#off the kerb

[snappingthewalls]

[leclercskiesahead]

Carlos Sainz - Brazil GP 2024

[edkerberos]

not a req just wanted 2 say i love ur artstyle + the way u do lineart so much!!

Aw thank you so much!!! i've definitely grown fond of the way i draw lines as well :') it makes me happy to hear that other people like it as well...!

[nyehhh-hh]

Didn't he exceed track limit there?

[qyriaha]

haven't felt this employed in ever

[quarterpastmidnight]

@potter-solomons Well fuck.

Love, someone who can't for the life of her walk in fucking heels 😆

It’s a fetish. I love classic, elegant women’s shoes. I find them incredibly sexy. High heels. Not just a stripper shoe but maybe a Louboutin or Jimmy Choo. Tom Hardy for Attitude.

I also have a fetish for women’s heels. I went to the Cartier polo this year. It was crazy. Full of posh women in high heels and pencil skirts dancing to “Goldigger”. I had no idea what to do. Tom Hardy for InStyle.

I’ve got loads of trainers : Air Force Ones, Air Max, Jordan Fives… but what I really like is women’s shoes. Strappy heels and all that… I’m always looking out for women’s shoes. I buy my agent shoes. Tom Hardy for Esquire.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Shut Me Up

Summary: years after falling out, her, Aemond and the friend group take a summer trip to their Dornish villa, where real intentions make themselves known | word count: 9.2k | warnings: smut, choking, hair pulling, spanking, enemies to lovers ish, swearing, mentions of marijuana use, fingering

A/N: didn't mean to post this on the Mitchelly man's birthday but here we are. A little smutty number in celebration of my seasonal depression cured. And for this fic let's pretend they're all not related, mmk

She thought it'd stay in the group chat, like most of their holiday plans.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for some, it had somehow materialised into a long weekend away on the white sand Dornish beaches. Her bank account was not particularly happy, but the promise of endless sun, cocktails, friends and fun, would just about make up for it, she supposed.

As the only one with a credit card that wasn't maxed out, she rented the hire van for the six hour road trip it would take to get to the villa. She tried, often, to persuade Baela or Helaena into driving. But the former insisted on doing her makeup in the passenger seat for the first leg of the journey, and the latter, well, she'd likely be handing out the space brownies in the back seat.

So it was decided, in the end, Baela would pick up the second half of the drive. She prayed, for the sake of her deposit, that the roads were clear.

The force at which Rhaena threw her overnight bag at her nearly knocked all the wind out of her, “fuck me, Rhae, the hell is in this thing?”

“What? I need to bring aftersun, painkillers, first aid kit, blister patches—”

Baela snorts, brushing past her anxious twin to stuff her bag in the boot of the van, “Rhaena’s brain doesn't know the difference between having a gun to her head and being unprepared.”

“At least you pack lightly,” she smirks, raising a brow, trying her best to shove the luggage aside to fit.

Jace was quick to follow out, his flip flops unabashedly falling to pieces, clad in khaki shorts and a white shirt. She'll never get her head around what Baela sees in him. Sure he's funny, attractive, but he dresses like he's done it in the dark and it's still the early 2000s.

She watches as Helaena and Aegon squabble for the house keys to lock up, having hosted Jace, Baela and Rhaena the night before in preparation for the trip. Luke and Daeron, as fun as they are to have around, are too young for a trip like this. And it's probably for the better anyway, knowing the history between Aemond and Luke. The incident that nobody really dares to talk about.

Helaena beamed, eyes tinged pink from either sun or something stronger as she clambered into the back of the van in a boho white dress. There was an easy air about everything. An excitement that cut through the humid air that billowed off the concrete pavements. The sort you only get from going on holiday.

And Aegon, well.

He's Aegon.

He winks, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes, “hey babe.”

“Absolutely fucking not, Aegon. Get in the van.”

He feigns disappointment, “you're breaking my fucking heart.”

“You'll live.”

Aegon snacks Helaena's arm to budge up a space and plonks himself right in the middle seat, stretching his legs out only to annoy Rhaena in the seat in front.

“Who's ready for a road trip!” Helaena squealed excitedly.

Baela laughed, glancing back over Jace’s arm that was around her shoulders, “are you high already?”

“Excuse you, I am perfectly sober.”

“She's high,” Rhaena added, barely looking up from her phone.

She bit back a laugh, and was about to ask where the last passenger was, always late but hey, reliably late. But he appeared before she had the chance to utter the words.

Aemond.

He walked towards the van with the usual effortless arrogance, duffel bag shoved over his shoulder, silver hair pulled into a lazy knot. He was dressed in all black because of course he was. Even if it was nearly 40 degrees Celsius and hot enough to fry an egg on the kerb.

To be fair, she'd not seen him in a while, so she looked him up and down, and he was, if not a little bit taller than the last time she saw him. And the scar that lined through his brow, through his eye and down his cheek was almost silvery in the midday sun.

Aside from that, he was still the most raging twat she'd ever met.

For the slightest second, their gazes met, but he was first to look away. No smirk. No greeting. Just the cold, unreadable calm. 

“Here he is, our favourite brooder,” Aegon laughed.

Aemond exhaled through his nose, sighing into the last seat at the very back and tucking his bag between his feet, “shut up, Aegon.”

Aegon grinned, clapping him on the shoulder, “Gods I missed this family dynamic. It's so fucking healthy.”

She pretended to instead be interested with how to turn the headlights on and off, even though she wouldn't need them on the six hour drive. Boot closed, engine roaring and everyone, well…nearly everyone, squealed ‘let’s go!’.

The inside of the car smelled like sun cream, salty crisps, and whatever questionable concoction Aegon had decided to mix into his oversized tumbler. The air-conditioning was on full blast, fighting against the relentless Dornish heat.

Helaena, currently high as hell of a ‘brownie’, was sprawled out like a sun-dazed lizard, arms stretched above her head, blinking lazily at the passing scenery.

Aegon chuckled, “how many did you eat, Hel?”

Helaena giggled, “like…one and a half. But they were big,” she raised her fingers like she was measuring something ridiculous.

She looked in the rear-view mirror as a car behind them overtook them on the dual carriageway, and caught eyes with Aemond, who had his noise cancelling headphones on. The blue of one eye and the misty grey of the other made her heart leap as they clocked on hers, however briefly. And Baela certainly noticed how hard she gripped the steering wheel.

Aemond looked largely the same, lean but built, sharp features, all arrogance albeit silent. And though his hair was tied back, a few strands were loose. And she hated that she noticed.

It had been years since the falling out.

It was a terrible mix. They were teenagers. Had a bit to drink, when the tolerance was horrific. Followed by a very public argument at one of his family gatherings that ended in her calling him a ‘pretentious, controlling asshole’. And well, the rest was history. They existed whenever the friend group got together, each too stubborn to force the friendship group to adjust to their spat, but she avoided him all the same.

For the record she still thought he was all of the above.

The drive was quiet but long. And between Helaena's spaced-out ramblings, Jace’s terrible choice in music and Rhaena complaining she needed to pee, Baela took it upon herself to find a service station to stop up. And as soon as the handbrake was up, the doors flew open and they all rushed out like a chaotic clown car act.

The station was nothing special, some off-brand fast food places and a tiny shop for snacks and drinks. But it would do. She hopped out the drivers side and down the side of the van, bristling when Aemond climbed out his side and they brushed shoulders.

He smirked, “relax, I'm not going to bite.”

All she could do was shake her head and throw a face of disgust that Baela certainly didn't miss, “are you two still at it?” she asked, amused, “this has been going on for years. Honestly impressive at this point.”

She rolled her eyes, watching as Aemond stalked off behind Aegon to the shop, “I don’t have the energy to argue with someone who thinks he’s better than everyone else just because he reads philosophy books and drives like he’s in a Fast and Furious movie.”

Aemond didn't go inside, he leaned on the wall, stoking up a cigarette, the lazy smoke dwindling from his lips into the hazy Dornish air. She hated the way he was just so effortlessly nonchalant, like he belonged in an black and white movie.

“You’re staring,” Baela said, voice laced with amusement.

She tore her gaze away, scowling, “I am not.”

Baela hummed knowingly, “suuuure. You know, if you just fucked it out, all this tension would be gone.”

She choked through a sip of water, “Baela—”

“What? I’m just saying,” she shrugged, smirking, “I mean, I don’t even think he hates you as much as you think he does.”

She scoffed, “please. We’ve been at each other’s throats since we were kids. Aemond thrives on making my life miserable.”

“Or,” Baela drawled, “he thrives on getting under your skin because he likes your reaction.”

She rolled her eyes, but her face felt hot, was she getting a sunburn? “We’re not having this conversation.”

“Fine, fine,” she relented, then, casually, she added, “by the way, I heard he and Alys broke up. Months ago.”

That made her freeze.

Baela watched her expression closely, like she was waiting for a reaction. She forced a neutral shrug, stuffing her hands into her pockets, “and?”

“And,” she smirked, “you’re pretending you don’t care.”

Did she care? Really?

“I'm going to pretend we didn't have this conversation.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Baela laughed without a care as Rhaena bounded back up to them with a handful of snacks. Aegon and the rest weren't far behind.

Aegon groaned, “thank the gods I was about to gnaw my own arm off.”

“I don’t know how you’re hungry,” she replied, eyeing him, “you inhaled half a bag of crisps like ten minutes ago.”

