noise at this club.

“I said I didn’t fu—ugh—I don’t want ye fahkin’ champagne,” she slurs out to an old man in a pressed suit, eyebrows knitted angrily. “Got it?!” Behind her, Lily and Alex (who’s arrived now, apparently) watch, concerned and helpless to stop her but equally (perhaps more) entertained.

You step closer and make a move to calm down the exchange taking place, but somebody whispers a “hey” in your ear and startles you. You turn, and come face to face with Charles. His black tee accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, which you connect to his crossed arms; there’s a shy, boyish grin playing on his face. “Oh, Charles!” You smile. “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin, straining to raise his voice. “You look—you look well. Are you alone?”

“No, I’m—” You turn to your three friends nearby, and to Lissie’s argument heating up. “I actually have to go.” You raise your thumb, jabbing it toward them. “But hi again… again!” You both laugh, but he laughs much louder. “I’ll see you around.”

“I jus—” He says, and you stick around for a second to hear him say what he has to say.

“Yeah?”

He clears his throat and laughs stiffly, abandoning his previous statement in favor of a new one. “I just…. want… to have a great time.”

“Ohhhh,” you holler, nodding, clearly trying to mask your extreme confusion under a polite smile. “Okay, well… go ahead!”

You smooth down your dress and laugh again, evidently more forced but, unfortunately for Charles, not any less pretty.

You carry yourself in a very pretty, graceful way, loud and quiet at the same time, like your confident voice when you’re holding the mic and asking questions or making drivers laugh. He might sound creepy, though, a touch too observant, if he tells you so. He observes you instead, for a second, the low cut of your dress and the way the red overhead light shines on your exposed collarbones—and then you’re leaving. He watches you walk over to hug Lily, realizes how stupid he’s sounded, and smothers a hand over his face, humiliated.

—

“I just want to have a great time?” Max’s jaw drops and he shakes his head, disappointed above all else. “Charles, what the actual. Like…. fuck?” They’re all camped out at the latter’s hotel room, around the dining table, in varying states of sober and doing different things to wear off the last hour of the night before they’re all due to train or debrief again in the morning. Charles had relayed the disaster of the night to everyone at some point, but Max is the last to hear of it; this, unfortunately, does not inoculate him from the shock and secondhand embarrassment.

“Pierre told me to—” Charles starts, forlorn.

“Oi, no. I told you to say something like I just wish… I’d seen you sooner,” interjects the Frenchman with a tut. “You know, flirting? Not… whatever the fuck you said.”

“I didn’t—I was—I lost my mind,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. It couldn’t possibly be entirely his fault when you looked so pretty tonight, hair down and a wash of glitter on your eyelids. Just subtle little flecks of them. They brought out your eyes, too. And your blush, the pink flush of it that sat high on your cheekbones.

“…llo? Charles.” He blinks and sees Carlos’ deep eyes, wide and staring right at him, so pointedly he’s genuinely startled.

“Jeeesus fucking Christ. What?” He places a melodramatic hand over his chest. “Yeah?”

“What do you mean with the”—Carlos mimics his confused expression—“I asked you a question, tonto.”

“Don’t bother with him,” chimes in Pierre, half-distracted by his phone. He looks up with a devious smile and continues. “He’s still thinking of Miss Reporter of the Year.” A round of loud, jovial laughter makes its way across the table, a few teasing quips being chimed in here and there.

“I just,” mocks Pierre from across the table, adopting a sing-songy tone as he bumps his shoulder to Carlos’ with a mocking laugh. “Wanna have a great time.” His voice is much higher and more mocking, which is enough to send Charles into a fit of petulant embarrassment.

“This isn’t sixth year,” he grits out quietly, but the blush on his face could just as well be plastered on the cheeks of a twelve-year-old. “Give it a rest.”

“Mate.” Pierre’s voice mellows into something more austere. “You do know she’s leaving the reporters’ job at the end of the season? She’s going to London full-time. No more seeing her all year round. You know this. And I keep telling you. If you are really, and I mean really, interested, I say go for it. C’est la fucking vie, yeah?”

“Plus, if she says no, you can go for pretty much anyone else, anyway,” concludes Max with a convinced smile.

“It’s not the same,” he admits helplessly, smothering his hands over his face in bleak frustration. Behind his eyelids he sees you still, beautiful and smiling and funny—he seriously needs to institutionalise himself before he goes even more mad with the years-long malady he’s called a crush. And seriously, for a twenty-something to have something he calls a crush is despicable in itself. He feels juvenile.

“I can’t tell her. She’s always told people that dating coworkers is a bad idea.”

“You’re not coworkers.”

“We’re—well, we still work closely together. It is the same.” He groans. “It’s just… I’ve said it before. If I admit I like her, things will become awkward. I’d rather we remain friends.”

“Well… see, nobody said you needed to tell her,” begins Pierre schemingly, eyebrows raising. Around them, everybody groans at the birth of another Pierre-brained scheme that will, no doubt, need the enlistment of everyone’s help and will likely end in disaster. “What?! I’m just offering… I’m just saying, mate—you’ve liked her since forever. Why not make a move?”

“—I can’t—”

“Without telling her?”

“Pierre,” groans Carlos, ever the voice of reason, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t—whatever this is you’re planning, it’s going to go to shit. I swear.”

“You are acting like I plan to take somebody hostage.” Pierre shrugs. “You know, girls like when you don’t tell them straight up. You have to show you like them. You know, be interested in the things they’re interested in, compliment them, make them laugh. And then they think, oh, how thoughtful, oh, how adorable, and before you know it, they like you. And you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.”

“Mmm. Uh-uh. Untrue.” Max says decisively, shaking his head. “I told Kelly I liked her.”

“Yeah, sí. I told Isa I liked her, too.”

“Will you two—just—” Pierre gesticulates and makes a funny noise that insinuates just go with it. “Okay?” he points out to the latter, rolling his eyes. He turns back to Charles with a ready, dazzling, so-French-it’s-scary grin and continues. “I suggest you let us be your wingmen and help you charm her.”

“Whoa, whoa, wh—us? You’re on your own here,” Max quips with a laugh. “It’s your stupid idea.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s going to work. She probably likes you already.” His confidence carries the lie with gusto. “We just need—you just need to show her instead of saying the dumbest shit to her face.” Pierre leans back into his chair and shrugs matter-of-factly. “Max and I will be regular wingmen, but we have a secret weapon.”

“Don’t—” Carlos starts with a sigh.

“Yes. Lando, Lily, and Lissie are all close to her, eh? Well, perfect—Carlos will get information from Lando about things she likes, you gift her those things or talk to her about them, bam she’s in love. It’s literally a perfect plan.”

Maybe it’s worth it. Maybe—

“No.” Charles shakes his head firmly, setting the record straight. “This will not work. Who’s to say she even needs a boyfriend?”

—

Despite what his best and closest friends—on and off the paddock—might have you believe, Charles hasn’t always been so hopeless when it came to trying to catch your heart. His closest call came in Cancun, after a long weekend of racing and a flight to the area, early into the night where he thought he was the only one who decided to opt out of partying.

Your skin’s peeling. You turned from where you sat on a barstool observing the shore, startled, immediately relaxing when you found him standing there eyeing you. Your hair was still damp, crunchy with saltwater, and your skin had tanned considerably, a sunburn sitting on the bridge of your nose. You stuck your tongue out.

I spent the whole day swimming. He observed your bikini, yellow and green contrasting the colour of your skin. He blinked slowly, ordering himself a drink to hopefully pass the thoughts away. His eyes couldn’t stop, though, wandering, the translucent material of the scarf you’d tied loosely around your hips, the tinge of heat on your shoulders and nose. I’m burnt everywhere.

There are remedies for that. He smiled around his glass.

I’m aware, you said lightly, crossing your legs and sliding your finger along the salt rim of yours. But just in case I forgot, maybe you could refresh my memory.

Your voice was so sweet, so low, so tempting. Already he knew he was wrapped around your finger, the same finger picking up grains of salt to press on your tongue peeking between your smiling lips. You brought your glass to your lips. It had been some time since the dinner in London so he pressed, his voice deep and a little rough, Liam can do that for you, I’m sure.

Pity, you said meekly as you set your glass down and looked back at him. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.

Out of eyeline, the bartender’s eyes widened at the exchange he was overhearing.

Is it a pity? He asked, leaning backwards and cocking his head to the side. It’s easy, an easy glide of conversation, flirt, something he’s wanted for a while now. To have you playing into him, and have himself playing into you, just like this. It was naturally easy in a foreign city where nobody knew who either of you were, where you were just two strangers flirting at a beachside bar.

Two strangers laughing while they dug their toes into the sand. Two strangers basking in the water, tinted orange by the sun dipping below the horizon, scarf untied in favor of one last swim before night fell. There was nothing keeping either of you from doing whatever you wanted. Nothing keeping Charles from finally acting on the attraction that honest to God crushed him.

You ended up leaning on the door of your hotel room, keycard fiddled in-between your sandy fingers. You combed a hand through your hair and offered a shy smile. So.

So, he replied, leaning closer. So.

Sooo. You were laughing and your breath smelled like a mint leaf and vodka. You looked up at him, blinking slowly. I have a rule.

What rule is that?

I don’t date coworkers. He wanted to dip down, place a hand on the dip of your waist, and kiss you.

Pity, he said gruffly instead, a smile forming on his face.

Is it a pity? You chewed on your lip and looked at his barely parted ones, pink and pretty. When I’m about to break it? He was about to help you do just that—eyes fluttered shut already—when a crash resounded from down the hall and you both turned to find the culprit. You broke apart and with your separation, whatever atmosphere of tension you’d built up popped, too, leaving you awkwardly standing beside each other.

Oh m… Lissie? You asked, leaning closer as you recognized your friend more and more. You narrowed your eyes, watching the girl crawl her way through the carpeted floor. Oh, Jesus—let’s—get you—

You both hauled her up and wrapped either arm around your shoulders, unlocking her hotel room with great effort and tossing her onto the bed. You stood back and sighed at her half-blacked out state, slightly amused but ultimately relieved she ended her night unscathed.

She pried one eye open and sleepily, she groaned out, what were… you two… doing together outside your room?

Nothing, you said quickly, face warm and eyes wide.

Because you—Lissie raised a lazy finger in your direction—don’t date coworkers.

I wasn’t—it wasn’t—goodnight, you spluttered, eyes refusing to meet Charles’ even as you both exited the room, paying him quiet thanks as he pulled the door back closed.

Sorry, you said, pretty as ever. The light shone on the red splotch on your nose. Goodnight.

And so he went to his room that night, bummed out and still high off your scent.

—

“You’re staring again.”

“I’m not,” he lies through his teeth, averting his eyes away from your figure by the shore. Sue him if he was staring (which he wasn’t… but most definitely was) but he finds you much too pretty. After the disaster that was the Mexican GP, he figures he could use some sort of stress reliever. Apparently he was not alone in thinking this, considering half the paddock hauled ass to Cancun and prompty partied.

Across Charles, Joris and Pierre share a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I said I’m not!”

“So you are not staring at her blue swimsuit then?” Joris tests, mouth twisted into a devious smirk. “It’s black,” Charles says matter-of-factly before catching sight of his friends’ smug expressions and realizing he’s implicated himself. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, petulantly almost. “And I wasn’t. Can you fucking—fuck off?”

“Just ask her out already,” Pierre groans, nodding when Joris chimes in with agreement of his own. “I seriously can-not handle another bar of this shit. It’s been years.”

“I don’t know how to,” he laments. “It’s going to be awkward if I do it all formal, and she’s going—she’ll laugh at me, and it’s…” He blows a raspberry. “Non. Pointless.”

“Just kiss her at the party,” reasons Joris with an easy attitude, shrugging.

“Joris! Charles didn’t know about that,” Pierre says, trying to lower his volume, but it’s pointless since they’re barely a metre apart. “Fucking tattletale.”

“Party?!” Charles repeats, eyes wide. “Why don’t I know about a party?!”

“It’s a Halloween party,” Joris says, a wacky grin on his face. “And you said it yourself, didn’t ‘cha? You told us not to tell you if any functions were happening because you’re too tired to go to any. Too… too wrapped up racing.” He laughs. “Or something of the sort.”

“Well the season’s ending,” he huffs, wringing firm fingers over his face, his shut eyes, “and I still fucking haven’t… so I think I’m afforded a party.”

“Alright, then come to the party! Dress code, Halloween. Sexy Halloween.” Pierre wiggles his eyebrows. “You know, speaking of our plan, Carlos overheard Lissie and Lily talking about what your girl’s costume is going to be.” He leans in closer and laces his fingers together. “She’s going as a… Christina.”

“Christina?” The other two echo, confused.