“I'm a growing boy,” he winked. Making the others gag.

Mercifully, nothing more was said on the matter. She simply graced the spot where Baela had been sat, had her snacks and let her drive the rest of the way. Rolling down her window, she let her hand rest out of it, the warm, dull air flowing through her fingers. Blissfully ignorant of her nemesis in the back seat.

She knew their dad was rich but Viserys’ obnoxiously sized villa was so endless it bordered on ridiculous. It was perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of sea, with a white, sandy beach sprawling at the foot of it.

The villa was no eyesore either. It's sunbleached patios, white stone walls and glass doors all reflected the shimmer of the sunlight on the water. And despite having the literal sea at your feet, the pool sat beneath the balcony, wide, deep and perfectly maintained.

Viserys Targaryen never did anything by halves.

Aegon whistled, “fuck me, I knew the old man had money, but taste?”

Helaena pushed by him, bag in tow, “I get the biggest room!”

“No you fucking don't—” Aegon called, running after her like a child.

She stretched her legs, hopping out of the van and inhaling the warm, salty sea air. The view was ridiculous, and a natural staircase made of stone led down the side towards the private beach.

Baela nudged her arm, “this is amazing.”

She nodded, “despite the company, this trip might be bearable.”

Aemond, audibly, trudged past with his duffel bag, lazily making his way into the villa with a smirk as if he'd heard.

Yep. Bearable.

Everyone was too exhausted to do anything but dump their bags in their rooms and laze around the pool. That, and raiding the kitchen for all the food.

By the time the sun had dipped below the horizon, everyone had found their spots and Jace and Aegon were already three beers deep and failing to pot anything at the pool table. She had found herself with the girls poolside, nursing a bottle as they dipped their feet in the cool water.

“We're all waking up early for the beach,” Rhaena declared, loud enough for Aegon to groan.

She laughs, the water rippling around her legs, “what are we doing swimsuit-wise? Practical or hot?”

“Hot.”

“Hot!”

Rhaena and Baela answered simultaneously.

“Hey I've seen you in the bikini, you'll give someone a heart attack,” Baela grinned.

“Shut up.”

Maybe it wasn't heart attack worthy, but the bikini certainly was something. It had honestly felt like she'd lived a lifetime since last seeing herself in swimwear, the seasonal depression had done no favours there. But now, looking at herself in the mirror, she nodded and pulled her hair away from her face, lathering herself with sun cream before attempting the blazing Dornish midday.

“Gods, if I were gay,” Baela whistled from where she sat on the bed, a dark blue translucent shawl tucked over her shoulders.

She rolled her eyes with a snort, “please, you'll be gushing in thirty seconds about how Jace looks in knee length shorts.”

“Hey. Knee length shorts gets some girls going, okay?”

Rhaena scoffs, white streaks of half-rubbed in sun cream glazing her cheeks, “just you, sis.”

Yep, definitely just you, she thinks.

She'd underestimated the beach. It was gorgeous, idyllic, in fact there weren't enough words. It was just secluded enough to feel private, and nobody wasted any time in making use of it. 

Some jumped head first into the waves, tackling and splashing. Aegon had brought with him a garish purple lilo, which Jace found great pleasure in flipping over occasionally, dunking Aegon and whatever drink he was holding into the turquoise water.

Even Aemond, who usually abstained from these sort of activities, had shed his shirt and waded lazily into the water, the sun somewhat reflecting off his sun-cream glistened skin.

She hated that she noticed.

Even more, she hated the way the water made his hair a shade darker, how the drops of water ran down his chest—

No. No. Nope.

She leaned back on the sun bed, pushing her hat over her eyes, willing the image out of her mind as quick as it had come. And the first day passed quickly. She'd dipped in the sea, yes, but not the boyish, rowdy behaviour that the boys and even Helaena were sporting. Most of it was spent lounging, relaxing.

Burning.

Gods, a lot of burning.

By the time night-time had rolled around, her shoulders were pink, mirrored with a dusty line across her cheeks and nose. The ticklish sensation hadn't kicked in yet. That was tomorrow her’s problem.

Right now, all she needed was a nice cold shower and peace.

And peace she found. The villa fell into an easy, relaxed quiet. Somewhere down the hall Aegon was giggling drunkenly, Baela was probably spooning Jace and she could fear the faint sound of TV through Helaena's bedroom.

She padded barefoot across the cool tiles, pushing open the balcony doors that graced one side of her room. The breeze crept in, welcome and warm on her skin, just enough to let in the salty scent in the air.

She mindlessly rubbed the back of her neck where the bikini top had made its tan line. Or what would eventually be a tan line anyway, right now it looked more scarlet. Staring out, the flickering lights of nearby villages blinked in the distance, sparkling along the peninsula where the villa sat atop.

The reflection of the lit pool below caught her eye, and she felt her throat tighten at the sight. Swimming, in the dark and illuminated only by the cool lights beneath the water, was Aemond, cutting through the water with lazy, practiced strokes.

He was alone. Quiet. And ashamed to say he looked good.

The thought came before it could be stopped, but once it was there it took root, and an immediate scowl crept to her face at her weakness. 

His bare shoulders gleamed under the tempered light, lean, toned frame moving through the water with a silent grace. The water had made his hair slicked back, revealing the cut of his jaw, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Aemond ran his hands over his face, leaning back with a sigh to dip his hair back into the water. Her heart nearly leapt through her chest as his gaze lifted to her on the balcony, catching her watching him.

Shit.

Her stomach twisted, heat crept up her neck and it absolutely wasn't sunburn. She could do nothing more than just pretend she wasn't watching him, so she turned on her heel, and slid back inside her room, holding the balcony doors shut with her heart rate going a mile a minute.

She could feel his gaze as she shut the door. Could imagine his expression too, smug bastard. 

Mouth suddenly dry, she pulled her shawl around her tighter and made for the kitchen, needing something to take away this aftertaste. Grumbling and sighing, she scolded herself, barely even at the cupboard before she spotted him.

He was standing by the fridge, bottle of water in hand, in nothing more than the shorts he was wearing to swim resting low on his hips. His hair was still damp, but some bits curled around his face, and she hoped he hadn't seen the way she noticed the slightest ‘v’ that disappeared below the waistband.

He turned, perfectly calm, as if he hadn't just caught her staring for the second time in ten minutes.

“Can't sleep?”

She crossed her arms, looking off, “needed water.”

He laughed once, breathy, and threw the water he was holding to her, which she caught with her other hand as it slipped through her fingers. 

“Thanks.”

The moment stretched. 

She only watched from her periphery as Aemond grabbed another from the fridge, and twisted off the cap. She had luckily resisted the urge to watch him bring it to his lips and down half as if he was parched.

No sooner had she bought the bottle to her own lips.

“You keep looking at me like that.”

She nearly choked on her water.

Her fingers tightened around the bottle, crinkling under the pressure as she turned to glare at him. “Like what?”

His eye flickered, taking her in with slow, assessing amusement. “You tell me.”

Her breath hitched, and she hated that her body betrayed her, the way her thighs tensed slightly, the way her fingers curled. Aemond noticed. Of course he did.

She rolled her eyes, masking the heat creeping up her neck, “you’re delusional.”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his water, his smirk never fading.

“Sure,” he murmured.

Rolling her eyes came naturally, “I still don’t know why you even came on this trip.”

Aemond raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She scoffed. “Because you hate me.”

He tilted his head, considering her, his smirk turning thoughtful. “And what gave you that idea?”

She drained the bottle and crushed it with her palm, annoyance brewing, and she saw the amused quirk of his brow, “oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you’ve spent the last few years acting like I’m the most insufferable person in existence?”

“You're not insufferable,” he chuckled, “maybe a bit, actually.”

She blinked, “excuse me?”

He shrugged, “I never said I hated you.”

She let out a dry laugh, “right. So all those times you went out of your way to argue with me? That wasn’t hatred?”

“I think you’re confusing hatred with enjoyment.”

She stomach flipped. No. Nope. Absolutely not.

She pointed a finger at him, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

That tone. That fucking tone. The one that was both amused and knowing, the one that made her face heat up against her will.

Aemond tilted his head, his voice dropping just slightly. “If I hated you,” he said, “I wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

She stared at him. The smirk had slipped from his lips. The teasing tone gone. Fuck. 

There was something in his gaze that was something else entirely and she wasn't sure she wanted the flip of her tummy to tell her what it was. She swallowed hard. And before she did or said something stupid, turned on her heel and left to the sanctuary of her room.

And he let her.

A lazy morning was needed for most to sleep off the sunburns and drinks, but for her, she needed the lie in just to avoid running into Aemond as much as possible.

So with the day ahead, they'd decided to go to Sunspear Old Village, a collection of independent restaurants, shops and bakeries. The drive was short, but the difference between the villa and the sprawling village side streets was immediate.

The atmosphere was exciting, sunny, citrus and salt, vendors calling out for customer's attention. Markets lined the stoned path, freshly baked goods, colourful fabrics and handcrafted jewellery.

She and Baela lagged behind, a large sunhat on both their heads to shield from the unyielding sun, taking their time weaving through the stalls, oo-ing and ah-ing at the various Dornish wares.

One particular stall was everything she liked. Handmade jewellery of all golden hues, one worker was moulding a ring into shape and another was placing stencils against thinly laid gold and striking it with a mallet.