“Christina. I did some digging, and I think it’s this.” Pierre scrolls and dicks around on his phone for a minute before turning it back around to Joris and Charles, who peek with great interest. They seem to be looking at an outdated movie poster of—

“Cas-per the friendly ghost,” Charles reads aloud, trying to get his accent to dissipate. “Huh. What the fuck is that?”

“It’s a movie, idiot.” Pierre shuts his phone off. “Starring who? Christina Ricci.”

“Vraiment? You think his crush is going to show up wearing… a white gown?” Joris asks, his mind stuck on the outfit he’d seen just seconds ago. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Well Carlos and I agreed, so. Two to two. And Carlos says she and her friends always wear silly costumes like these. So if she shows up as Christina, what better way to start conversation than to dress up as Casper?”

Charles’ eyes widen with comical horror. “No. No, no, no. Did the ghost and the kid fuck?”

“No!” The two men across him yell in unison.

“Right!” He gesticulates. “So it’s not a couples’ costume!”

“But it’s still—” Pierre pauses. “It still matches. Trust me on this one, mate.” He smiles. “We even brought the supplies.”

—

The party is a hit as soon as Charles and his group enter. The former finds refuge at the table, unwilling to socialize. Pierre roams for a bit and ends up finding you almost immediately—you’re wearing low-waisted pants, a strappy top, and you sport alternating streaks of blond and black in your hair.

“Hey!” He calls, jogging up to you. “I heard you were coming as a Christina. Guess who I am?”

You rake a hand through the streaks in your hair and smile. “Not just any Christina. The artist. Xtina? You know?” You twirl a bit, the dark material of your strappy pants swishing as you go, as if the movement will help Pierre deduce the costume’s identity. “Whatever. You’ll get it. Lando is—we’re matching tonight, but I g—it wouldn’t make any more sense if you don’t understand it.” You sigh a bit and gesture vaguely to the crowd behind you, referring to the Eminem-dressed Lando, who you guess is currently caught in the thick of.

“Xtina?” Iks-tina, he repeats, clearly confused. “I remember hearing… somebody saying you were going as a… a Christina.”

“Chris-tina, Xtina, yeah. Christina Aguilera.” You smile, fingers pinching at the material of your belt. “Anyway—where is everyone? I’ve only seen Daniel’s costume and then yours.” The recent memory of Danny’s neon orange traffic cone costume bumping into everybody flashes in your mind.

“Save yourself,” he huffs, smoothing calloused hands over the denim of his jeans. “Zhou and Esteban came as Bella and Jacob, Max as a Tifosi. Anyway”—he points to his ensemble—“guess yet?”

Your mental images of each cited costume are cut short. “Aha! You’re, um. Yes! You’re Ken from the Barbie movie,” you crack finally, remembering the revealing denim vest and jeans combo from the film you’d watched four times over in theaters a few months ago. “Wow, even your briefs say Ken. Very accurate. Minus the non-bleached hair.”

He tuts and shrugs. “I’m no Alex. What’d he come as?”

“He and Lily matched—Sonny and Cher.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre starts, and already you’re nodding because you can tell he’s going to predict exactly how the night has turned out, “Alex is Cher?”

“Wig and sequined dress and all.” You nod, laughing and squinting; Alex’s tall figure, head clad in a long, fringey, black wig, stands out above the rest. “Oh, I did see Carlos at the bar. Ricky Martin?”

Pierre really laughs at that, a loud, distinctly French guffaw involuntarily forced past his lip glossed mouth. “What the fuck, mate! Ricky Martin?! He’s El Profesor from La Casa de Papel. You know, Money Heist? Bella ciao? Oh, my God, he’s going to fucking freak if he hears—heard you said that.”

“He seriously gave off Ricky Martin vibes,” you defend in-between laughs of your own. “So that’s everyone? Oh—oh. Charles! What did… I never saw him! He kept telling me how excited he was for his costume, too…” Just a few hours ago, at that—a boisterous voice honing into the your voicemail inbox, boasting about a costume while you prepped for the party with Lissie and Lily. Your eyes peruse the room, but the lighting is too dark and vague for you to make out anything you haven’t already seen.

“Oh. Charles?” Pierre’s voice lilts higher. “Um. Yeaaah. Um.”

You, however, are sufficiently distracted by your own search for him, and you fail to notice Pierre’s clear scrambling attempt to stall you. He takes a long swig of beer and clears his throat. “He’s just, well, around. I should actually—excuse me, I need to actually go look for him. I owe him a drink.”

“Oh? Oh, okay. Well—be careful?”

You’re a bit surprised by his sudden, jolted departure, but bid him a rushed goodbye anyway. He waves back vaguely, his eyebrows furrowed into an expression of worry as he shoves his way back into the crowd and toward the area littered with tables. It’s only then that Lissie surfaces from the crowd, scratching absently at her nose as she crashes into you with a floaty giggle.

“Lis, you’re all sticky.” You place two palms flat against her shoulders and push her off. “Are you high?”

“Yes but not drunk.” She giggles again, eyes fluttering.

“Oh—that’s not. Whatever, I guess.” You exhale and cross your arms over your chest. “Who’ve you been with?” She listens, plays with the braid in her hair, matching her getup as Lara Croft.

“Um, the deejay. I gave him my number, but he’s actually pretty fucking weird. Come on, I want to pee.” As always, her speech quickens to something inhuman, an effect elicited by alcohol; giving you essentially zero time to react, she loops a hand around yours and drags you with ferocity to the nearest restroom. She moves so aggressively through the thickly-packed crowd you barely have time to react or say hi to people you’re acquainted with en route.

You whiz by the door, and in the rush, you notice Pierre entering the one adjacent with a worried expression etched onto his face. Just minutes ago you’d been conversing—you wonder why he’s suddenly become privy to worries.

“So the deejay,” says Lissie, effectively distracting you for the time being. You hum to signify you’re listening, fixing bits of your outfit in the mirror as she kicks different stalls open to judge their cleanliness. “One, he was dressed up as James Bond. Which is just about the most fucking pretentious thing ever. Two, all he played was Chainsmokers. You’re telling me this pub—club—whatever—in Mexico could only afford to commission this guy? Three, he was”—she kicks the last door open and a gasp escapes her and morphs into a semi-shriek—“a ghost?!”

“Ghosted you? Already?” Your eyes, focused previously on re-lining your lips, flits to Lissie’s in the reflection. She’s distracted, staring at the contents of a stall with comically wide eyes. “What’s up? S’that a fucking glory hole or something?”

“No!” She yells when you approach, immediately lunging forward to pull it shut. “No. It’s—I saw a roach. Serves us for going to a fucking… pub. Don’t go in there, it’s…” She exhales a long breath. “It was a mama roach and… with eggs.”

“What are you talking about?” This isn’t even a pub, it’s a nightclub—one with a door fee that definitely did not warrant rogue cockroaches in the water closet. “Lis, you’re drunk-hallucinating.” You’re not even sure if that’s a thing, but you shove past her and push the stall door open again, ready to come face-to-face with, maybe, a sleeping Tinkerbell or a puking black cat. Worst case scenario, shit on the floor; worst-er case scenario, Lissie is right and you’ve stepped into a den of roaches.

Weirdest case scenario, though, if that’s an actual thing: Charles Leclerc seated on the closed toilet seat, face painted white, wearing an all-white ensemble of a large white shirt, shorts, high socks, and sneakers. He’s got two hands on either side of the wall, as if he’d been preparing to escape; how or to where, you’re clueless. Why he’s here, you’re even more stumped.

His entire face is a stark white, with black smudges of face paint on his forehead (eyebrows, you’re guessing); his hair’s been curled by the humid air at this club, and he looks like himself in all the ways he totally does not, eyes big and caught when yours click onto them.

Despite confusion, you chalk it up, as one would rationally do at a party, to intoxication. You spend a few bated breaths staring at him staring at you, his face of pure shock and embarrassment enough to sober up a drunk for a few days. “Hi.” You can hear yourself say it, but you’re so caught off-guard and full of confusion it feels alien.

“Hey,” he says, wiping four fingers over his stubborn face paint with a smile. The smile and the paint barely fade. “I’m a ghost.”

“I see. Classic.” You pause. “I’m Chr… nevermind. Um—are you okay?”

“A bit, uh—a tad bit drunk. I seem to be in the ladies’ room.”

“Yeah, you seem to be,” you recite back to him, amusement quickly overtaking confusion. “I think Pierre was looking for you. Let me go get him. Lis, make sure he doesn’t…” You gesture a puking movement, and the pair watch and listen to your shoes click against the tile, before the door swings open and then shut again.

“Coast is clear.” Lissie’s voice has been lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I reckon everyone you know is already looking for you?”

“This is a disaster.” He rubs frantically at the face paint, but it’s horribly futile. “You know, I didn’t even realize I was in the ladies’ room until you two came in. She cannot see me like this.”

“She already fucking has, mate.” Lissie sounds exasperated. “Whose idea was this? If you say Pierre I swe—”

“—Pierre—”

“—ar to Jesus fucking Christ, Charles—I can’t keep saving you from Pierre’s antics.” She grumbles out a sigh. “What are you supposed to be, even? Have you—did you see how hot she looks? This is like… you look like a… I can’t—” She lets herself taper off, so disbelievingly shocked at his odd costume.

“I’m Casper the Ghost!” Lissie mentally forms a crude picture of the kid ghost, which looks absolutely nothing like what’s in front of her. “Casper was opposite Christina Ricci. Pierre told me so.”

“That’s the dumbest analogy ever, holy Christ. You look like a poster child for some…” She regards him for a moment. “Anemia advert.”

“Take that back.”

“You don’t really have the upper hand here, Charles,” says Lissie with a grimace. “I’m texting Pierre. Are you—did you even get drunk?”

“No,” he woes. “I am totally sober. I had to lie. Pierre went to the table and told me that my—that the costume we planned—it was wrong, and I just—I ran to the bathroom.” Lissie can’t help but laugh at the story, raising her camera to record the incriminating evidence.

Mid-video, Charles’ white face droops and his painted lips part to ask: “You think she found me cute?”

—

Charles likes finding things about you. He supposes the first time he realized just how much he liked hearing you talk about yourself—which you rarely did—happened in São Paulo. He’d been stressing over a spiel to recite in front of a camera, rewriting over words for hours to make everything sound more natural.

Each margin had been hastily written on with pencil, run-on sentences with semicolons in the place of periods. The team scriptwriter didn’t do much to make his lines sound more natural and less like they’d just been spat out of an online translator. You peeked into the media pen and coughed. You don’t belong here, do you?

Tch, he clicked his tongue, turning to offer a smile. I’m working on a script for Sunday. Portugese stuff.

I can help, you responded, walking slowly over toward him. You smiled quietly, approaching slowly like you were waiting for him to greenlight your offer. He did so by pulling a chair out for you, and once you sat you traced a nail over each line, murmuring them under your breath.

You speak Portugese?

You looked up and gave a half-shrug, laughing like you were amused with yourself. Kind of. It’s not very good, but it’s enough. You resumed your editing and he felt content to stare, admire, watch every movement of your lips align with the syllables of the words. You asked for a pencil and began writing something much cleaner. He couldn’t help but let himself be in awe of your intelligence.

You read over the last few lines and turned to face him. Let me guess, you said. You want to make a pun on Ferrari before you say bye.

Ah, he laughs. Yeah.

See, I know you so well, you half-joked, scrawling idle edits on the margins of his script.

He was already looking at you when you turned back to him, seeking his response, agreement, anything. When your eyes met, something caught at your chest—it tugged, tugged, then tugged again, a dull feeling burrowed deep in you. Words failed to wrench themselves free, but once they did, all you could manage was a faint—What?

Nothing. He smiled and shook his head, like he was waiting for you to figure it out. You know… sometimes, I wish I met you sooner. He does. He wishes he knew you back then, when you first learned Portugese. Or when you were in high school, so you could see just how exponentially awkward he was in his own teenage years. He thinks sometimes that he’s lost too much time, met and liked you too late.

Hm, you breathed out, because you didn't know what else to. I know why—so you could always have me. As a proofreader. Right?

Hah. The tilt of his laugh was high and mocking, and he stuck his tongue out, as if to punctuate that. He looked away then, like he wasn’t ready to say certain things to your face just yet. Quietly he added, Always have you… something like that.

—

If you ask Charles what he’s doing hiding in a laundry basket of a luxury hotel in São Paulo, he wouldn’t be able to answer you, either. It’s been some time since the disaster that was Caspergate Cancun 2023, and if he’s perfectly honest, he doesn’t feel like facing you again for the rest of his life. Pierre, of course, has other plans.

All he knows is last night, Pierre suggested he leave a huge vase of roses for you to arrive to in the living room of your hotel; as he planted it in said room, the door’s lock turned, and he sought a hiding place in the adjacent bedroom. Judging by the prevalent scent of Dior Sauvage, this is Lando Norris’ room.

Did u get to escape??? Pierre’s text irritates him. At the same time, the light flips on; Charles curls in on himself, remaining perfectly still. Lando’s voice trills through the room. “I didn’t leave those roses for either of you,” he’s saying to you and Lissie.

Charles hears you hum. “They’re so beautiful.” His heart swells. “I gotta run for a sec, pick up something from Will’s room.” A few seconds pass and the door opens and shuts, which means Charles is currently alone with Lando and Lissie. Which means he needs to plot his escape as soon as he can. Otherwise he’ll be caught in the crossfire and much too embarrassed to—

A foot meets his concealed body and he lets out an oof! as he’s sent flying out of the hamper, along with strewn-around clothes. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, scared shitless and in a fetal position; he only unfurls when a socked foot kicks at his ass. Above him are Lando and Lissie, both extremely confused.

“How did you know I was…?!” He asks, aghast.

“My fucking laundry was breathing, mate, s’not that hard to leave alone,” Lando retorts sharply. “What are you doing?!”

“I left roses for her,” he explains fruitlessly, gesturing to the vase outside. “But you came in, and this was the closest hiding place. I was told this would be a great gesture.”

“Right. Where did you even get that advice?” Lando tries to suppress the critical tone in his voice, but judging by Charles’ embarrassed grimace, he’s failed. Beside him, Lissie makes a hm? noise, goading Charles to answer quicker.

“I got it from.” Charles pauses. “A friend,” he ekes out vaguely.

“No shit. Who?”

“Um—” Charles’ eyes are shut. “Pierre.”

In unison, Lissie and Lando both release incredulous gasps, throwing their hands up in the air. Lissie points at the mess of clothes in the corner of the room to emphasize her point and asks loudly, with comical cynicism: “This seemed like proper romantic advice to you?”

“Scratch that. Pierre’s words seemed like proper romantic advice to you? His girlfriend is—!” Lando places a flat palm a few inches off the floor and shakes it a few times to insinuate Kika’s age, his disbelieving expression growing funnier by the second. “Mate!” His voice cracks mid-syllable, though even this mishap seems to be the least crazy thing about tonight.

Charles, burning with humiliation, releases a shaky sigh. “I know! I know!”

“You don’t know!” They shout simultaneously in response, disappointed if anything. Just then the door opens again and your two best friends hurry to throw assorted pieces of laundry on the lying Charles, exiting to make sure you don’t suspect anything.

“Hey,” you say slowly, because they’re both posed the exact same. “Am I… missing something?”

“A shower, girl,” Lando says, and you flip him off before retreating into your room.

Belatedly you ask, “Did you find out who sent those flowers?”

“Some loser, probably,” he calls right back. Charles emerges to poke him accusatorily, but Lando just shrugs. Charles definitely does not have the upper hand here, anyway.

“Just get out,” Lissie says, completely done with Charles’ antics. “And stop. Listening. To Pierre.”

He rinses the odor of laundry off him once he’s at his room, but thinks, despite himself, that you called the flowers beautiful.

—

Are you—

—no. I’m not. You wiped a hand over your face and caught mascara along with it. I’m fine, it’s fine.

What he said, it wasn’t…

I said, you turned to face him, eyes rimmed and mouth trembling. You didn’t finish your sentence, just tore the microphone off your lapel and buried your face in your hands. There was always going to be a first time. Your first time insulted on a live feed, after the Abu Dhabi weekend, was not any less shocking. You felt small. You felt humiliated.

You didn’t want to show Charles any of it. You moved around the green room, picking up shit to throw into your bag. Thank God the season was fucking over, you kept thinking. I feel so, you said, still failing to finish anything you started to say. You’d been called an annoying bitch by a fan of one of the drivers—to your face, as you exited the paddock.

He moved nearer. Charles, you said, a half-sob, and then you were allowing him to crash, allowing him to hug you. Your arms were weak when they wrapped back around him, linking softly in the small of his back. You sobbed hard into his chest until his grey tee was dark with tears. I want out, I just want out.

You’ll lord your career over that prick when you’ve made a million dollars doing this, he said. You do it too well to want out. You’re too smart. You’re too good. You cried harder, your face hurt and every word felt wrestled unintentionally, like it took too much work to say much at all. I’m sorry, you said. You should go.

No, he said. He held you closer. Not until you feel better.

—

He cries after Abu Dhabi. Bad season, everyone’s said. You snap a few smiling pictures with Max, who wins, and Lily and Lissie and the lot of them, the people who made the year so great. You notice an absence in all the pictures and you find it in a room in the Ferrari motorhome.

You’ve found you both find solace in words. In reassurance. But you’ve also found that your connection enables you both to reassure without having to say anything at all. You sit beside him, lean your head on his shaky shoulder, and wait.

“I was waiting for you to come,” he admits brokenly. “I was just not feeling good.”

“I know,” you respond. “It was a bad race. Shit strat.”

He’s quiet. His breaths are ragged and wet and shaky. “Will you stay? Until I feel better?”

You don’t move. “I’ll stay for longer.”

—

In the kitchen Charles unscrews himself a beer. The sky outside is pink and the sun hides behind faraway mountains, gradually darkening the entire atmosphere, save for the few woolly clouds. He’s by the patio door so he can spot people in the wide yard: Pierre, exchanging a Frisbee with Lando. Max, Alex, and Lissie engaged in an intense match of Uno.

They’re all gathered here in Spain at Carlos’ behest to celebrate the dawn of winter, and the end of the season, Max’s third championship.

He’s yet to spot you—he’d been told earlier you’d be late—but it doesn’t matter. He’s been feeling uncharacteristically himself all day anyway. He wrote that on his notebook this morning, on the flight here, verbatim. Looked up the word to spell it right and everything. He remembers you saying it, that time in London where you and Lando took him around and annihilated Borough Market before lounging on the grassy knoll of a nearby park. I feel so uncharacteristically happy, you’d joked. The syllables were too stunted and too fast for Charles to nail it. But he feels it now. Uncharacteristic.

He tells everyone he’s fine, though, and does a good job of it. Three beers in and he’s beginning to trick himself into thinking he actually is doing fine. Nobody suspects he’s been feeling empty from such a bad finish to the season—the season that was already bad in itself. He hasn’t been feeling his usual drive, his usual appetite. He doesn’t know when it will return.

“Here you are.” Carlos has this goofy smile on his face when he bounds into the kitchen, depositing empty dishes at the sink. “Listen, I have to tell you something.”

Charles and Carlos have always shared an easy dynamic—they’ve both always wanted the same thing. Racing has always been at the forefront of their minds. It makes conversation passionate, easy, fun; it was what helped build their now-natural rapport in the first place. “Yeah?” He prods, leaning against the counter and tipping fizz into his mouth.

“I invited everyone here to announce… something important.” Carlos crosses his arms. “But I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Me?” Charles knits his eyebrows and smiles. “Wow.” He gulps, cocks his head. “What is it, then? Are you switching teams?”

Carlos’ goofy smile grows. “Isa and I are engaged. I’m retiring next year.”

“You—you’re—” Charles laughs and shuts his eyes all at once. “Oh, my God, mate! Congratulations!” The overload of information isn’t lost on him, but he channels it all into a hug. “Are you really retiring, though? I mean. Wow, this is amazing news—but—”

“I was sure as soon as I asked,” Carlos says squarely, smiling as if he’s conjured an image of Isa’s smiling face (which is likely the case). “As soon as she said yes. As soon as I bought the ring!” He laughs aloud, so overwhelmed with happiness of recalling everything. “I’m so glad you were the first person I told.”

“Besides Lando,” Charles says, because he knows it’s true.

“Besides Lando.” Carlos smiles. “I’m… dios, I’m happy. I always knew I’d have something to look forward to after racing.” They hug again, and then he clambers past Charles and into the patio, where he resumes the façade of being unengaged and still a driver. Left behind, Charles thinks over it himself. What does he have to look forward to after racing? All his life, racing is all that ever existed to him.

The announcement comes eventually—when it’s dark out, intermittent stars white and twinkly against the black above. Charles has once again turned into a blushy mess because you arrived a few hours prior, wearing a lovely dress and with your hair down in messy waves and you said hi to him earlier without him approaching first. They present a stupid, but very Carlos-and-Isa ring-shaped cake to announce it, and somebody queues up music and everyone’s cheering. Of course everyone’s cheering—it’d be impossible for this announcement to not come with bouts of yelling and cheering and goodbyes to Carlos, who accepts them with glee and—dare he say—excitement.

Charles remembers their first year as teammates, the jokes they’d made about needing to beat the other out. For both of them, he recalls, it’s only ever been the drive to race. He didn’t think Carlos would even entertain the idea of retiring yet. He wonders when he will. The thought of it alone is enough to send a well of anxiety run deep into him—which happens after he congratulates the couple, so he excuses himself to the empty outdoors area to get fresh air back into him.

He didn’t mean it, but he finds you already there. “Hi,” you say when he slides the door shut. “You okay?”

“Just… yeah, I’m fine.” You smell faintly like smoke. “It’s crazy, huh. Everyone’s… moving on.”

“So Carlos told everyone, then,” you say, pursing your lips and waiting for his response. He closes his eyes and lets a soft exhale escape him, warm air out and fresh air in, a welcome change from the heady atmosphere in the party. “I knew. I bought that God awful cake. I kept saying get a normal one but they both wanted it to be shaped like a ring.” You punctuate your sentence with a crisp laugh, a stunted exhale of air to break the tension.

You have a natural sway over words, graceful and beautiful and commanding, something he only wishes he could be. For so long he’d been told the feedback loop of one and the same thing: you’re good. You’re the best. You’re going to be the next big thing. And this season had just… aggravated every single insecurity he’s picked up in his years of racing. He wishes sometimes he’d been told something else: you suck. You’re normal. You’re irrelevant. Then at least he wouldn’t exist in some odd panopticon of feeling on top of the world and yet looking at it from the bottom of a pitch black abyss.

“Yeah,” he says instead, wringing his hands. He mimics the wrist movements he’s made to do during gym hours. “It’s wild how—I mean, not really wild, but. I just can’t… even picture my life after racing.”

“You’re young, that’s warranted,” you laugh. “You’re also… I mean, even if you drop out of racing tonight, it’s not like you’re going to become dirt poor or anything. You could become a bloody orthodontist and people will still love you.”

“Will they?”

He didn’t mean to say it aloud but out it comes, garbled and rushed and he’s a bit embarrassed for sounding like a child in front of somebody he finds so beautiful. The silence is suspended and dry, and for a minute all he hears and feels is the slow rise and fall of his chest. To somehow mend the vulnerability, he tries again. “It’s not—I just think I’ll be lonely if I decide to stop racing.”

The fact that Carlos can say with so much ease that he’s willing to drop his career to ensure his pending marriage lasts is almost terrifying, because Charles knows he wants that. He knows—he’s always known—that he wants that intimacy, that realness, but for it to come at the cost of something he’s known for so long is so scary it’s almost a dealbreaker.

“Lonely?” You echo, voice tinged with concern. “Charles—”

“Lonely.”

He says it with an edge to his voice, so final, so steadfast. Loneliness is what he’s always feared and he knows, with a deep drawling punch to his gut, that loneliness is what will come if he decides to stop racing. Even if he’s tired. Even if he’s so pent up with frustration and loss and anger. Racing is all he’s ever known, it’s all he is—when he’s not tied to it, who is he? “Like no one… like I’m just standing in front of what I’m supposed to be, and when people see me, that’s all they see—what’s behind me. Right through me.”

“Well, you’re off racing right now,” you respond, trodding carefully. “So, well. Do you feel that way?”

He knows what you mean: it’s winter break, so he’s not driving or doing some form of it every single day. And he knows in turn what to answer: no, not really, he doesn’t really feel detached from it because there’s a low anticipation in his belly that tells him he’ll be doing it all again soon. But he chooses to interpret it differently; differently, but not falsely.

“I th… I don’t feel lonely,” he says, “when I talk to you. You see me.”

Your stomach drops and your heart begins to pulse a mile a minute, knuckles tightening where they’ve gripped onto the wooden post of the patio. You can feel the air in your lungs pass through every divot of your body as it escapes and arrives in long, shaky breaths. He’s looking at you, his eyebrows knitted like he wants—needs an answer, if you’d be kind enough to please give him one.

“I…” You bite your lip, every thought in your head at odds with the other.

Time feels like rubber, like it’s been stretched and manipulated and Carlos is ducking out to announce that it’s time to blow out candles on the stupid ring-shaped cake and you’ve taken too long to respond and your body feels too heavy but your heart feels too light and your eyes are blinking, open and shut and open again, and you feel like the wind could honestly blow you away now because Charles has given you a neutral nod and left you alone again, to contemplate the weight of what he’s finally, finally admitted, tonight here under the sky of Spain.

You move a hand over your hair, watch him walk away. The words lodge themselves in your throat, but they’re there.

—

One minute after you realized you liked Charles, you swallowed the feelings until they were barely decipherable.