The one she liked was a small, golden sun pendant. Dark gold. Delicate and yet striking despite its simple design. The metal was hammered in small indents, and she marvelled at the craftsmanship with her fingertip over the surface.

“You should get it,” Baela insisted.

She tilted her head, “hm, I could but…don't really need it, and I didn't exchange enough money.”

“Since when did you need an excuse to buy jewellery?”

She grinned at Baela, glancing back at Aemond and Helaena as they toddled behind. The taller man had his hands in his pockets, sighing as his sister dragged him into yet another stall. 

She swore she caught his gaze on her, for a split second.

Baela was too observant for her own good. “You are so fucking obvious.”

“What?”

“I heard you two talking last night.”

She nearly choked on air, “what the hell, Baela—”

She snorted a laugh, pulling her sunhat over her eyes, “I wasn't eavesdropping! I just wanted a glass of water when I heard—” she straightened her back, puffing out her chest, “you keep looking at me like that.”

She gasped, smacking her arm, “Baela!”

She laughed, dodging herr second hit. "Oh, come on! That was the most tension I’ve ever heard in my life. I thought you two were about to—"

"Don’t. Even. Finish. That. Sentence."

Baela just smirked, eyes twinkling. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

She huffed, opening her mouth to fire back–

A flash of white and gold hurtled between them, and Helaena, her dress swishing around her shins, beamed up, “look!” she exclaimed, vibrating with excitement as she presented a gold charm in her palm, “it’s a scorpion!”

Neither of them could hide their amusement. 

“Hel, of all the things to buy,” Baela smirked.

Helaena just grinned, unbothered, “scorpions are lucky,” she said matter-of-factly. 

She laughed a little, half in amusement and half because it must be nice to see the bright side of everything, “of course you’d find something weirdly meaningful.”

Hel clutched it happily, “I’m going to put it on my keychain.”

She exchanged looks with Baela, who simply shrugged. Helaena was Helaena.

And then, as if she could sense the conversation she had just interrupted, she tilted her head at her, blinking dreamily. “Are you flirting with Aemond?”

And all it took was Baela barking out into fits of laughter for her to roll her eyes, pretend those words hadn’t just come out of Helaena’s mouth and jog forwards to Rhaena instead, who mercifully was blissfully unaware of anything going on with the aforementioned Targaryen.

She and the girls had taken it upon themselves to bring down some food from the kitchen as well as the fire pit, nestling it into the sand and pulling their shawls over their shoulders to stay off the chill once the sun had dipped with the temperature.

Aegon, as expected, was putting on a show. The moment the flames came to life, he thumped his chest like a deranged caveman, grinning wildly, waiting for laughter that never came.

Baela, unimpressed but entertained, simply lifted her phone. Flash. Click. Post.

Aegon froze mid-motion, the colour draining from his face. “Baela. Delete that.”

She smirked, tucking her phone away. “Nope.”

“I will literally die if that’s on the internet.”

“It’s already on Instagram.”

With a loud groan, Aegon flopped backward into the sand, arms outstretched in defeat. Baela only grinned, her attention shifting to the half-empty bottle beside her. “Oh, fuck, we’re out of vodka.”

She nestled herself closer to Jace, clearly not intending to move.

From across the fire, she scoffed. “I’ll get some, you lazy fuckers.”

Aegon half-heartedly saluted, “brave of you. I wouldn’t make it up those stairs sober, let alone drunk.”

He wasn’t wrong. The private staircase leading up to the villa was steep and unforgiving, and this was, what, her fourth time climbing it today? With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up, the warmth of the fire lingering against her skin as she stepped away from the group.

By the time she reached the top, she paused, catching her breath, turning toward the horizon.

The sea stretched out endlessly, dark and gleaming, with a sliver of gold and baby blue still clinging to the edge of the sky where the sun had disappeared.

I could get used to this.

Even if she had to endure him.

Shaking the thought away, she slipped through the villa doors, heading straight for the kitchen. It was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the night settling around her. She barely made it three steps before a voice cut through the silence.

“Thirsty?”

She jumped, nearly knocking over a glass. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she spun around, eyes landing on Aemond. He stood near the counter, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable, except for the faintest trace of a smirk. But it wasn’t just the way he looked at her that made her pulse jump. It was how he looked.

His silver hair was damp, strands curling slightly at the ends, still clinging to the warmth of a recent shower. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt, just a pair of low-hanging black shorts, his skin catching the dim glow of the kitchen lights, casting shadows over the sharp lines of his stomach, the cut of his collarbone.

She swallowed, gripping the vodka bottle a little tighter than necessary.

He was insufferable.

He was annoying.

And yet–

“Didn’t take you for the helpful type,” she muttered, turning back to the cabinet, refusing to look at him for too long.

A quiet chuckle left his lips, “I wasn’t waiting for you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Her jaw tightened. “Didn’t say you were. Just stop lurking around waiting to frighten me, would you.”

Aemond leaned against the counter, watching her with that same unreadable expression. She didn’t know what he was looking for, what he was waiting for, but it was irritating. She set the vodka bottle down on the counter with a dull thud, crossing her arms as she turned to face him fully. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get from this.”

“From what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely, “you know exactly what. You’re acting like we never fell out. But we did, Aemond. You should hate my guts.”

Aemond resisted the urge to outright laugh. The truth was, they had never fallen out. Not in his mind. Oh, they had argued. Gods, had they argued. She had called him pretentious, insufferable, a controlling asshole. He had thrown words back just as easily, his own cutting remarks meant to frustrate her, rile her up, get her to fight him harder. 

He liked that she didn’t hold back, that she met him blow for blow, insult for insult. Still does.

Aemond exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, “you’re still talking to me.”

She scoffed. “Like I have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

Something in her chest twisted at that, but she refused to let it show. She rolled her eyes, reaching for the vodka bottle and tucking it under her arm. “Whatever game you’re playing, Aemond, find someone else to play it with.”

She left the kitchen without another word, gripping the vodka bottle tighter than necessary as she made her way back down the endless stone steps to the beach. The sea breeze hit her as soon as she reached the bottom, cool and briny, doing little to chase away the strange heat in her chest.

You always have a choice.

She scowled, shoving the thought aside as she rejoined the group, dropping the bottle into Baela��s waiting hands. “There,” she muttered, sinking back onto the blanket, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. “Now stop making me do all the work.”

Baela grinned, already unscrewing the cap. “You’re a hero.”

The fire burned low, casting a warm glow against their sun-kissed faces, flickering against the edges of the waves. She barely noticed Aemond’s arrival until he was lowering himself onto the sand a few feet away, silent, as always, but technically, next to her.

Unlike earlier, he had thrown on a loose button-down, the top few buttons left undone, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and collarbone. His silver hair was still damp, stray strands falling over his sharp features. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged in the firelight, the shadows playing over the angles of his face.

Stop that.

Baela poured out shots, handing them around. “To questionable decisions and even worse hangovers.”

Jace groaned. “We are so fucked tomorrow.”

The alcohol burned, but she welcomed it, letting the warmth spread through her veins, dulling the tension in her shoulders. One shot became two. Then three.

And then, somewhere between Aegon trying to wrestle Jace into the sand and Rhaena doing drunken cartwheels again, the conversation took a sharp turn.

“Oh, I know what we should talk about,” Aegon declared suddenly, tossing an empty bottle into the sand.

Baela groaned. “If you say kinks, I swear to the gods—”

“Kinks.”

Jace put his face in his hands. “Fucking hell.”

Aegon smirked, completely unrepentant. “Come on. We’ve been drinking. There are no rules. Let’s make this interesting.”

Rhaena laughed, shaking her head. “This is already a terrible idea.”

Baela smirked. “Fine. But you go first, since you brought it up.”

Aegon leaned back on his hands, completely unbothered. “Easy. Hair pulling, spanking, and—”

“Enough.” Jace groaned. Helaena fake gagged, shaking her head.

One by one, everyone went around, rattling off their preferences with varying degrees of amusement or reluctance.

And then it was her turn.

She hesitated. “Pass.”

Baela raised a brow. “No passes.”

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders, acting unfazed. “It’s not even that interesting.”

“Then it should be easy to say,” Baela countered, smirking.

She took a sip of her drink, then, with a casual shrug, said, “Choking.”

It wouldn’t have gotten such a reaction if it were anyone else, but Aemond, fucking chuckled. She turned her head sharply, only to find him watching her, smirking slightly, his gaze dark with something unreadable.

“What?” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended.

“Nothing,” he grinned behind the bottle he was nursing.

“No, go on, what’s so funny?”

Aemond tilted his head, studying her, his smirk growing the slightest bit sharper. “I just don’t think you’d let someone get their hands on you like that,” he murmured.

Her pulse spiked.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the heat of the fire, maybe it was just him, but she felt it, the way the air shifted, the way the space between them suddenly felt far too small. Luckily, the others swiftly got bored of their verbal sparring. A small relief. But it made her feel at least like everyone wasn’t zeroed in on what they were talking about.

She scoffed, leaning back and burying her palms in the sand, “and you’re an expert.”

“I don’t think you’d let someone do it properly.”

Despite the crackle of…something, in the air. The alcohol had not only made her wavy, but braver. And she met his gaze with her chin up, “and you think you could?”

Aemond exhaled a quiet laugh, setting his drink down beside him. 

“I don’t think. I know.”