In happened in Dublin, at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day, when you’d emerged fresh out of a breakup with the most arseholic Irishman you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. And funnily enough, it happened without Charles’ presence. You’d spent the day at Liam’s, hours of fighting over so many things—the growth of your career and the decimation of his, where your relationship had soured, why you never came to visit him, Charles, the sodding bloke you like so much—until finally, you took your things and left.

Wise, because you might’ve honestly gone insane if you stayed a minute longer, attuning your ears to the deafening feedback loop of his voice. Also decidedly unwise, because you had a piece of luggage and barely any battery, in a full city of people you didn’t know at all.

There was no chance Liam would let you return, and no chance you wanted to, for that matter—the fact still stood, though, that you needed to kill the night before your flight to France left at 6AM. You entered the first pub you heard, deposited your bag at the coat check for an extra couple of euros, and accepted the first pint thrust into your hand and first leprechaun hat plopped atop your head.

In between watching people compare how they poured Guinness pints, Sinead O’Connor songs, and exchanging headdresses with a random stranger, you found yourself impressingly drunk. The Irish did it too well.

A university student stumbled past your stool, tears in her eyes; she stopped to steal a shot of whiskey lying unattended on the bar. You looped a hand around her wrist and stared at her menacingly. Manners?!

Fuck manners, she said wetly, wrenching every word out with great effort. Nobody paid either of you any attention. I just caught my best friend and boyfriend kissing. Her accent was unmistakably Irish and was stronger with the tears.

Oh, you said, loosening your threatening grip. Sorry.

Don’t be. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid, she said, aghast, before finally stalking outside the pub. Half an hour later, you wound up at a table of thirty-somethings, all belting along to a folky sounding song.

Drunkenly you slurred out, I thought it was a stereotype.

What was, love? One of them paused her singing, dipping down to listen to you properly. Your cheek was smushed against the varnished wood, moving with every syllable you eked out.

The songs. You sound like… you belong in the 19th century.

She laughed at that, surfacing and yelling something to the band onstage you couldn’t quite decipher. The song reached its peak, loud and getting the whole crowd singing along, before fading into a familiar opening. S’this better? She asked, her voice slightly raised above the guitar.

You looked up. I liked the other one too, to be fair. M’not a fucking anti-Irish.

Nobody said that, love. Come sing. She hauled you upward, exaggerating her arm swinging in the air so you’d follow suit, which you did. You hummed the opening, eyes fluttering open and closed. You imagined opening them again and finding Charles across the room, already looking, with the same charming, boyish smile on his face that came to you as comfort.

You thought back to the dinner in London, the feeling of his shirt against your shoulder, the way he’d gotten you so easy and laughing and babbly, something you never got with Liam. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled raggedly. Fuck.

Linger’ll do that to you, your companion mused. Around you, the entire pub sang along to the song that served as the backdrop to your all-encompassing romantic epiphany. Missing a lover, huh?

No, just… You opened your eyes, watched the band sing out the rest of the prechorus before they slid into the next verse. A new kind of air had crept over the pub, one that exemplified just how much this song could mean to anyone, no matter who. You shut them again and saw Charles. The green of his eyes, mossy on some days and bright on others. The moles on his face. The grooves of his hand, the way it wrapped around things like pens, mics, bottles, your fingers. His voice, how he curved around words. He always knew exactly what you meant even if it took you ages to get to the point, even if you felt like you didn’t know what you meant exactly.

You opened your eyes. Suddenly fights with Liam didn’t matter. Whatever little sympathy you had left evaporated as you listened to the lyrics and realized, with a damning force, that you were thinking of Charles. And this was not weak, this was not vague, this was a strong thing that took you off your feet like a gust of wind, hurtling you out of the pub. You thought of every time your eyes met his, both of you already laughing at something else present. Every time he saw you at the end of a busy work day and asked if you were doing alright.

Just this guy, I suppose. His name’s… yeah. We’ve been friends for ages. He’s really very talented. Very kind. Your voice was drowned out by the music but you didn’t intend for anything to be heard, anyway. And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. He always knows what to say. He’s not in Dublin tonight, not even in Ireland, for God’s sake.

He’s your boyfriend, then?

You closed them slowly. No. T’wouldn’t be very smart to date him.

Is he an arse?

No either. It’s just too late.

I’m sorry, love.

Don’t be, you mused, eyes still shut as Linger came to a close. I’m sorry I could ever be so stupid.

—

Charles should be in Monaco. You should be in London. But at four-thirty PM, leaning against the counter of a tiny café in Dublin, you cross paths for the first time in weeks, and everything tilts on its axis.

He notices you first, because he hears you thank the barista quietly. It’s not your reporter voice, not the one you put one when you’re interviewing him or his teammate or his fellow athletes. But it’s your real one, and it’s the one he thinks he could hear through a snowstorm.

A tuxedo-clad man exits and suddenly you’re there. You’re wearing a white top, low neck and thin straps covered by a cardigan. You’re sliding coins into the pocket of your jeans and he watches your hand freeze, drags his eyes back up to you, finds you’re already looking.

You look beautiful, he thinks. You put on a lot of makeup for the cameras, and you looked gorgeous, but seeing you like this—caught, almost, in a moment you didn’t expect to see him—you look unbelievably beautiful. He aches with it.

“You look well,” he says first when he opens the café door for you. “What’s your business in Ireland?”

“Acquainting myself with my new coworker.” You wait for him to follow and squint when the sun hits your eye. “We’ve been here three weeks, fly back to London next Monday. You?”

“It does seem weird for me to be here,” he observes absently. “I needed a change of pace, I think. Gear up for the season.” He shakes his half-full cup of coffee. “Where are you staying?”

“Just up ahead.” A slow silence overcomes you both. “Come over. I have beer. I know you can’t be fucked to have coffee.” He laughs and nods, following you through the road and up into a flat—a BNB, if he’s guessing. There’s a tiny landing and then stairs to a wider living area, where you proceed to unwrap the croissant you’d gotten a few minutes earlier. You chuck it into the fridge and produce two bottles of beer in one go.

“Sit,” you gesture to the spot beside you, and he sits himself there. “We can talk. We should.”

You’ve shrugged your cardigan off, and he observes every detail of your exposed skin, the way your hair layers atop it. Right as he opens his mouth to respond, a blond girl enters, rings of mascara caking her eyes and a wine glass twiddled in-between thumbs. She’s talking her head off and only pauses when she spots Charles.

“Hhhh…iiii.”

“Salut.”

“You’re Charles?” She notices how close the two of you are seated together.

“Yes,” he says.

“Charles, this is Robyn—my coworker’s friend. And by extension my friend.” You pat her knee and point to Charles to get them properly introduced. “She leeches off the apartment.”

“You love me,” she retorts, mockingly—but sweetly. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I was just on the phone with my situationship.” She rolls her eyes. “Does he think I give two shits about goodnight texts? It feels impossible to be romantically satisfied these days.”

Charles grunts. “I hear that,” he says, just to make Robyn feel less excluded. You get up then, to fuck around at the kitchen sink—he suspects you’re not actually doing chores—but you come back with wet hands and you sit yourself across Charles, on the loveseat, instead of next to him.

“The thing is, right,” she gulps wine, “there’s such a thing with dating now,” Robyn says, not missing a beat, her Geordie accent curving round the syllables with a distinctive twang. She stares at the opaque red liquid in her glass, like that will supplement her with more words. “Like a deal. A big deal. Everyone’s making this huge thing out of it, and it’s like, can’t we be in our twenties and fuck around occasionally?” She laughs, a high-pitched, tapered noise.

You shift from where you’re seated, buried into the material of the seat. It’s quiet and beginning to touch awkward, so you speak in a rough voice: “I dunno, I kind of… get it.”

“Oh do you, now,” she responds, voice saturated with wine. “No, it’s—I was joking. Of course you would, you’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, is all.”

Suddenly you feel all too seen and inclined to touch a fingertip to your cheek, feather light. You blink so you won’t feel tempted to meet Charles’ eyes, because you feel them on you. “It’s—thank you, I mean. It’s nothing to do with that. I just always feel it’s impossible to find someone who loves you. I feel like I’m not very lovable.”

“You? You’re bloody fucking likable!” Robyn’s laugh is so disbelieving you find yourself semi-convinced. “You’re a bit intimidating, yeah, but you’re lovable as fuck, babe.”

You double down anyway, voice thin. “Right. I don’t think I’m very good at being… affectionate.”

“Hah. Bull. You’re affectionate with… with Charles! I’ve heard you talk about him to Jane.”

She turns to Charles before you have the chance to defend yourself. To him she asks: “Is she affectionate with you?”

But it’s basically rhetorical. Everyone speculates, sees the way you two bend the line between friendship and romance, the care with which you treat Charles, the way you two understand each other in ways impossible for anyone else in your orbit. Fuck if it’s not overtly physical. Robyn’s known you three weeks and has never even met Charles until seven minutes ago and already she’s sensed the energy, the difference, even if she hasn’t seen you do so much as embrace.

“It’s—” You say and say too quickly. You wind up slowing your speech so you don’t sound too defiant and lean backwards, willing yourself to relax. “It’s… different with Charles.”

“Different?” She repeats, miming every dip and rise of your voice. “Why?”

“We’re close.” You refuse to meet his eyes. “Be—because we’re good friends. I feel… things are… just. They’re different. That’s all, really.” Barely satisfied with the answer you eked out, you cross your arms over your torso like it’ll help shield you from the interrogation going on. Briefly you let your eyes fall on Charles; he’s reclined, eyes all over the place, blinking in quick flashes.

“But you admit it, at least?” She smiles. “That you’re affectionate, I mean.”

“Only with…” you taper off, unwanting to dig yourself a deeper hole. “Right. Sure, yeah.”

“Well then,” she says, eyebrows raising as she dows the rest of her glass. She sets it down on the low wooden table with a clink. “I’ll get going. Don’t let me keep you two from shagging or whatever.”

“We don’t f—shag,” you interrupt, voice sharp. “And you’re not keeping us at all. Me, at all.”

Us sounds so exclusive, you realize as it leaves your lips. Us. It tastes like sour cherries on your tongue, bleeds all over. Robyn gives you a look. In response, you insist on seeing her out, leaving Charles at the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands toying with the neck of the beer bottle. He can make out faint words but he doesn’t try translating or deciphering them, just listens to your muffled voice peek through every few words. You sound amused, also accused, also endeared—a bit irritated. You end it with a laugh.

You clamber back in after a few minutes and find him at the top of the stairs.

“Sorry,” you wave off, rolling your eyes to fend Robyn’s earlier interrogation efforts of. “She’s very strong-willed.” You climb the stairs, your striped linen shorts folding with every movement of your legs. Finally you make it to the top, on the second-to-the-last stair, staring up at him.

“You know,” he says, watching you ascend to the top finally, but you’re still staring upward. “You should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I missed you.”

You inhale and are grateful to find the air is all him. “I missed you, too.”

“In a different way.”

“Me, too,” you echo again, voice quiet. “I missed you. It feels like I’ve missed you all my life.”

He can hear your still, controlled breathing. “Thank you for seeing me. Even when, you know, it’s… hard. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you say. “It’s never difficult, not…” With you.

He leans down and captures your mouth in his then, like it’s a thirst he’s always needed quenched. You allow it, kiss him back like you’ve needed this your entire life. His lips are chapped, but you don’t mind—Dublin’s cold. He kisses like he’s smiling, like he’s happy, and you think maybe that’s not far off. He moves downward, to your jaw; lower, along the column of your throat, around your collarbones, cornering you against the wall, letting you lean against it.

Charles’ kisses are light and soft, but also heavy, like he’s trying to waste as little time as possible. You sigh, feeling light, feeling ecstatic. He puts two hands on either side of your face, presses your foreheads together, and shuts his eyes.

You feel the divots of his fingers on your hip, your waist, places he’s never touched before. “I’m sorry I left,” you breathe into him. “Back in Spain. In Madrid. I wanted to think about it. About what you said. About everything, about you.”

“I’m glad I found you here, then.”

You tiptoe to kiss him again, because now that you’ve had it once you’re terrified you won’t have it again. In-between kisses he picks you up, cages you fully against the wall, and you breathe shaky little exhales. It builds up quicker and harder; you feel his cock at your hip and shiver, eyelashes fluttering. “Upstairs,” you say breathlessly.

He likes knowing you want this, because he’ll give you whatever you want. He’d fuck you for hours. Have you shaking, eking out moans of his name. He’d whisper praise up and down your ear. He wants this just as much, if not more.

“I want you, so much,” you exhale when he lies you both down on your bed. “So much.”

He tugs your shorts off, then your panties. He doesn’t usually lack self-restraint, but he thinks he’s never felt this much temptation in his life. He’s so hard. He brings one hand to his thigh and squeezes his dick through his pants, but it doesn’t provide him with any kind of relief. You’re needy already, whimpering, mind dizzy. He slides a finger up your slit and watches you screw your eyes shut.

Slowly he sinks in, watches you accustom to the stretch. “Wanted this,” you breathe out.

He thrusts in further, feels your warm cunt stretch around him, feels your breaths get hotter and quicker against his lips. But he takes it nice and slow, so he can feel every little ridge inside of you as you take all of him. “You like it?”

You nod, too dumbed down to speak. “Good girl. Pretty, pretty girl.”

He’s wanted this for so long, fucking you deep and slow and desperate. He thrusts harder, watches you unravel and your hot breaths pick up in pace. He reaches down, smears wetness around your clit as your thighs begin to shake. Your pretty, flushed face is enough to send him into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as he goads you into orgasm.

You’re still cumming around him when he takes a shaky breath, pulls you tightly back against him, and lets the pleasure take over. He fucks you full, rides his orgasm out while you ride yours out—buries his dick all the way inside, so each spurt fills your contracting pussy up.

He pulls out and collapses beside you, pressing his lips to your shoulder before lying on his back. “I’ll clean you up in a minute.” It’s quiet for a second, just you two breathing.

Then: “I did, I did think about it,” you say, voice reedy. “I thought about you.”

“Yeah?” He watches you blink at the ceiling, lets you clasp your hands onto his.

“About me, too.” You open your eyes and stare into the green.

“D’you want this?”

“Believe me,” you say, threading your fingers into his tightly. Your hair’s fussed from the sex. “I do. But—”

His heart drops.

“I don’t want to… I want you to not…” You sigh. “You know, I like seeing you. I like being that. I like knowing I make you feel good. And I want you to know you… you make me feel amazing. Like you and I… we understand each other.” You pause. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands every inch of me.”

“Ditto,” he says, and you smile.

“I look up to you, you know? I don’t want you to anchor yourself onto me. I want you to realize that on your own. You’re smart. You’re a great driver with a shitty fucking team I hated reporting on last season.” He laughs shakily. “You know I look up to you. You know… you know I love you.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I always have. It wasn’t… it didn’t always make itself clear, but I always have. And I know I always will.” You smile. “We’ll be in different cities, in separate timezones, but if we survived the years of not telling each other how bloody fucking much we liked each other, this is nothing. When we’ve sorted ourselves out, we’ll know the right time to finally call this what it is.”

He’s never thought of himself as a writer, but his notebooks might beg to differ. Many times you’ve told him yourself that he has an affinity for describing things, especially when he lets go of language as a limitation. He wonders what you’d say if you knew the amount of times he’s tried to write about you. Careful letters or typefaces, in an effort to form a coherent picture of you, the way he sees you, the way he loves you. But he’s so scared he tears the pages off before they get too intimate, too personal, crossing the border from having a crush on you to being in love with you.

For once he’s not. He nods. It’s bittersweet, but it’s a segue to a better ending. He moves a hand over your hair and holds you close.

“You could never be unlovable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead because finally, he can. “I mean it.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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travelwithsanchaldxb · 3 months ago

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Top Camping Spots in UAE 2024

The UAE is known for its bustling cities, opulent lifestyle, and towering skyscrapers, but just beyond its urban edges lies a vast landscape of natural beauty. From the rugged mountains to serene deserts and stunning beaches, the UAE offers plenty of camping options for nature enthusiasts and adventure seekers alike. As we head into 2024, let’s explore some of the top camping spots across the UAE…

#camping spots #camping spots 2024 #camping spots UAE #Dubai #news #Things to Do #top camping spots #travel #uae #united-arab-emirates

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szariahwroteit · 12 days ago

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Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Original Character Erotic Series

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 6

A day of shopping in Dubai was exactly what Jude and Tori needed. Not only was the act intimate, but they found themselves giggling like children as they shopped, the chemistry between them undeniable.

After stopping at a diner-style restaurant for a late lunch, they made their way back to the hotel to prepare for the night ahead.

“Today was perfect, thank you,” Tori smiled softly as she stepped into the elevator ahead of Jude who held all of their shopping bags.

“You’re welcome, I had fun.” Jude grinned, pressing the button for their floor. The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing them in a small, quiet space. He glanced at Tori, her cheeks flushed with excitement from the day’s adventures.

As the elevator hummed upwards, Tori turned to him, her expression turning serious for a moment. “I know things haven't been completely smooth sailing on this trip, but I am grateful that you invited me. Thank you.”

Jude's heart skipped a beat at Tori's sincerity. He had been feeling the undercurrents of tension between them, the unspoken words swirling in the confined space of the elevator. “I’m glad you came, Tori. It’s been... different. In a good way,” he replied, his voice steady but warm.

The elevator slowed to their floor, and as the doors opened, Jude stepped forward, allowing Tori to exit first. She turned back slightly, her eyes sparkling with something deeper than mere gratitude. There was a vulnerability in her gaze that made his pulse quicken.

As they walked towards their hotel room, the corridor felt strangely charged. Jude could sense the shift in the air around them—a magnetic pull that hadn’t been there before. He placed the shopping bags down to free his hands, the fabric crinkling softly as he leaned against the wall, studying her.

“Do you want to open a bottle of wine and relax before heading out later?” Jude suggested, hoping to break the growing tension.

“That sounds perfect,” she replied, stepping closer, the scent of her perfume mingling with the faint scent of jasmine in the air.

As they entered the room, Jude could feel the excitement bubbling beneath the surface. He reached for the bottle of wine in the mini-fridge, uncorking it and pouring two glasses. Their fingers brushed involuntarily, igniting sparks between them.

“To new experiences,” he toasted, meeting her gaze.

“To new experiences,” she echoed, her cheeks flushed a deeper shade. They clinked glasses, and as they sipped, their eyes met again, a flicker of something unspoken dancing in the air.

“Jude...” Tori began, her voice barely above a whisper. She hesitated, searching his face as if seeking an answer.

“Yeah?” he prompted softly, stepping closer, the distance between them closing.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her breath hitching slightly, a mix of desire and vulnerability evident in her eyes. The weight of her request hung in the air, electric and intoxicating.

Without thinking, Jude closed the gap. Their lips met softly at first, a tentative exploration filled with the sweetness of the day they'd shared. But then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened—his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat radiating between them.

Tori responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with a passion that sent a thrill coursing through his body.

“If I do what I want to, I doubt we’ll make it out of this room for the rest of the evening,” Jude murmured as he pulled away from Tori's lips, ready to toss her onto the bed and have his way.

“What do you want to do?” Tori asked curiously.

Jude's breath caught in his throat at her question, the challenge in her eyes igniting a fire within him. He took a moment to savour the anticipation that hung in the air, a delicious tension swirling between them. “I want to explore… every part of you,” he confessed, his voice low and husky.

Tori’s cheeks flushed even deeper, and he couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or excitement—perhaps a bit of both. “And you think it's going to take up the rest of the evening.”

“With what I have planned for your body, yes,” Jude said, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. He took a step closer, their bodies almost touching, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “I want to know what makes you shiver, what draws a soft gasp from your lips.”

Tori’s eyes widened slightly, an electric thrill shooting through her at his words. She had never seen this side of Jude, and it both excited and intimidated her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she breathed, her heart racing.

“More than you know,” he replied, his gaze intense as he reached out, fingertips grazing her arm, sending shivers down her spine. “The sex we have is incredible, but for me to have your body like I really want it, I need an entire night… maybe even longer.”

Tori knew that they couldn't lock themselves away from the world for the rest of the evening, especially not on a night like New Year's Eve, but boy was she tempted.

The allure of Jude’s words hung in the air, intoxicating and seductive. Tori looked up at him, her breath quickening as uncertainty mixed with a rush of excitement. “Maybe we should stop,” she said softly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

“Maybe we should,” Jude agreed, his voice low and smooth, coaxing her into his gaze.

Taking Tori’s hand into his, Jude led her towards the living area of his sprawling hotel suite, taking a moment to enjoy the intimate connection between them. The cityscape outside the large windows twinkled with lights, a perfect backdrop for the evening ahead. He could feel Tori’s pulse racing in her wrist as he held her hand, a silent acknowledgement of the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

“Let’s take a moment to ourselves,” Jude said, his tone laced with gentleness. “Tonight could get a little crazy, I just wanted to chill with you beforehand.”

Tori nodded, grateful for his understanding. The rhythmic pulse of the city outside mirrored the beat of her heart, an intoxicating reminder of the excitement that lay ahead. Despite the chill in the air, the warmth radiating from Jude made her feel impossibly alive.

“Let’s just enjoy this,” Tori said, taking a seat on the oversized chaise lounge that overlooked the city. Jude joined her, settling in close enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder.

As the sun dipped in the sky and the evening went on, Tori grabbed her shopping bags and headed back to her room so she could prepare for the evening ahead, taking her time with her hair and makeup.

As she stood in front of the mirror, carefully applying mascara, she couldn’t shake the thrill of anticipation building within her. Tonight wasn’t just about celebrating New Year’s Eve; it felt like a turning point between her and Jude.

After a long shower, Tori slipped into a sleek black skirt and matching low-cut halter top that hugged her curves and showcased her cleavage beautifully, the leather shimmering as it caught the light. She gave herself one last look in the mirror, smoothing down the hem and allowing a satisfied smile to grace her lips. There was a part of her that felt daring, excited to embrace whatever the evening had in store.

Meanwhile, in his room, Jude stood in front of the mirror as well, adjusting his tie with a sense of purpose. He had chosen a tailored black suit jacket and a crisp white t-shirt that emphasized his athletic build, the sharp lines and fitted style giving him an air of confidence. Each detail was important; tonight felt special and he wanted everything to align perfectly.

As he finished grooming, his mind drifted to thoughts of Tori. The memory of their earlier kiss lingered, igniting a warmth within him that had nothing to do with the Dubai heat. He could hardly believe the chemistry they shared; it was unlike anything he had experienced.

Checking the time, Jude realized he should head over to Tori's room to meet her. A swell of excitement coursed through him at the thought of seeing her dressed up. Confidence radiating, he grabbed his phone and the keycard to his room and stepped out into the lavish hallway.

He knocked gently on Tori's door, his heart racing with anticipation. Moments later, the door swung open, and Jude was momentarily speechless.

He'd been the one to pay for her outfit, he knew what she was going to wear for the occasion, but seeing her in it was an entirely different experience. Tori stood before him, a vision in the fitted black skirt and a halter top that accentuated her curves flawlessly. The way the fabric clung to her body was mesmerizing, highlighting her silhouette in a way that left him momentarily breathless. Her makeup was perfect, the smoky eyes adding an alluring depth to her already sparkling gaze.

“Wow,” Jude breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. “Tori, you look… amazing.”

Tori's heart fluttered at Jude's words, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at his reaction, the black outfit he had chosen for her accentuating her curves in all the right places.

"Thank you," she replied, a smile playing on her lips. "You don't look so bad yourself." Her eyes roamed over him. He exuded an air of confidence that was both alluring and intimidating.

Jude chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he stepped closer, the intoxicating scent of her perfume enveloping him like a warm embrace. “I knew you’d look perfect.”

“Looks like I was right,” he added, drinking in the sight of her. The way the low-cut halter top tastefully showed off her cleavage, the black skirt that elegantly hugged her hips—it all drew him in deeper.

Tori felt a rush of warmth at his compliment, their chemistry palpable in the air. She could sense the magnetic pull that had been brewing all day, and now it felt electric, buzzing between them as she stepped closer. “What’s the plan tonight?”

“A friend of mine is hosting a private party at the marina tonight, my teammates and I will be in attendance. So will Toby, Brandon and Marcus, I'm not sure who else but I know isn't open to the public,” Jude explained.

“Oou, boujie,” Tori said teasingly, making Jude laugh.

“I have money, but I am not boujie,” he explained, his eyes glimmering with amusement as his hands found her hips. “And I refuse to have a ballerina who went to private school call me boujie.”

“You went to private school too,” Tori pointed out as she recalled a conversation they'd had about their childhoods and former years.

"Touché," Jude replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The playful banter was refreshing, a welcomed distraction from the heat that simmered beneath the surface. “Are you ready?”

Tori took a deep breath, feeling the weight of anticipation in the air. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, her voice laced with both excitement and nerves. She could feel Jude’s gaze lingering on her, and it sent a thrill through her that made her heart race.

“Let’s make tonight unforgettable,” he said, his tone sincere, and for a moment, it felt as if the world outside faded away.

With a confident nod, Tori took his outstretched hand, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. Together, they walked through the elegantly decorated hotel, the opulence of the space heightening her senses. The sound of laughter and music echoed from every corner, mingling with the lively chatter of other guests celebrating the New Year.

As they stepped into the lobby, Tori caught glimpses of other party-goers, all dressed in their finest attire, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. Jude led her toward the entrance, where a sleek black car awaited them. He opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. Tori felt a flutter in her stomach as he settled in beside her.