Her lips parted, something thrumming hot under her skin, crawling up her spine. She pushed it away quickly, her eyes lazy and challenging, “yeah right, as if–”

Her lips snapped shut when she felt it, unhurried, his hand curling around her neck. Not tight. Not rough. Just enough to feel it. Just enough to make her breath catch. Her entire body went rigid, heat pooling at the base of her spine, her pulse hammering against the cage of her ribs.

His fingers rested lightly over her throat, long and steady, the faintest pressure applied in a way that was taunting. Testing. Aemond watched her reaction carefully, his gaze dark and focused, thumb resting just below her jaw, brushing over the sensitive skin, feeling the thrum of her heart at her pulse point. She swallowed, and he felt it.

His lips curled slightly. "See?" His voice was low, smug, dangerous. "That's how you'd want it."

Her breath was shallow, a sharp contrast to the cool sea air around them. She willed herself to react, to do something, anything,  but her body wasn’t cooperating.

Aegon groaned loudly, “gods, just fuck already.”

The spell snapped.

Aemond pulled away, slow and deliberate, and she ripped her gaze from him, shaking herself back to reality. "Shut up, Aegon," she muttered, rolling her eyes, though her voice was noticeably weaker.

She glanced around, seeing that most were preoccupied. Thank the gods for vodka. But even as the conversation shifted, as Aegon moved on to some other stupid drunken tangent, her body still felt the ghost of Aemond's touch. Still burned with it.

She stole a glance at him beneath her lashes.

He was still watching her.

By the time they all stumbled back to the villa, buzzed from the alcohol, sunburnt from the day, and far too aware of the tension still crackling between her and Aemond, she knew she was in trouble.

Everyone was dispersing into their rooms, peeling off damp clothes and sand-covered swimsuits, muttering about showers and food. And her shower was swift and much needed, though the lukewarm water stung slightly at the red patch on her shoulder blades. She threw on a long shirt to sleep in to keep the sensitive skin off the sheets.

A soft knock though, froze her. In her gut, she already knew it was him. But it wasn’t gratifying in the least when she opened the door and confirmed she was correct. He leaned against the doorframe, as if he had all the time in the world, still wearing the loose linen button down shirt and shorts, though it was only now she noticed the chain sat at his throat.

She sighed, exasperated, but with a dull, needing ache she didn’t want to admit, “what do you want, Aemond.”

Aemond exhaled a quiet laugh. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, kicking the door closed. She stepped back automatically, breath hitching.

“Tell me to leave,” he murmured, his voice dark and even, like he already knew she wouldn’t.

The words balanced on her lips. But the heat between them was too thick, too heavy, and the ghost of his touch still lingered against her throat.

So she didn’t.

And the second she didn’t tell him to fuck off, she knew she was losing a game before it even started. Aemond crowded her as she backed up, almost casually, but there was nothing at all casual about the way he was looking at her. The way he was closing this distance as if he could predict how it would end. There was intent in every movement.

She echoed herself, “what do you want, Aemond.”

His smirk was expected but still made her stomach flip all the same, “I think we both know the answer to that.”

The air thickened, wrapping around her like smoke, suffocating. She should stop this. She should push him away. She should. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed perfectly still as Aemond reached for her, tilting her chin up with two fingers.

"Say it," he murmured, and her eyes flickered to his mouth as he uttered the words.

She swallowed, throat dry. “Say what?”

His thumb dragged along her jawline, slow, teasing. "That you want me to touch you."

Her lips parted, a breath escaping. Humiliation and arousal tangled together, tightening in her chest, her stomach, lower.

She hated him. She wanted him.

And that was exactly why she finally whispered.

"Touch me."

His smirk disappeared, the fight leaving him. And then he did.

His lips crashed against hers, swallowing her gasp as his grip tightened around her jaw, backing her against the door. The force of it made her lips part, and Aemond wasted no time in taking advantage of it. He kissed her like he was claiming something, like he’d been waiting for this, waiting for her to give in. His tongue brushed against hers, demanding, teasing, and the moment she kissed him back with the same hunger, his hand wrapped around her throat. 

Not hard enough to cut off air, just enough to remind her that it was there.

A soft, desperate sound escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Aemond smirked against her mouth, pulling back just enough to murmur, "So you do like it."

She glared at him, breathless, dizzy with want. "Shut up."

His fingers tightened, just slightly. Her pulse jumped and she tugged him back to her by his shirt, back to her lips, Aemond groaned, deep and low, before pulling back and flipping her around, her front pressed against the door, his chest flush against her back. Even like this, she could feel him strained against her backside, and it only made her want to push her hips, see how far she could push him too.

His hand slipped up her shirt, on the bare skin of her stomach, and she froze and melted at the same time. She felt him exhale against her neck at the touch, before sliding the tips of his fingers against the waistband of her underwear. 

"Tell me you want it," he murmured against her ear.

Her breath came out shaky and she hated it, “Aemond—”

His fingers slipped lower, teasing, hovering exactly where she needed him. "Tell me," he repeated, dangerously patient.

She clenched her jaw, her body already thrumming. “I want it.”

Aemond’s chuckle was dark and satisfied. "Good girl."

His hand slipped beneath, past the barrier of her underwear, and the moment his fingers met her slick heat, his breath caught. Her lips parted, choking on air it seemed, her eyes slipping shut as he took his time.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice rough, "so fucking wet."

She bit her lip hard to stop herself from making a sound, but then he pressed his fingers against her clit, slow and deliberate, and she shuddered.

“Don’t be shy now,” Aemond murmured, lips grazing her neck, his other hand coming to her jaw to tilt her face towards him.

She nearly whimpered when he circled his fingers against her, slow, teasing, in complete control. The pressure was just enough to drive her insane, but not enough to push her over the edge. And then he did something dangerous. His hand tightened around her throat at the exact moment he slipped a finger inside her.

Her knees buckled.

"Aemond—"

Her body met him with infuriatingly little resistance, and Aemond seemed to revel in the warmth of her, how tight she seemed around one digit alone. And she just knew he was thinking about something else. How she might feel around him.

He groaned, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eye dark, jaw tight, lips parted like he was barely holding himself together. “You’re fucking perfect," he muttered.

Then, without warning, he added a second finger. She gasped, pressing back against him, his name slipping past her lips in a breathless, wrecked moan.

Aemond grinned, pressing his lips to her shoulder, her neck. "That’s it," he murmured. “Take it.”

Pressed between the door and Aemond was an unfortunate predicament. Unable to move, she could only stand there and take it, his long, deft fingers pressing up into her forcefully and crooking forwards, searching for her sweet spot with an almost obsessive attitude. But equally, so close to the door, to the hallway outside, she had no choice but to press her lips together and be quiet, despite his wish for her not to be.

He wanted people to hear.

She felt the slow, forceful grind of his fingers deep inside her, not thrusting in and out, but pressing, pushing, curling, rubbing against that spot that made her body tremble, made her breath hitch. Aemond moved his fingers in deep, slow circles, stretching her from the inside, coaxing out pleasure with cruel precision. Every shift of his hand sent shockwaves up her spine, her walls gripping around him tight, desperate, needy.

His thumb dragged against her clit, matching the pressure of his fingers inside her, not flicking or teasing, pressing down firmly, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

"Fuck—" the word tore from her throat, raw and uncontrolled, her hips jerking forward into his touch. And at the friction against his aching arousal, he almost whined.

But Aemond hummed, pleased. “Good girl.”

His voice sent heat licking down her spine, pooling low in her stomach. Her head fell back, her body tightening, burning, spiralling toward something devastatingly sharp.

"Aemond—" her voice was wrecked, breathless. He groaned, like hearing her like this did something to him, like it unravelled him, too.

His hand at her throat tightened slightly, tilting her head back as his lips grazed her jaw. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

She could only nod, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel. The pleasure coiled tighter, deeper, spreading outward, her thighs trembling around his hand. Her body snapped, shattering apart as waves of pleasure crashed over her, raw and consuming, making her shake in his grasp.

Aemond groaned at the feel of it, his fingers working her through it, slow and deliberate as her walls fluttered around him, her body pulsing, clenching, trembling.

She barely had a second to catch her breath before he was moving. Grabbing her like a sack of potatoes and throwing her on the bed, wrenching her underwear down her legs, and forcefully flipping her over onto her stomach.

And then.

A sharp crack of heat across her backside.

Aemond must have felt her jolt, must have noticed the way her breath hitched, the way her thighs instinctively squeezed together. “Don’t be so surprised,” he mused, positioning her exactly how he wanted. 

He leaned down, lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, his voice dark with satisfaction.

“Girls who are into choking are into much more than that.”

Her stomach twisted, her breath catching both at his words and his manhandling. She glanced back, catching his hands as they worked his shorts open to free himself, rendering her mouth suddenly dry. It was all so quick, she barely got a good look at him. He tugged her hips up slightly, the fat head of his cock parting her sensitive folds and began to push inside, and then she forgot how to think entirely. A wrecked sound escaped her throat, muffled by the sheets, her body already soaked, stretched, ready for him after his ruthless teasing.

He filled her completely, every inch stretching her open, the burn of it making her eyes squeeze shut. Aemond groaned, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck, still so tight,” he rasped, pulling back before slamming into her again, rough and unforgiving. The force of it sent her forward onto her elbows, her breath punched from her lungs. Starting out in this position, she felt every bit, the way his cock bent inside her, as if sculpting her to the shape of him.

It was filthy. Brutal. Perfect.