As the car pulled away, the city skyline of Dubai illuminated in dazzling colors, Tori leaned against the window, mesmerized by the sights. Jude’s presence beside her was comforting, and the magnetic pull between them felt even stronger in the intimate space of the car.

The city glimmered as it passed by through the car window , a canvas of lights painting the night sky with fleeting glances of grandeur. Tori couldn’t help but feel the thrill of the city and the anticipation of the night ahead. Every flickering streetlight seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her heart, each moment heightened by the proximity of Jude beside her.

“You know,” Jude said, breaking the gentle hum of the car’s engine, “I really enjoyed my time in Dubai with you,”

Tori turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “Likewise,” she blushed.

Jude smiled softly, shaking his head as the need to kiss her captivated his thoughts. Wrapping his arm around Tori as he pulled her body into his.

Tori melted against him, feeling the warmth of Jude’s body envelop her. The combination of his strong presence and the rhythmic hum of the car filled her with a sense of safety and excitement. The air between them crackled with an energy she struggled to ignore.

Jude leaned in, his breath warm on her skin, and whispered, “I want to kiss you so fucking bad.” His voice was low, almost a growl, sending shivers down her spine.

“Do it,” Tori replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel her heart racing, the tension palpable as Jude’s gaze locked onto hers.

In an instant, Jude closed the gap between them, his lips capturing hers with an urgency that left her breathless. The kiss was intense and electric, their mouths moving instinctively together as the world outside faded away. Tori’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the moment, deepening the kiss.

Jude's hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine, igniting a fire within her that flared to life. She heard him groan softly into her mouth, the sound stirring something primal inside her.

When they finally pulled away, both gasping for air, the atmosphere in the car felt charged. Jude's eyes were dark with desire, and Tori felt her cheeks flush under his heated gaze.

Their moment came to an abrupt end as the car pulled up to the curb, but the connection between them was electric, leaving both of them breathless and yearning for more.

"Seems like we're here," Jude said, breaking the spell that had enveloped them as he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze lingering on Tori's lips for a moment longer before he opened the door.

Tori felt a flutter of excitement at the lavish marina entrance, the lights and music pulsating with life all around them. As they stepped out together, she couldn’t shake the intoxicating thrill of what had just happened between them.

Jude offered his hand, and Tori took it, feeling the warmth of his skin enveloping hers. The moment felt significant, as if they were crossing from one world into another—the excitement of the evening ahead blending with the tension that simmered beneath the surface of their interaction.

Once inside the event, Tori was dazzled by the atmosphere—luxurious decorations adorned the walls, and laughter mingled with the upbeat music. Guests chatted animatedly, clad in beautiful outfits that mirrored the spirit of celebration.

"Let’s grab a drink," Jude suggested, leading her towards the bar where a skilled bartender was fast at work mixing colorful cocktails.

As they approached the bar, the sounds of laughter and voices filled the air, mingling seamlessly with the upbeat music. Tori felt a wave of excitement; the ambiance was electric, and she could tell this party was shaping up to be unforgettable.

“What’s your poison?” Jude asked, leaning casually against the bar, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Surprise me,” Tori replied with a playful smile, watching as Jude ordered them a couple of signature cocktails. The bartender flashed a charming smile as he rattled off ingredients and mixed drinks expertly.

As they waited for their drinks, Jude turned slightly, effortlessly commanding the space around him. Tori couldn’t help but admire the way he carried himself—the confidence was irresistible. She felt a warm blush creeping to her cheeks when he caught her gaze and grinned, as if he could read the thoughts swirling in her mind.

“Here you go,” the bartender said, sliding a vibrant cocktail her way and a short brown glass filled with brown liquor to Jude. Tori accepted hers, the colorful swirl of fruit juice and vibrant garnishes a feast for the eyes.

“Cheers,” Jude said, raising his glass.

“Cheers!” Tori echoed, their glasses clinking with a satisfying sound before she took a hesitant sip. The sweet tang of the drink brightened her senses, refreshing against the warm backdrop of the night.

“Amazing,” Tori exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she savored the flavors.

Jude nodded, clearly pleased with his drink as well. “I’m willing to bet you taste better,” he said, his voice low but laced with humor. Tori felt her cheeks heat again at the compliment, but it was the casual confidence in his tone that sent another thrill sparking through her.

As they moved through the crowd, Tori noticed more than a few heads turning in their direction. She felt a little self-conscious, aware that her outfit and Jude’s striking presence contributed to the attention. It amplified the déjà vu sensation from earlier as she felt like they were the center of the universe.

For a moment, she reveled in it, knowing that she and Jude were having their moment. But the blissful atmosphere shattered abruptly when she spotted a familiar figure weaving through the crowd.

“Jude?” A sultry voice called out, slicing through the laughter and chatter. Tori turned to see a glamorous model make her way toward them, her long legs accentuated by towering heels. Cascade of perfectly styled hair bounced with each step, and the glow of the night's lights shimmered off her flawless olive skin.

Tori felt a chill of apprehension as the model approached, her gaze locked on Jude with a sultry smile. “Fancy seeing you here,” she uttered, her eyes glinting with unspoken promises.

Jude tensed slightly, the playful spark in his eye dimming. “Hey, Lara,” he said, forcing a polite smile, but Tori could sense the tension in his posture.

“Still looking as handsome as ever,” Lara purred, stepping closer, her gaze sweeping over him possessively. Tori felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and the atmosphere shifted suddenly—Jude's previous charisma dulled as he found himself caught in a moment of unwanted attention.

Tori instinctively gripped Jude’s arm, their connection physical and grounding.

“Actually, I’m here with Tori,” Jude said, his voice firm, as if trying to erect a barrier against her advances. “We’re celebrating New Year’s Eve together.”

Lara’s smile faltered for a moment as she glanced at Tori, a flicker of disdain crossing her features. She could sense the possessiveness in the air—the unspoken challenge not lost on her. “Oh, how sweet,” Lara remarked dismissively, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Is she your new muse?”

Tori met the model’s smug look with confidence, pushing back any insecurities that threatened her composure. “Just enjoying the night,” she replied, her voice steady as she maintained eye contact.

“Yeah,” Jude interjected, his tone shifting to one of clear dismissal. “And I’m not interested, Lara. We’ve moved on.”

With that pronouncement, the tension shifted dramatically. Tori marveled at Jude’s assertiveness, the way he stood firm against Lara’s advances.

Lara pouted slightly, her confidence momentarily shaken, but quickly regained her poise. “Suit yourself, Jude. You always did have unconventional tastes.”

“Maybe it’s just that I like the girl who knows how to be herself,” Jude replied, his gaze never wavering from Tori. The truth in his words ignited warmth in Tori's chest, her heart swelling at the open affection he displayed.

Silence hung in the air as Lara glanced between them, realization dawning with an air of defeat. “Fine. Enjoy the party,” she said coolly, turning sharply on her heels and making her way through the crowd of guests.

Tori let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, relief washing over her. Jude turned to her, a mixture of concern and adoration in his eyes.

“I’m sorry about that,” he started, searching her face for any sign of doubt. “I thought this was supposed to be fun.”

“Oh, it was, and it still is,” Tori reassured him, stepping closer, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around her like a protective cloak. “Thank you for standing up for me.”

“Why wouldn't I?” Jude asked, his assurance making her heart flutter.

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting that,” Tori replied, her confidence bolstered by his unwavering gaze.

When Tori and Jude spotted his teammates across the room they made their way over, the bustling crowd parting around them as if they were parting the Red Sea. The vibrant energy of the party embraced them, laughter and music colliding in a symphony of celebration.

“Hey! You made it!” Kylian called out, a wide grin spreading across his face as they approached the group and he shot Jude a knowing look.

He'd been present the night he and Tori met at the gala and although they were still very new, he was amused and somewhat proud of the undeniable chemistry that seemed to radiate between them.

The night was filled with laughter and celebration as the party went on, more drinks were consumed and memories made as they enjoyed the night.

Tori sat on Jude’s lap, his hands securely on her waist as she slowly wound her hips in his lap to the Lil Baby song that blasted through the club.

She could feel the heat radiating from him, the rhythm of the music matching the rapid beat of their hearts. Every sway sent a spark of electricity through her, igniting every nerve ending, and she reveled in the closeness. Jude’s grip tightened, anchoring her against him, and she caught the hunger flickering in his eyes—an intoxicating mix of desire and admiration.

“You’re an amazing dancer,” he murmured against her ear, his words vibrating through her as she leaned into him, chasing the warmth of his breath.

Tori smiled coyly, feeling daring under the half-lights of the club. “It’s kinda my job,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder to catch his gaze.

"But I think I might enjoy dancing only for you just as much," Tori added, the playful lilt in her voice full of mischief. The corner of Jude’s mouth lifted in a smirk, his eyes darkening with interest.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “Well, consider me thoroughly entertained.”

Tori felt a rush of confidence from the way he looked at her, his smirk adding to the heat rising between them. She knew she was pushing boundaries, but the thrill of it only made her want to dance closer, to tease him just a little more.

With renewed energy, she began to move with the rhythm, her hips swaying sensually as she kept her eyes locked on Jude. The way he watched her, half mesmerized and half playful, fueled her excitement. She leaned back against him, feeling the heat of his body pressing against hers, and pressed her curves into him, savoring the intimate connection.

She turned away from him momentarily, showcasing her figure as the music picked up and she rolled her hips in his lap, a gasp tumbling from her lips as she felt Jude land a slap against her ass.

The playful smack sent a shockwave of energy through her, igniting a fierce heat that coursed through her veins. Tori turned and caught Jude's gaze, his expression a heady mix of mischief and desire.

Tori and Jude were so caught up in each other they'd failed to notice the hour of midnight was fast approaching until the DJ announced there was only a minute left until the start of the new year.

Standing to her feet, Tori held out her hand to help Jude up from his seat beneath her as they prepared for the countdown to begin and make their way towards a set of floor length windows overlooking the city.

The atmosphere around them pulsated with energy as partygoers began to gather near the expansive windows, excitement rippling through the crowd. Tori felt a bubble of exhilaration building inside her as Jude clasped her hand, the warmth of his grip reassuring amidst the lively chaos.

As they moved towards the windows, she could feel her heart racing, not just from the thrill of the impending New Year, but also from the intimate connection they had forged over the past days. Tori glanced up at Jude, his expression one of anticipation, and she couldn’t help but smile, enchanted by how he could make her feel so alive.

“Ten... nine...” the countdown began, and the crowd chimed in, voices blending into a chorus of excitement that echoed through the spacious venue.

Jude leaned closer, brushing his lips against her ear as he whispered, “Ready to start the New Year with a bang?” His breath sent shivers down her spine, igniting every nerve ending with longing.

“More than ready,” Tori replied, her voice full of mischief and promise. And as she locked eyes with him, she could see the unspoken agreement—the intimacy they had cultivated, ready to burst forth just like the New Year’s fireworks.

“Three... two... one!” The crowd erupted into cheers as midnight struck, confetti raining down like vivid, sparkling snowflakes.

Jude wasted no time—he pulled Tori close, wrapping his strong arms around her waist, and swept her into a passionate kiss. The world around them faded as their lips moved in perfect harmony, the taste of alcohol mingling with the warmth of their shared breaths.

“Happy New Year,” Jude smirked against Tori’s lips, his hands tracing over the soft planes of her back to caress her ass as he pulled her body flush against his.

It was as if the party around them had fallen silent despite its capacity, white and silver confetti fell from the ceiling as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, cocooned in this moment of raw connection.

“Happy New Year,” Tori breathed, her heart racing as the kiss deepened. The thrill of the celebration faded to the background, replaced by the intoxicating heat of their shared passion. She felt alive, every nerve ending ignited as Jude pulled her even closer, their bodies moving in sync with the rhythm of the surrounding chaos.

Pulling apart as the music came back on the party resumed, Jude led Tori back towards where his friends sat entertaining a group of girls they'd met earlier.

Taking a seat first, he reached for Tori pulling her into his lap before casually floating into the current conversation.

As the night went on Tori had found herself having more fun that she could recall in months, she partied with Jude, his friends and teammates—smiling and laughing until her cheeks hurt.

Every drink they shared, every joke exchanged, only deepened the bond growing between her and Jude. The atmosphere was vibrant, energy buzzing through the crowd, but it felt most electric when Jude had his arms wrapped around her waist, every touch igniting sparks of passion that coursed through her body.

As the night unfolded, Tori found herself stealing glances at Jude when he wasn’t looking, completely captivated. He exuded a confidence that drew her in, the way he effortlessly commanded attention without even trying. It drew her to him like a moth to a flame.

By the time 3 a.m. crawled around, Jude had found himself craving attention that only Tori could give him. After interrupting the conversation she was in the midst of, he guided her slightly tipsy body toward a secluded corner of the room, and it was there he began his exploitation of her desire.

“I can't wait to get you out of this,” he murmured, his hands palming and gripping on her backside as he inhaled her sweet scent, his lips peppering kisses along her neck as he whispered teasingly in her ear. “I can’t wait to play with your beautiful body and make you cum until you beg me to stop,” The warmth of her body pressed against his ignited a fire within him, and the air around them seemed to pulse with unspoken tension.

Tori giggled, her hands coming to rest on his waist as she tilted her head slightly, gazing hungrily into Jude’s eyes.

“Is that a promise?” she breathed, her voice laced with playful challenge. Every glance, every touch between them was charged, a silent conversation filled with desires that bubbled just beneath the surface.

Jude's lips curled into a mischievous smile as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “It’s a guarantee.” His hands wandered lower, tracing the curves of her body, each caress igniting a craving that had been building since they left the hotel earlier that evening.

With the party's music thumping in the background, Jude’s hands found the hem of her top, pushing it upward, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of her skin. He leaned back just enough to admire her, his breath hitching at the sight of her flushed cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, a mix of desire and mischief.

“I'm horny,” Tori whispered, her voice thick with anticipation. Jude's heart raced at her confession, the air around them crackling with electric tension. He needed her, needed to taste the urgency in her voice and the heat radiating from her body.

“I can tell,” he replied, his voice smooth like silk as his fingers danced along her sides, teasingly close to where she craved him most. “But I want you completely desperate for me.”

Tori’s breath quickened as his hands gilded upward, teasing the warm flesh beneath her boob, his fingers trailing around the curve of her breast beneath her top.

“I need your nipples hard and your pussy dripping,” Jude continued , his voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper that sent shivers down Tori’s spine. He found her skin intoxicating, each brush of his fingertips igniting a fire that spread through her veins like wildfire. “I want to feel how much you want me.”

Tori arched her back, subtly pressing her body against him, her breath coming in soft gasps as he continued his exploration. Jude's hands roamed higher, their heat radiating as his fingers brushed over her nipple, teasing the hardened peak.

“Please Jude,” she implored, the word a sweet melody of desperation and longing.

“Please what?” he challenged, his eyes darkening with desire. Jude loved this game, the way the air thickened with each unanswered question. “What do you want from me, Tori?”

“I want you to take me back to the hotel and have your way with me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pulsating music. The admission hung in the air, heavy with intention, teasing the boundaries of their lustful flirtation.

Jude's eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a step back to gauge her expression. He could see the raw need etched across her face, the way her lips parted slightly, inviting him to lean in closer. “Is that what you want?” he asked, letting his voice linger on the edge of a growl.

“More than anything,” Tori breathed, a pleading look in her eyes. She was drunk on desire, and he could feel the heat radiating from her. “I want you to be rough with me.”

Jude felt his cock jump at her admission. The intense need that coursed through him ignited something primal, something raw. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You want me to take control, don’t you? To own you completely?”

Tori nodded, her breath hitching as anticipation coiled tight in her belly. “Yes, I want you to own me tonight,” she breathed, a hint of desperation lacing her words. “I want to feel everything.”

Jude’s heart raced as he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies melded together, heat radiating from both of them.

As the music pulsed around them, Jude leaned in, his lips ghosting over Tori's, teasing her with the promise of what was to come. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with urgency.

Tori's eyes sparkled with mischief and need, and before she could respond, Jude captured her mouth with his, deepening the kiss as he felt the world around them blur into the background. His hands roamed her body with a possessiveness that made her heart race, fingers gripping and exploring as if he were tracing the contours of her desire.

The taste of her was intoxicating, a sweet blaze that ignited his senses, and Jude pulled her even closer, pressing her against the wall as the kiss deepened. Tori's hands threaded around his waist, pulling him closer still as she melted against him, lost in the sensations he created with each caress and each kiss.

“Let’s go,” he said breathlessly, breaking their kiss just long enough to motion toward the door. The thrill of sneaking away sent a rush of excitement through them both, and with a shared look of mischief and desire, before Jude turned and motioned for the security guard that had been shadowing him all night so he could lead them towards the venue's back exit, away from cameras and prying eyes.

Jude was enraptured by Tori’s body as she walked ahead of him, the curve of her back in the dress she wore and the sway of her hips a mesmerizing dance that kept him entranced. Every step she took ignited a wildfire of desire within him, a primal urge that surged through his veins as they slipped past the oblivious partygoers, lost in their own worlds of laughter and drinks.

Once outside, the cool night air hit them like a splash of cold water, a sharp contrast to the heated atmosphere they had just left behind. Tori turned to face him, her eyes shimmering under the dim streetlights, lips swollen from their kisses and cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Keep going,” Jude murmured, his voice low and urgent, as he guided her towards where their car awaited. Each stride brought them closer to the release they both craved, the anticipation building within him as they navigated the night.

Tori’s laughter bubbled up, a mixture of thrill and mischief as she felt Jude’s hand on her backside, the other reaching for the handle of the truck's back door so he could pull it open and usher her inside as his security guard took his place in the driver's seat.

The door closed with a soft click, enveloping them in a cocoon of darkness and anticipation. Jude climbed in beside Tori, their bodies pressed together, the air thickening with desire. The car started, and as it rolled away from the venue, the muffled sounds of the party faded into the distance, leaving only the pounding of their hearts in the quiet space between them.

Jude turned to her, his eyes hungry and commanding. “Are you going to perform for me tonight?” he asked, his voice deep with longing. Tori's gaze locked onto his, the fire in her eyes igniting the tension that hung in the air.

“Only if you promise to enjoy the show,” Tori replied, her voice sultry and teasing as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin. She could sense the eager anticipation radiating from him, feeding the wild desire swirling within her.

With a smirk, Jude reached out, his hand sliding beneath the fabric of her dress, fingers grazing the skin along her thigh. “I doubt I’ll be able to take my eyes off you,” he murmured, his tone dripping with a primal hunger that sent shivers down her spine.

Tori bit her lip, a rush of exhilaration coursing through her body as she felt the weight of his gaze on her. The way he looked at her, as if she were the only woman in the world, made her feel powerful yet wonderfully vulnerable at the same time. “Good,” she replied, her voice thicker with passion, “because I intend to have you right where I want you.”

With that, she tilted her head back, exposing her neck as if inviting him to claim her. The tension in the air was electric, each heartbeat resonating with the urgency of their desires. Jude took the cue, leaning in, his lips finding her skin, trailing hot kisses from her collarbone to the delicate curve of her jaw.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice a low growl as he pulled her closer, their bodies melding together. There was no one else in that moment, just the two of them—an exquisite blend of lust and desire.

Tori moaned softly, her hands threading through Jude's hair as she tilted her head, giving him better access.

Jude’s hands tightened around her, one gripping her waist while the other explored the softness of her curves as he pulled up her skirt, his hand dipping beneath it.

He reveled in the softness of her skin under his fingertips, each caress igniting a new spark of urgency between them. The thrill of being caught in such an intimate moment was intoxicating, and Tori could feel her heart racing faster as he let his fingers explore further.

Jude’s gaze never left hers, dark and stormy with lust as he traced the contours of her thighs, his fingers brushing teasingly close to where she was most sensitive.

Jude's eyes darkened with desire as his fingers grazed the delicate fabric of her panties, the heat of her body radiating through the thin material. He could feel the dampness gathering, a testament to her arousal, and it only fueled his own hunger.

“You’re fucking soaked,” groaned in awe, pulling her panties aside before he remembered where they were and who they were in the presence of and withdrawing his hand.

Tori whimpered at the loss of contact, her body practically vibrating with pent-up desire. “Jude,” she breathed, eyes pleading and filled with a wild fierceness that matched his own. “Don’t tease me.”

A smirk danced across Jude's lips as he leaned in closer, whispering, “As bad as I want you, my security doesn't need to hear you moan. That's for me only.”

He leaned back for a moment, taking in the sight of her—her hair tousled, cheeks flushed, and those enchanting, captivating eyes burning with a ferocious need. The thrill of being in the back of the car—completely concealed yet utterly exposed—only heightened the intoxicating tension between them.

“Do you like it when I make you wait?” he teased, his voice low and sultry.

“No,” she shot back, a playful defiance in her tone that heated Jude's blood.

“Think about how good it's going to feel when I finally get my hands on you, how good it's going to feel when I open you up and stretch you out.” Jude taunted, his hand less than an inch away from where she craved him most.

Tori gasped at his words, her body instinctively leaning forward, craving that intimate connection. “Jude, please,” she urged, her voice a whisper filled with urgency. “I need you.”

His breath hitched, and the primal spark in his gaze ignited once more. “You want it that badly?” Jude moved even closer, his face mere inches away from hers, letting the heat of his body envelop her. The confined space of the car intensified every sensation, heightening their desires.

“More than anything,” Tori confessed, her eyes locked onto him. Each second that ticked by felt like an eternity, only deepening the tension that entwined them both. Jude's teasing made her ache for his touch, her body humming with anticipation.

“Good,” he replied, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Now take off your thong and give it to me.”

Tori's breath hitched as she processed Jude's command, a blend of exhilaration and obedience sparking to life within her. The air in the car felt thick with longing, her heart racing at the thought of surrendering herself completely to him. She looked into Jude's smoldering gaze, the intensity of his desire matching her own, and she knew in that moment that she was ready to embrace the wild abandon he promised.

With a smirk, she shifted slightly, her fingers teasingly trailing down her thigh until they reached the waistband of her panties. Slowly, she began to peel them away, revealing the softness of her skin inch by inch. The thrill of being so exposed in such a confined space sent waves of heat through her body, igniting her senses as she felt Jude’s gaze burning into her.

“God, you're stunning,” Jude breathed, his voice a low growl laced with desire as he watched her. Tori's cheeks flushed deeper under his watchful eyes, the blush accentuating her ever-growing sense of vulnerability mixed with empowerment.

Once she had removed the delicate fabric she dropped it into Jude’s lap, waiting for his next move.

“We’re almost at the hotel, can you be patient with me?” Jude asked despite the soft timbre of his voice, there was a level of taunting that was evident.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jude reached out and ran a finger along Tori's inner thigh, drawing a soft gasp from her lips. The car pulled up to the hotel entrance and Jude climbed out, offering his hand to help her out, keeping her close as they strode through the lobby, all eyes on them as the security led the way to the elevators.

The doors closed behind them and Jude wasted no time, pulling Tori flush against him, his fingers sliding up her thigh, pushing her dress up as he pressed her against the wall of the elevator, his lips finding hers hungrily. Tori arched into him, her hands gripping his biceps as their tongues tangled, the heat between them building with each passing second.

The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival on their floor. Jude pulled away reluctantly, taking Tori's hand and leading her down the hall to their suite. As soon as the door closed behind them, he had her pressed up against it, his body molding to hers as his lips trailed down her neck.

Tori tilted her head back with a soft moan, her fingers threading through Jude's hair, her body writhing against his. "Jude," she breathed, her voice thick with desire.

Jude's hands roamed her body, mapping out every curve and valley as he kissed down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against her skin, his fingers finding the zipper of her dress and slowly dragging it down.

Tori shivered as the cool air of the suite kissed her newly exposed skin. "I want you," she said simply, her eyes dark and hungry as they locked with him.

As soon as the elevator doors slid open, Jude pulled Tori from it, walking briskly as they made their way to his room, opening the door and pulling her inside, locking her away from the rest of the world as it clicked shut behind them.

Jude wasted no time as he carefully placed Tori on the polished table in the entryway of his suite, the dim light casting soft shadows around them. His breath quickened as he pulled her top off with urgency, revealing her smooth skin. With a determined look, he reached for the waistband of her skirt, his fingers grazing her hip as he slid the fabric down, slowly unveiling her figure. She sat before him, striking and alluring, adorned only in a pair of heels that accentuated the curve of her legs.

Gently easing her legs open, Jude sunk down onto his knees inhaling the scent of her arousal as he came face to face with her pussy.

Tori's breath hitched as Jude's fingers grazed her hip, sending shivers down her spine. She leaned back against the polished table, her eyes locked on his, dark with desire. The cool air of the room kissed her skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within her.

As Jude pulled her closer to the edge, Tori's legs fell open, welcoming him. She bit her lip, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. The sight of him, kneeling before her, his face inches from her most intimate place, made her ache with need.

Before Tori had time to speak, Jude’s mouth was on her—humming against her pussy as he got his first taste of her, something he'd been craving since before they left the hotel earlier that evening.

Tori's hand flew to cover her mouth as she felt Jude's tongue lick from her clit to her entrance and back again, his skilled mouth already working her into a frenzy. A muffled moan escaped her as he flicked her clit, the sensation making her toes curl in her heels.

"Oh, God, Jude," she gasped, her hips canting forward involuntarily. "That feels so perfect."