His fingers dug into her flesh, his pace relentless, punishing, as if he wanted to ruin her for anyone else. She let out a desperate, breathy moan, her body giving in, taking everything he gave her, arching back into him. And when she did, Aemond let out a low groan, sliding a hand up her back, over every notch of her smooth spine, trailing along the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling into her hair and tugging.

A ragged gasp tore from her throat, her scalp burning in the most intoxicating way. She clenched around him, and he felt it. His grip tightened, pulling her head back just enough to make her spine arch beautifully, her mouth parting in a silent moan.

Aemond groaned at the way her body reacted to him, the way she clenched around his cock like she was trying to keep him buried inside her forever.

“Oh, you really do like that, don’t you?” his voice was low, rough, laced with something dark and possessive, her hair wrapped around his long fingers.

She barely managed to choke out a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, but it only spurred him on. His grip in her hair didn’t falter as he snapped his hips forward, fucking into her harder, deeper, rough enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. She shook beneath him, unable to do anything but take it, absorb every brutal thrust, every sharp pull of her hair that sent electricity racing down her spine.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?” he murmured, his pace never slowing, his thrusts hitting deep, over and over, dragging her closer to that edge.

She could only nod, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets, at nothing.

She whined as he released her hair, his arm sliding around her waist to pull her up to him, dragging her up onto her knees with her back flush against his chest. Her head lolled back against his shoulder as his hand slid over her stomach, pushing her back onto him with every deep, punishing thrust. 

“Aemond,” she gasped, barely able to form words, her voice breaking.

He groaned at the sound, at the way she tightened around him, pushing his hand lower, rubbing slow, firm circles over her clit.

And that was it.

Her body snapped, pleasure crashing over her in violent, uncontrollable waves, her moans raw and shattered as she came around him, clenching so tight it nearly sent him over the edge too.

“Fuck,” Aemond gritted out, his thrusts turning desperate, chasing his own high as her body milked him.

He buried himself deep, his jaw tight, breath ragged, before he finally let go, groaning her name as he came, spilling inside her, holding her still as he filled her completely.

For a long moment, the room was silent, nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, the crackling of the sea breeze through the open window. Aemond’s grip eased, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his breath still unsteady.

Slowly, he pulled back, completely out of her, his hands sliding down her hips, making her shiver at the loss of him. He pressed a quick, lingering kiss to her shoulder before pushing himself up, reaching for his lowered shorts and pulling them back over his hips.

She lay there on her stomach, face pressed into the pillows, trying to process what the fuck had just happened.

And more than that , what it meant.

But before she could let her thoughts spiral, Aemond flopped onto the bed beside her, stretching his long limbs out, one arm tucked beneath his head.

It was almost too casual, too normal, like they hadn’t just spent the last hour fucking each other senseless. She turned her head, staring at him, trying to read the subtle curve of his lips, the way his gaze flickered to her like he was waiting for her reaction.

Finally, she spoke, voice hoarse from overuse.

“So…what now?”

Aemond let out a low chuckle, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “That depends. Are you going to keep pretending you hate me?”

“You should be the one pretending to hate me. I was convinced you despised me.”

“Hate you?” He glanced at her, sharp, amused. “I never hated you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You, though? You’ve been trying very hard to convince yourself that you do.”

Her stomach flipped, and she groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking his arm with it. “You’re a dick.”

Aemond caught her wrist easily, his grip firm but playful, tugging her just enough to pull her closer. “Careful,” he murmured smugly, “you might make me think you actually like me.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real fight behind it.

Lying back down, she stretched, her body already sore, knowing she was going to get it in the neck from the others tomorrow.

“Oh gods, they’re going to be unbearable about this,” she muttered.

Aemond just grinned, clearly unbothered. “That’s tomorrow’s problem.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He gave a lazy shrug, running a hand through his messy silver hair. “A little.”

For a second, Aemond propped up, fishing something out his pocket. 

“What are you–”

Her voice died on her lips the second she saw what laid in his palm. The sun shaped, gold pendant she had seen at Sunspear Market earlier that day stared back. The dark gold glinted against her eyes, and she tentatively reached out to touch it.

“You—”

Aemond shrugged. But she could see he was trying to play it a little cool, to stay off the embarrassed flush to his cheeks at such a sweet gesture, “I saw you looking at it.”

She hesitated, but she was more shocked. She hadn't honestly expected something so nice, especially from him, as hard to read as he was. Such as right now. He was so composed. As if he hadn't had it in his pocket all day, waiting to give it to her.

“You bought this for me?...”

A silly question in hindsight, but she was too floored to ask anything else. And she didn't even need his reply truthfully.

Still, Aemond smirked, propping up to watch as she ran her finger over the metal, “I did, but…”

She looked up, her heart constricting, “but?...”

Aemond bit back a nervous smile, “you can wear it…if we give this a chance,” he says, vaguely gesturing between them.

Her breath caught. Not because it was unexpected, he had been pushing her in this direction all night, all trip, maybe even longer than that. But hearing him say it so simply, so confidently, so Aemond, sent something warm and unsteady rippling through her chest.

She glanced away for a second, fingers brushing the pendant absentmindedly, before letting out a slow breath. “And what exactly is… ‘this’?” she asked, her voice softer than before.

Aemond tilted his head, “this,” he murmured, “is me saying I don’t want to pretend I don’t want you anymore.”

Gods, he was good with words when he wanted to be.

Her lips parted slightly, but before she could say anything, his expression shifted, turning just a little sharper, a little more amused.

“And also, I’m realising one of my kinks might be you calling me a pretentious asshole.”

Before she could stop herself, she burst out laughing. It was unexpected, light, breaking the thick tension in the air.

“Maybe you are a pretentious asshole,” she managed between giggles.

Aemond hummed, leaning closer to brush his lips against hers, “hm, you keep up, don't you.”

She couldn't stop smiling, her cheeks hurt. And Aemond's fingers brushed her skin, reaching for the chain of the necklace, “let me.”

Lifting her hair, she raised her chin so he could clasp the pendant around her neck, the gold sitting elegantly against her chest. He hummed in appreciation and she swallowed, a shiver running down her spine at the barely-there touch.

“Shall we celebrate.”

She raised a suspicious brow. Celebrate.

A bark of laughter threatened to break out.

“Celebrate how, exactly?”

The dark looks returned to his gaze, and she gasped as he maneuvered atop her, his hand bunching up her shirt around her hips. “With you, wearing nothing but that pretty little necklace I just bought you.”

Her stomach tightened. And her body responded before she did.

And judging by the smug look on Aemond's face. He noticed.

She woke up sore, in the best way possible.

The sheets were tangled around her legs, her body still buzzing from the night before, and when she shifted slightly, the cool press of gold against her skin reminded her of exactly how they’d celebrated.

Aemond had already left the bed when she woke up, thank the gods, which meant she had enough time to collect herself before inevitably facing the others.

Black bikini, sandals slipped on and she was out straight away, her hair still tousled from how rough Aemond had been with her the night before.

Helaena, Baela, and Rhaena sat sprawled out on their towels, sunglasses perched on their noses, drinks in hand. They looked far too entertained. And they knew. Oh, they fucking knew.

“So…” Baela drawled, adjusting her sunglasses as she turned toward her. “You had an eventful night.”

She rolled her eyes, dropping onto the sand beside them, already regretting coming down here. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rhaena scoffed, hiding a smirk behind her drink. “Oh, come on.”

Helaena, as dreamy as ever, blinked up at her, tilting her head. “You’re glowing.”

Baela snorted, finally pushing her sunglasses onto her head so she could look at her properly. And then, her gaze zeroed in. She grinned. “Oh my gods, you’re wearing it.”

Her stomach dropped. Shit.

Baela pointed at the gold sun pendant resting delicately against her collarbone, shining in the morning light. “So, Aemond buys you jewellery now?”

She groaned, tipping her head back against the sand. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Rhaena smirked, twirling her straw between her fingers. “Not a chance.”

Helaena giggled, “I knew you didn’t hate each other.”

“Oh, I still hate him.”

Baela barked out a laugh, “so that was a hate fuck, was it?”

Rhaena snorted into her drink, nearly choking on it.

As if completely uninterested, Helaena excused herself, grabbing an empty tupperware as a beetle flew into the reeds by the stairs. Classic Hel.

Rhaena cleared her throat, “so…was it good?”

“I'm not talking about this.”

“Oh, so it was good,” Rhaena mused, eyes twinkling.

“I hate all of you.”

Baela leaned in. “You know what they say. The quiet ones are always the worst.”

Rhaena thoughtfully. “I bet he was really intense about it.”

“Oh, definitely. Control freak. Probably took his time—”

She groaned, “oh my gods, can we please change the subject?”

Helaena returned, beaming, a freshly caught beetle in her tub, “well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm happy for you.”

She peeked up at her through one squinted eye. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be happy about your brother getting laid.”

Helaena simply shrugged, smiling. “You make him less grumpy.”

Her only saving grace was that the guys were too far out in the water to hear any of this. Jace and Aegon were already trying to drown each other, waves crashing around them as they wrestled.

But Aemond stood farther out, water lapping at his waist, arms crossed, watching the spectacle with mild amusement.

She had no doubt Aemond suffered the same treatment this morning. Hounded with questions and easy ribbings. But unlike her, Aemond could silence any incessant question with a pointed glare and a well placed ‘fuck off’. 

As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned, his hair sticking to his face. She watched his gaze drift to the necklace that sat snug at her collarbone, and then back up to her eyes, the faintest smirk on his face.

Maybe the rest of this holiday wouldn't be so bad.

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[fastandcarlos]

My Hero : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: when your heel breaks, you don’t quite know what to, luckily for you, charles is there to save the day

It was typical. Just your luck.

You were used to going to busy events, glamming yourself up and making sure that you looked the part by Charles’ side. Every time you had the same pair of shoes that you trusted to wear that kept you safe and left you without any injury. You loved how comfortable they were, when everything else around you was so frantic, it was a huge relief knowing that you could get from A to B without worrying about falling over or having to hold onto Charles to stop yourself from losing your balance.

However, as you headed to the restaurant you were meeting some colleagues at, your trusty shoes broke all of that. As you went up the kerb the heel got stuck, and as you tried to untangle it, you could hear the crack. Luckily for you, no one was around to see you troubled, but that didn’t stop you from silently cursing under your breath how you were going to get through the rest of the evening.

Thankfully for you, your colleagues were just as organised as you, with one of your closest friends carrying a spare pair of shoes in her bag which managed to fit your feet in. With that, you tried to enjoy your evening, but it wasn’t quite that easy. Behind your smile you couldn’t help but worry, it would take forever for you to find a pair of shoes that would be as comfortable as these, to find a pair you could wear to one of Charles’ formal events without living in fear that you’d end up embarrassing yourself.

Whilst you sat feeling sorry for yourself, your phone buzzed beside you. You quickly picked it up, feeling your smile turn up as you read a familiar name on your screen. It was if he knew that you needed just a little sign to try and brighten up your evening a little bit. You grabbed your phone, unlocking it so that you could read through the message that Charles had sent you properly.

Charles: hope you’re having a good time love 🥰

Despite the fact he was enduring the busiest time of his year, in the middle of preparing for yet another race weekend, he still thought of you. It was never a text to tick a box, it was always a text because he genuinely cared and was wanting to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Charles was the one who pushed for you to go out that night, knowing that it would be a great opportunity for you to bond with some of your colleagues.

You tended to know where Charles’ line of questioning came from, once he started, it didn’t take long before he desperately asked you how long it would be until you were home and back with him.

You: aside from breaking my heel, it’s pretty fun!

You barely had time to breathe before your phone buzzed.

Charles: damn, you’re not serious right?

You: afraid so ��

The feeling of someone looking over your shoulder is enough for you to put your phone away again. You shared quite a bit with your colleagues, but your phone conversations with Charles were not one of those. Your attention turned back to what was happening at the table, midway through a conversation you weren’t quite sure what was going on, opting to nod along and hope for the best.

What started off as fun, began to bore you pretty quickly. Your eyes started to dart off in all directions to try and keep entertained, looking around the restaurant until they landed on something you were not quite expecting. A familiar figure is stood in the entranceway to the restaurant, eyes scanning around the room.

Charles looked messy, his clothes weren’t straight, his hair was like a bird’s nest and he still had his glasses on from whatever he was doing at home. You could tell he had moved quickly to get to the restaurant and find you. As he continued to search for you, you decided to put him out of his misery, excusing yourself from the table, dancing through the tables until you were stood directly in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered across to him, not wanting to cause a scene. “I’m supposed to be having dinner.”

You’d never seen Charles look so relieved as he studied you closely, checking you over. He was silent for a moment, which left you feeling worried, taking a tight hold of his hand and leading him out onto the cold street so that no one was able to see the two of you.

“Charles?” You questioned again, poking gently against his chest. It was your turn to look closer at Charles, he had beads of sweat dripping down his face, his hands were clammy, surprising considering the chill in the air. “Are you planning on talking to me at some point?” You pushed beginning to get concerned as to why he looked so erratic in front of you.

“You’re okay.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion, “of course I’m okay.”

Charles didn’t take your word for an answer and still checked you over one last time. “I thought that you’d hurt yourself, I thought I’d have to take you to the hospital.”

Your head shook in disbelief, “why would I need you to do that for me? Perhaps, do you need to go?”

If it wasn’t for the streetlight next to Charles you were concerned that he would end up passing out. He was barely able to catch his breath, sweat still dripped down him leaving you perplexed.

“What did you do? Run here?”

You were expecting Charles to immediately tell you no, but instead there was a bit of a pause, leaving you wondering if perhaps your assumption was correct.

“I didn’t run here,” he eventually responded, “but I moved a little quicker than I usually do when I think the person I love is in trouble.”

“In trouble?” You frowned, glancing down at the new pair of shoes that you wore.

“I told you I was on my way,” Charles informed you, “you said that you broke your heel, I was expecting to see you on the floor or something.”

The penny finally dropped, pressing your hand to your head. “You thought I meant my actual heel?”

“Oh…” Charles stuttered as you reached into your bag and took out the broken one that you carried. Charles’ smile dropped as he realised his mistake.

Your laughter grew louder as Charles’ cheeks turned darker

He reached out for your hand and pulled you into his body, squeezing you tightly with relief that you were alright. Only when he’s convinced that he’s got the wrong end of the stick can Charles finally let himself laugh about what’s happened, finding himself able to catch his breath and steady the beat of his heart again. You were alright, and that was all that mattered to him.

As funny as the situation was, it was yet another reminder for you as to how much Charles cared about you. He had never felt a fear like it thinking that you had broken your heel, no other thought entered his mind other than the one to get to you as quickly as he possibly could. The only thing he wanted to do was get to you as quickly as possible, terrified that you would end up going through something so horrible alone.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” you teased, throwing your head back to be able to look at Charles.

“How was I supposed to know it was your damn shoe?” He huffed, smiling innocently back at you, “you gave me such a fright.”

Your head shook as Charles kissed gently against your lips. “You really are my hero sometimes, aren’t you?”

Charles hummed in agreement with you, “you know I always want to save the day for you.”

Again you wanted to snigger at him, but he was just too caring for you. “Are you heading back home? Shall I come with you?”

“Stay. Enjoy your dinner, I’ll be at home waiting for you,” Charles instructed, “but don’t stay too long, it’s lonely being home alone.”

“Try not to break a bone or anything on the way!” You called out as Charles waved goodbye to you, heading down the road.

“Shut up!” He shouted back, earning a few glances from some of the other people around you. You poked your tongue out as Charles as you headed back into the restaurant.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Once you were back at home, you threw yourself down on the sofa and opened up your phone, finding the messages that Charles had left you after you put your phone away.

Charles: I’m coming, don’t move sweetheart

Charles: I’m so sorry this happened

And then came another, sent just after you’d said goodbye to Charles again.

Charles: I’ll always be your hero ❤️

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[tyrannosaurus-maxy]

Here is everything that every driver has said about the Max-Lando contact in Austria 2024:

Nico did take the time to look at the incident again. 'Verstappen didn't swerve towards Lando and he also left Norris a car width of space. And on the left there was a kerb and a large run-off zone, no wall. I think the stewards have intervened quite a bit in Austria, more than usual and maybe a little too much even,' the German concludes.

Yuki also does not think Verstappen's action in Spielberg was too harsh and explains: "To be honest, everyone does that." The world champion did not drive dangerously and it was not "moving under braking." It is completely normal to put "a little pressure" on the other driver and not let him overtake voluntarily. And contact can sometimes occur, says Tsunoda. He also believes that there would have been no penalty if there had not been contact in the same situation. "That's part of racing," says the Japanese driver.

Lando himself said: "Honestly, I don't think he needed to apologise. Some of the things I said in the pen after the race were more just because I was frustrated at the time, a lot of adrenaline, a lot of emotions and I probably said some things I didn't necessarily believe in, especially later on in the week.

Daniel said: “I think the contact, that can happen probably nine times out of 10 with no consequence... But I think the outcome was bigger than probably what was actually happening on track. From what I saw, at least nothing seemed over the top. Was it pushing the edge? Probably. But was anything dangerous or reckless? At least from what I've seen, no.”

George said: "Max will push the rules to the limits…as most of the top drivers do!"

Kevin said: "Max paid the price already by having a puncture. So I think some of the things they should just let the drivers sort it out in a natural way, it works out in other racing series very well, IndyCar, Sportscars and in the US, they have that approach and it works out well. The racing is tough over there, everyone understands the rules and it's more simple."

Checo said: "I think Max pushes every single bit to the limit as many top drivers do and when you're racing him it's gonna be a hard and fair battles."

Alex said: “the reality of it was just pure racing, hard racing” between the two drivers. It’s aggressive racing but I think it’s blown out of proportion, in my opinion. "If there's no contact being made then it's very often not talked about. [...] When i saw the the actual incident itself, to me it was just a racing incident. Lando went for that space on the outside, Max thought there was enough space for Lando to go. On paper, there was, but the way that Lando attacked the outside line and went so aggressively to it, you can't move that much in that position. You're kind of stuck in a straight line just because if you turn out the way, you'll end up locking up. So, yeah, it's a racing incident," Albon said. "Because they made contact, no [it wasn't harsh]. [But] if I was Max, I'd be upset if I had a penalty for that."