Tori's free hand fisted in Jude's hair, holding him close as he devoured her. His tongue circled her clit before delving deep, stroking her inner walls. She could feel herself growing wetter, her arousal coating his chin.

"Please, don't stop," she begged, her voice breathy and desperate. "I need you, Jude. I need to feel you inside me."

Tori's thighs trembled as Jude doubled his efforts, his mouth bringing her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter in her core with each swipe of his tongue.

"Stand up and turn around,” Jude instructed as he pulled his face from between her legs and stood to his feet.

Tori's eyes widened as Jude pulled back, his face glistening with her arousal. She sat up slowly, her body humming with need. "Turn around?" she repeated, her voice husky.

Jude nodded, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to play with your body, Tori. I want to see you fall apart for me."

Tori's tongue darted out, wetting her lips. She swung her legs over the edge of the table, standing on shaky legs. Jude's hands gripped her hips, steadying her as she turned and bent over the polished surface.

"Like this?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Jude's groan was her only answer. Tori's hand slid down her body, fingers parting her slick folds. She dipped two digits into her heat, a breathy moan escaping her.

She began to stroke herself, her hips rolling against her hand. Jude's presence behind her spurred her on, his heated gaze burning into her skin. Tori's free hand came up to palm her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers.

"Jude," she whimpered, her movements growing frantic. "I'm so close."

Jude's eyes were transfixed on the erotic display before him, Tori pleasuring herself so freely. He couldn't tear his gaze away, not even for a second. The sight of her fingers pumping in and out of her dripping core, her other hand teasing her breast, was almost too much for him to bear. His cock throbbed painfully in his pants, aching to be buried deep inside her heat.

"You're so perfect," Jude growled, stepping closer to run his hands over the curve of her ass. "Touching yourself like this."

Tori shuddered under his touch, a moan falling from her lips. "I can't help it, Jude. You make me so desperate for you."

Jude's hand smacked against her ass, the sharp sting making her gasp. "You're mine, Tori. This body, this pussy, all mine."

"Yes, yours," she panted, pushing back against his hand. "I'm yours, Jude. Only yours."

Jude's other hand reached around, his fingers tangling with hers where they worked between her legs. "Let me," he commanded, taking over.

Tori's eyes fluttered closed as Jude's fingers replaced hers, his touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her. "Oh God, yes," she moaned, her hips rocking back against his hand. "Just like that, Jude."

Jude's fingers pumped into her, his thumb circling her clit. The obscene sound of her arousal filled the room, mixing with her wanton moans. Tori's breath came in short gasps as Jude worked her higher, his fingers curling inside her to stroke that spot that made her see stars.

"Jude," she whimpered, her walls starting to flutter around his fingers. "I'm going to come. Make me come, Jude. Please."

Jude doubled his efforts, his fingers plunging into her harder, faster. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel this pretty pussy come all over my fingers."

Tori's body tensed, her muscles locking up as her orgasm crashed over her. "Yes, yes, yes!" she cried, her voice echoing off the walls. Her pussy clenched around Jude's fingers, pulsing with her release.

Tori clutched at the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood as she rode out her high. Jude's fingers gentled their movements, stroking her through the aftershocks. She collapsed forward, her cheek pressed against the cool surface, her chest heaving.

"That was... incredible," she panted, a lazy smile spreading across her face as she looked back at Jude as he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the small of her back.

“So are you,” Jude breathed. “Go over to the bed and show me how you want me,” he commanded.

Without the need for any further instructions, Tori stood up on shaky legs, her thighs slipping against each other as she made her way over to the bed, crawling onto it on her hands and knees.

“I want you like this,” she breathed, looking back at him with a sultry gaze, her eyes dark with lust as she slowly wiggled her ass in the air. The sight of her, so wanton and ready, made Jude's cock throb with need.

With a predatory growl, Jude strode over to the bed, his hands gripping her hips as he pressed himself against her. She could feel the heat of him, the hardness of his length nestled between her cheeks. Tori arched her back, pressing her ass more firmly against him.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Jude groaned, his hips rolling forward to grind against her. Tori whimpered, her nails digging into the sheets. She was so empty, aching to be filled by him.

Tori whimpered, her nails digging into the sheets as Jude's hardness nudged against her entrance through his pants. "Please, Jude," she begged, her voice breathy and needy. "I need you inside me."

Jude's hands gripped her hips tighter, his nails biting into her skin. "You want me to fuck this tight little pussy?" he growled, his hips rolling forward to tease her.

"Yes, God, yes," Tori moaned, pushing back against him. "I want to feel every inch of you."

Hastily removing his clothes, jude rolled a condom down his length before joining Tori on the bed, gripping her ass in his hands and he spread her open from behind, making a gasp tumble from her lips.

With a swift thrust of his hips, Jude buried himself inside her, a guttural groan tearing from his throat at the feel of her walls clenching around him. Tori cried out, her back arching as he filled her completely.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Jude grunted, his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their moans of pleasure.

“Your pussy is talking to me,” Jude groaned, his brow furrowed as took Tori from behind, a moan ripping from his throat as he slowly eased his entire length into Tori, seeking the squelch of her wet pussy upon each slow, deep thrust.

She let out a soft gasp as his girth stretched her delicate folds, her walls clenching around his length. Tori's breath hitched as he bottomed out, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with a delicious pressure that had her toes curling and the curve in her spine deepening.

Tori's hips rolled experimentally, a lustful moan spilling from her lips as the movement sent sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

“Can you hear how fucking tight and wet you are?” Jude rasped into her ear, his lips curving into a smirk as he drew the addictive squelching sound he craved from her.

Tori's breath hitched as Jude's thick length stretched her from the inside out, the delicious pressure of his tip kissing her cervix sending jolts of pleasure racing up her spine. She couldn't help but clench around him, her hips rolling experimentally as she savoured the feeling of being so deliciously full.

A lustful moan split from her lips, her back arching brazenly as Jude's deep, measured thrusts coaxed the most addictive sounds from her slick pussy. The nasty squelch of her arousal filled the room, a lewd symphony that had heat pooling low in her stomach.

"Don't hold back, Jude," Tori purred, her voice low and breathy with need. She reached back to palm his thigh, her nails digging into his skin as she urged him on. "I can take it."

Without need for further instruction, Jude gathered Tori's hair into a messy ponytail, using it as leverage to slam into her without remorse.

Tori's breast jolted with each deep thrust as Jude pried her body up from the bed, until her back rested against his firm chest, his free hand finding its place between her legs.

Tori gasped as Jude's fingers found her sensitive clit, her hips bucking back against him greedily. "Oh fuck, yes!" she cried out, her voice high and breathy with need. "Just like that, baby. Don't stop!"

Jude's fingers worked her clit in tight, firm circles, the rough pad of his thumb providing a delicious contrast to her slick, swollen nub. Tori's head fell back against his shoulder, her lust-filled eyes meeting him as he bowed his head to her.

"Look at you," Jude drawled, his voice low and rough with desire as he watched Tori writhe against him, her back arched beautifully as she chased her pleasure. "Such a pretty little body, you're so desperate for my cock."

Tori whimpered, her hips rolling back to meet his thrusts as Jude's fingers worked her clit with ruthless precision. The dual stimulation was too much, the coil of pleasure in her stomach wound tight and ready to snap at any moment.

"Jude, please," she begged, her nails raking down his thighs as she clung to him. "I'm so close. Make me cum, baby."

Jude groaned, his teeth finding the sensitive skin of her neck as he nipped and sucked his way down to her shoulder. "Cum for me, Tori. Let me feel you nut on my cock."

Tori's moan was long and low as her orgasm crashed over her, her walls clenching down around Jude's length as she came apart in his arms. Her body trembled and shook, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her as she rode out her high.

"That's it, beautiful, give yourself to me," Jude whispered softly into her ear.

Tori's breath came in short gasps as the last waves of her orgasm washed over her, her body still trembling with aftershocks. She could feel Jude's cock pulsing inside her, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own release.

"Fuck, Tori, I'm gonna cum," Jude growled against her neck, his hips snapping forward in short, sharp thrusts.

Tori's reply was instant, her movements sluggish as she rolled her hips against him.

Jude let out a guttural moan, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he slammed into her one last time. Tori could feel him swell inside her, his cock throbbing as he found his release. She gasped as she felt his hot seed fill the condom he wore, the sensation triggering a second, smaller orgasm that had her clenching down around him.

They stayed like that for a moment, both lost in the aftershocks of their pleasure. Jude's forehead rested against the back of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he panted.

Landing a stinging slap on the curve of her ass, Jude and Tori hissed in union as he slowly pulled his length from her before sinking onto the bed and pulling Tori with him.

With a satisfied sigh, Tori slowly turned to face Jude, her body aching deliciously in all the right places. She could feel the stretch of him, the sensation both dirty and delicious. Rolling onto her side, Tori propped herself up on one elbow, her free hand coming to rest on Jude's chest as she gazed down at him with a lazy smile.

"Happy New Year," she purred, her voice low and husky from her cries of pleasure. Leaning down, Tori pressed a slow, sensual kiss to the center of Jude's chest, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin.

She felt Jude's chest rumble beneath her as he let out a low, content groan, his hands coming to rest on the curve of her hips.

“Dubai has been fun, but I'm ready to get back to Madrid,” Jude said, his voice laced with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. He looked into Tori's eyes, the warmth of the moment resonating between them.

Tori smirked, leaning back slightly to admire his muscular form. “What’s on your schedule when you get back to Madrid, superstar?” she teased, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on his chest.

“Back to football,” Jude lazily answered, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and seriousness. “But I want to set aside some time for... us.”

Tori raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Us? What exactly would that entail?”

Jude chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Us,” he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “More dates, more spending time together, more getting to know each other.” He reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her skin gently.

“I like the sound of that,” Tori replied, her heartbeat quickening at the thought of more intimate moments shared between them.

Tori and Jude were asleep within minutes of each other , both of them blissfully wrapped in the warmth of the moment they shared, exhausted from the passion that had consumed them.

As dawn broke, the soft golden light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the contours of their bodies tangled together. Jude stirred awake first, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft light and the comforting sensation of Tori lying next to him. He smiled, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, her lips slightly parted in a serene expression that drew him in.

Gently, Jude brushed his fingers along her cheekbone, reveling in the delicate softness of her skin. Tori stirred, her eyelids fluttering open as she sensed his touch. When her hazel eyes met his, her entire face blossomed into a radiant smile.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but laced with the remnants of last night’s excitement.

“Morning, beautiful,” Jude replied, unable to resist leaning down to capture her lips in a soft kiss. It was tender, a promise of what was yet to come, and it sent a thrill through both of them.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Tori asked, her voice still soft and inviting as she nestled closer against him, pulling the sheets over their bodies.

“No, maybe breakfast,” Jude replied lazily, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along her arm. “But I’m happy with doing whatever you want to do.” There was an undeniable allure to the idea of simply existing in this moment, cocooned together in the aftermath of their shared passion.

Tori smiled tiredly, her eyes glimmering with mischief. “Before anything I need to grab some stuff from my room, all I have here is what I wore out last night.”

Jude raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that all? I was hoping to keep you here with me—no clothes required.”

Tori chuckled softly, her cheeks flushing slightly at the implication. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think I’ll feel too comfortable walking around in last night’s outfit.” She pushed herself up, the sheets slipping down her body, revealing more of her luscious curves. Jude's gaze flickered to her exposed skin, igniting the familiar hunger within him.

“Come with me,” Tori suggested, her voice sultry and playful, as she stood and reached for a robe draped over a chair. She slipped it on, tying the fabric snugly around her waist before turning back to Jude, who sat up, his eyes tracing her every movement.

“Lead the way,” Jude replied, his tone teasing as he threw the sheets off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He followed her, a mixture of eagerness and possessiveness thrumming beneath his skin.

As they walked down the hallway together, the air thrummed with anticipation. Tori glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What if our paths cross with someone in the hall?”

Jude stepped closer, his shoulder bumping against hers as they approached the door to her room. “I wouldn’t mind giving them a show,” he said, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. “Besides, I could always distract you.”

Tori chuckled but felt her pulse quicken at the thought. The very idea of being seen together like this, their connection raw and unfiltered, was exhilarating. As she opened the door to her room, Tori's breath caught in her throat.

On the table in the room's entryway was a huge bouquet of flowers, a beautiful combination of roses and lilies.

The vibrant colors seemed to shine even in the soft morning light, filling the room with a sweet fragrance that enveloped them. But it was the card tucked into the flowers that made Tori’s heart race—the handwriting unrecognizable, although her curiosity was put to bed upon reading the note.

Tori, I hope your year is as beautiful as you - Alex

“Alex,” she breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper as she turned to look at Jude, his brows furrowing as he stepped closer to her, peering over her shoulder at the arrangement.

“The guy from the other night?” he asked, a slight edge of jealousy creeping into his voice.

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