Charles said: "For me, it was an incident that both could have avoided. I also squeezed Max Verstappen onto the curb in 2022. I know Max’s driving style and how he battles very well because I started racing against him in 2010. I think he’s the driver I know the most and know best"

Honourable mentions to Esteban and Lewis for saying: leave me out of it

[snappingthewalls]

[valyrfia]

aw man MAYBE if SOMEONE had CONSULTED THE DRIVERS UNION over the resurfacing and kerbs PEOPLE WOULDNT KEEP GOING OFF because THEYD KNOW MORE ABOUT THE TRACK CHARACTERISTICS

LIBERTY AND FOM AND FIA I’M GOING TO HAUNT YOU

George Russell welcome to my inbox.

[syrupfog]

Modern au where Sanji, adopted off the streets by Zeff when he was ten, spent eight years convinced that when he turns eighteen Zeff is going to throw him out, say that he served his time and he wants Sanji gone. 

Then that doesn’t HAPPEN, and Sanji is afraid to ever bring it up.

He goes off to university expecting that when winter break comes he won’t have a bed to return to, and that makes him a little… erratic. Throwing himself into his classes to keep his scholarship but also working overtime to get money to afford a place to stay when he’s on break and in the summers, and overall just completely neglects human connection because he’s convinced he’s on his own. 

It’s probably a miracle Luffy finds him and forces friendship onto him, bringing his friends into Sanji’s space (His dorm roommate Gin dropped out in the first week so Sanji’s REALLY been alone). 

And with Luffy comes his asshole friend Zoro, who Sanji learns is ALSO adopted and he RESENTS him for it. Because Zoro is perfectly secure in his relationship with Mihawk— probably because he was adopted at such a young age. 

But Sanji doesn’t feel that security. He knows he’s beyond lucky to have been picked up by Zeff at all, knows he can’t keep asking for free handouts from him. It would be more than enough to be hired at the Baratie someday.

But Luffy pushes into his life and pushes Zoro in along with him, and one day manages to drag Sanji to an Actual Party after his shift in the canteen is done, and get him properly drunk for the first time maybe ever. 

Sanji is an angry AND weepy drunk.

He tries to fight Zoro (who can hold his alcohol just fine) then ends up collapsing on him in tears, yelling that it’s not FAIR that Zoro has everything he wants. Zoro assumes this means his three swords. He tells Sanji he’s not sharing.

Sanji sobs that his dad is going up abandon him, has probably already thrown his shit to the kerb. 

Zoro, in an oddly selfless (to Sanji’s eyes) act, says that Sanji’s old man can shove it, and if he’s really like that then he’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve Sanji anyway.

Then he says Sanji can come home with HIM for winter break. Perona always brings guests (boyfriends) home on holidays. 

And as drunk as Sanji is at the time, it’s a surprise he remembers it the next morning. 

But he does. 

And he had said yes, so… he can’t just back out now.

(Plus, free accommodations? Sanji’s meals right now are what he can sneak from the canteen while he works, he’s saving as much as possible to afford a place this summer without a co-signer)

So winter break comes and Sanji doesn’t even try to contact Zeff, just goes off with Zoro. It’s a little awkward but arguing with Zoro is almost relaxing at this point, familiar. And Perona is… well, all women are perfect. 

And then, and THEN—

He gets a call from Zeff. 

And Zeff is fucking PISSED at him. 

Because what does he MEAN he’s not coming home for winter hols? He didn’t even CALL TO SAY SO. WHAT THE HELL, EGGPLANT? 

And Sanji’s there in the Mihawk living room with his dad yelling loud enough for Zoro to hear and he yells back WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, OLD MAN? Because “I turned eighteen! I’m an adult! You don’t need to pretend to care about me anymore!” 

(Zoro isn’t even pretending not to listen, he’s staring) 

And Zeff yells that Sanji is “a pile of horse shit” and “of course I fucking care you shitty little dumbass, you think I’d just kick you out after going through hell to get you?” 

And Sanji’s in shock because he— he really thought— 

“What,” Zeff continues (he might as well be on speakerphone he’s so loud). He says, “you think that little of me, you shitty kid?” 

And Sanji says, “it’s not THAT, you’ve given me too damn much already! I don’t deserve all this shitty charity!” 

And that sets Zeff off about how it’s not charity when it’s his OWN KID

anyway. He yells a long time. Sanji sits there and takes it and does not make eye contact with Zoro until after he’s finally hung up. 

When he finally does, he says, “I guess I should go.” 

“What?” asks Zoro. “Why?” 

“I got you to invite me over out of pity when I apparently had a dad this whole time.” 

He’s so fucking embarrassed that Zoro heard all of that. 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “Fucking hell, Curly, I didn’t invite you over because I felt sorry for you.” 

Sanji squints. “Why the fuck else would you have?” He asks.

“I did it because I fucking like you and didn’t want you to be miserable. Also because Mihawk is always on my case about bringing home a boyfriend, he’s tired of meeting Perona’s weekly boy toys.” 

Sanji squints harder. “I’m not your boyfriend,” he says.

Zoro grins. “Not YET,” he says. 

Sanji feels incensed. “You can’t just—” 

Jumping to his feet, Zoro draws his swords from behind the sofa. “If I win this fight, you’re my boyfriend.” 

“Fucking DEAL,” Sanji says, clambering up out of his chair. “When I win, you’re going to have to ASK me on an ACTUAL DATE, FIRST.” 

The fight is a draw. 

They spend the rest of break arguing about how to start dating. 

Without the weight of the impending loss of the only family he’s known, Sanji spends spring classes more relaxed, happier, willing to give in to Luffy’s every whim (and he has many). 

Sanji goes home to Zeff in the spring, and he brings Zoro.

[enwoso]

PINK SKIES || alessia russo

this has been in the works for a few months, just didn’t know when or if i wanted to post it as it involved quite a sensitive topic, and a topic which should be addressed in a very mature way.

this is also a topic which i hold very dear to my heart and is quite personal to me, especially since i lost someone very special to me in a similar way but i just wanted to share this as a way to raise awareness especially with september being dedicated to suicide prevention month but just you know you are appreciated, you are worth it and that there are people out there who can help and support you. please, you are not alone.🤍

WARNING: mentions of death, allusions of sui**de and just upsetting themes! please do not read if any of these topics are sensitive to you.

"thought i'd find you here" lotte cooed as she stood with a sad smile, a few metres away from alessia whom was sat on the kerbside, only the streetlight to keep her company as the sky merged into a darker, gloomier colour.

alessia turned to look at the girl she'd known her entire life, before turning back to look at what was in her hands. a crumpled piece of paper with neat hand writing on it. a piece of paper which had not left her hands all day.

alessia didn't say anything instead her fingers just toyed with the piece of paper, tears falling down her cheeks. lotte made her way cautiously towards the blonde slotting down on the kerbside next to her, placing an arm around her. alessia’s head immediately landing on the girls shoulder.

it had been a long day. goodbyes are hard. especially last goodbyes, they sting the most and leave this feeling in your heart that never seems to go away.

"it's okay, less. she had a beautiful send off" lotte whispered as she let the blonde cry in her arms knowing that this had been building all day.

"i miss her lotte..." alessia choked out sniffles escaping her as tears streamed down her face and onto the piece of paper as she felt lotte nod pulling alessia closer to her.

"i know less and that's normal- but she wouldn't want you to be sat on the kerb crying" lotte sympathised as alessia nodded lightly. she knew you wouldn't want her to be sat on the kerb, heck she knew you would have wanted a big send off like the one that had been done for you.

but grief doesn't work in the way alessia imagined. its not a straight line, there's no formula to it. it's a mess.

some days the blonde feels as though your still beside her, joking about her tripping over thin air. but other days it hits alessia and she feels all those raw emotions all at once, again.

"i- i just wish she was here- she had so much still to live for.." alessia choked out once again, her words forming into one it barely being able to be understood but lotte did. she knew what alessia meant.

you and alessia hadn't known each other very long. you of course knew of each other but that was it. just shadows in the background of the others life.

it was an england camp which brought you together, one simple conversation and it changed alessia's life forever.

a silly conversation about different types of cookies and how your favourite was jammy dodgers as you would eat around the rim and then eat the jam center — alessia thought it was the funniest thing and was always in stitches watching you eat them that way.

but she was the type of person you just clicked with. no effort was needed. the type of friend you make and then don't remember how the first interaction went.

you just went from one day being total strangers to the next being the best of friends.

“and now you have to live for her, remember the good less.” lotte tried as alessia shook her head the peice of paper still clutching to her hand.

“no lotte, i just feel like i failed her. she was my best friend how could i have let this happen, i could have helped her, done something and maybe this wouldn’t have happened,, i could-“ alessia rambled out as lotte just the let the blonde do it her cheeks tears stained as her mascara had smudged under her eyes, the blonde moving her head from resting on lotte’s shoulder.

both lotte and alessia knew there was nothing that could have been done to help you. nobody could have even noticed that you were struggled never mind how bad your mental state was.

you had been estatic finding out that alessia was moving to london and more specifically to arsenal. it meant no more countdowns to when you’d next see each other, it meant you didn’t need to sit on a train for three hours again. it meant you could see each other any time you wanted.

alessia would forever remember the excitement in your voice when she picked up her phone.

"your actually coming to london!"

"yeah i am! we are gonna be in london together!”

"i can't wait to spend every day with you less"

"me neither y/n, me neither."

or how the two of you spent the next two hours on call with each other as you listed all the places you were going to show her, the local cafe where you went for your morning coffee before training, the park where you walked your mum’s dog — rocco every day, the restaurant you always went with your sister when she came to visit.

alessia eventually making the move to arsenal after a bittersweet summer in australia not being able to come away with the world cup win but neverless having an unforgettable summer spent by your best friends side.

both you and alessia's focus moving towards the start of the new season, while also fitting in all the places you wanted to show alessia in the weekends which you had off which came few and thin.

everything in alessia's eyes was perfect, she was living in london with her best friend, she was closer to her family and she was getting to play football with her best friends day in and out.

but for you it couldn't have been further from that.

after the world cup getting back into the next season was tough for you, going from match to match without a break was hard. some weeks you were playing ninety minutes, twice a week. you were getting pushed to your limits.

you mental health had begun to take a toll, social media trolls were getting to you, one miss kick in a match and you had a huge target on your back and were the victim of online abuse. you weren't the perfect angel who was seen as a hero if you scored a goal and could do no wrong in the team.

if you scored the response was why are you not doing it every game?

if you defended well the obvious response was that's the bare minimum, that's your job as a defender.

if the team conceded it was your fault.

if you got into the england squad the response was you had taken away from someone else who actually deserved it.

in the eyes of the public you could do no right.

but no one could see you were mentally and physically struggling, your teammates thought you had just learned to not care what the public said about you on social media or thought you hadn't seen it but in reality you had probably seen it long before they did.

in videos and in real life you never didn't have a smile on your face and one thing you never stopped doing was sitting with alessia and laughing about nothing.

but at home when you were alone, your mind ate away at you. letting yourself truly believe that what people were saying online was the person you were.

“i’m so stupid though i should have noticed the signs, how she wasn’t herself” alessia carried on her rant to lotte as lotte listened. that’s what alessia needed right now, is to let it all out as alessia continued.

“less, there was nothing you could do” lotte cooed, another sniffle coming from alessia as she kicked the stones underneath her feet.

a silence filled the gap, not an awkward one but the silence could definitely be felt. the slight wind that followed as the street grew darker, behind the building where the reception was happening with all your family and friends were.

“what’s that?” lotte questioned, pointing towards the piece of paper that she’d noticed alessia carrying all day. it never leaving the blondes hand during the entire service and reception afterwards.

alessia looked down at it, a sad smile on her face as she did. “a letter..” alessia paused, “y/n wrote before she um, you know.. died.”

a change in look come from lotte as her facial expression changed, it sunk a little deeper. lotte didn’t pry though she knew that whatever had been written in that letter was personal, it wasn’t her business to know. if alessia wanted her to know alessia would tell her off her own back.

“i found it in her room when i was going through her things in her apartment-“ alessia spoke, pausing to take a deep breath, her mind building the picture of her walking through your apartment for the last time. how strange it felt. how empty it felt.

alessia continued, “it was weird lotte, it was like she had never been there- the walls, the drawers.. they were bare, like she never even been there before.”

lotte nodded lightly as another small silence came over the two, a little flicker of the street light before the silence was broken.

“it’s funny really because i wish i could just sit and listen to her ramble on about nothing but we would still loose track of time” a small sad smile appeared on the blonde face as she recounted the memory, lotte sitting listening with a similar look as alessia carried on.

“-or the fact she would never let us get coffee from anywhere else but her local cafe where she’d get the same coffee each time — but she’d never have to ask cause the person behind the counter would always have it ready for her. i think that’s why she like to go there..” a little giggled came from alessia as she thought about the many times she tried to get you to go to a different coffee place but you’d point blank refuse.

“less i know it’s gonna be hard but y/n will always be cheering for you not only up there-“ lotte pointed to the dark star which was now filled with tiny white stars, “but in here too” lotte pointed to alessia’s heart as a small nod came from her, she knew lotte was right.

“and overall she’d want you to carry on playing and winning trophy after trophy. so even if you don’t think you can do it for yourself.. do it for y/n.” lotte told the blonde as another shaky breath came from alessia, tears threatening to fall once again.

“i wish i could play football with her again.” alessia shakily said as lotte pulled the blonde into a tight hug, running her hand up and down the blondes back as she comforted her.

“i wish tomorrow came”

you just about made it to the new year, which you spent with alessia and her family as she had insisted that you were not seeing the new year in alone, she wasn't going to allow that to happen.

that was probably the last time you actually truly smiled. just being surrounded by happiness and not having negativity seeping through your veins.

the loss against west ham, the online abuse pretty much tripled. you being blamed for a short pass which resulted in a second goal for west ham and the fans had deemed that you had then and there lost arsenal the chance of winning the league.

after that weekend you found yourself spending a lot more time alone which was not a good thing. your thoughts were spiralling, you began to question why were you actually here?

any team bonding sessions you then began not to turn up, each one declined with a different excuse.

any time alessia asked you to hang out it was always the same, 'feeling tired today less, maybe tomorrow yeah?"

alessia began to notice your change in behaviour but at first did put it down to you just being tired, your limits being pushed to the max. she knew that, heck she wasn't blind anyone could see it.

it wasn't until the first england camp of the new year when you pulled out because of injury did she begin to realise you weren't just tired or injured for that matter.

she called you and you had told her nothing but lies, that you had tweaked you knee in the last game however that was the first game in months that you didn't play a full ninety. so the blondes suspicions raised, and the blonde promised she would come and see you straight after the game at wembley tomorrow.

however tomorrow for you, never came.

[rahuratna]

Suited up

More fatherly goodness from the gentleman sorcerer, Nanami Kento. This time, featuring Ino!

Ino was excited. Not in the usual sense, when he had a mission with Nanami lined up. Today was different. Today would be the day he nailed that sweet, sweet grade one sorcerer recommendation from his mentor, the sorcerer he admired the most.

Ino had been watching, you see. He couldn't do without his own signature ski mask, as that was completely necessary for the functioning of his unique cursed technique. There were other things he had taken note of, however, that might be worth a change.

For starters, the suit. No matter where the mission, whether in the sparkling heart of Tokyo or in the depths of the most squalid sewer, Nanami would always appear in his impeccable and tasteful suit. Tailored to perfection, sitting perfectly at the wrist and ankles, comfort and flexibility reserved at no expense to the clean, fitted outline on the powerful frame they enclosed, Nanami's suits were a thing of beauty.

Then, the handkerchief. Nanami never went without. There was always a clean square of linen, folded in a perfect square, in one of his pockets. Nanami had used his handkerchief to help Ino mop blood off his face once, and, although the cloth had been ruined, Ino knew that the threadcount on that little square made it more valuable than the entirety of his baggy shirt and trousers.

Of course, there were the shoes. Nanami's sturdy leather brogues, hand sewn and always polished to high shine, saw a lot of wear. Of course they would, considering the speed and power of the sorcerer who wore them. But no matter how soiled and worn they were by the end of the mission, the care invested in their restoration was evident. Nanami would show up the next day with his shoes back in such good condition you could see your reflection in them.

Then, there was the way he wore his tie, the way he combed his hair, the coveted wristwatch. But there would be time enough to speculate on those things later. For now, Ino would be satisfied to see Nanami's reaction to his own get up.

The mission was straightforward. They had been assigned to clear out an old warehouse on the docks near the harbour. A curse infestation had been reported in the area, probably triggered by the recent wage protests the dock workers had engaged in due to cutbacks. Of course, Ino's affinity for crowd control would come in handy, and so, he had been dispatched with Nanami as a two-man team.

As he stood on the sidewalk not far from his apartment, Ino shifted from one foot to the other, still growing accustomed to the outfit he had on. As a grade two sorcerer, he earned a fair salary. He'd saved up for a month or two to splurge out on these clothes.

He had invested in a good tailor and had a dark grey suit made to fit. He wore a black polo shirt beneath and the best leather belt he could find. His socks were polyester, but comfortable enough and wouldn't slip or bunch inside his new black leather shoes. Ino had neatly combed and parted his hair, using a high hold pomade that gave a shine he wasn't sure he liked. It would prevent his hair from going haywire when he had to use his ski mask, though. And he had a handkerchief, of course. Bought cheaply in a pack of five because he'd been in a rush, but who would be looking that closely, anyway?

A dark sedan pulled up to the kerb where he waited and Ino felt a clench of nervous anticipation in his stomach. Would Nanami approve of his new look? Had he gone overboard? Did he look like some kind of copycat freakshow now? Steeling himself, Ino opened the rear door and slid inside, sending a tense greeting to the experienced sorcerer who sat beside him.

Nanami greeted him back and then stopped short. Sweating slightly, Ino kept his gaze straight ahead as Nanami's eyes travelled from his perfectly combed hair down to his new shoes. Ino coughed slightly and fidgeted with his belt.

"So ... any ideas on how we should tackle the warehouse?"

Nanami regarded him in silence for a moment, before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tapping his fingers on his knee, as he sometimes did when he was thinking deeply about something.

"We'll approach as we usually do. I'll go in and guage the strength of the spirits before making a tactical retreat. We perform a second sweep, with you flanking me. Then we use your targeted attacks to hone in on any remaining curses that may be concealing themselves."

"Got it."

There was a short spell of silence.

"That's a fine suit you have on."

"You think so?"

Ino released a breath he had been holding, elation swelling in his chest.

"It is." Nanami paused. "Having said that, there are a few pointers I'd like to give you, as you've chosen to dress in this manner today."

"You will?"

Ino could barely contain his excitement now. Nanami nodded and folded his arms.

"Yes. For starters, have you worn those shoes before today?"

"Uh, no. Didn't want them to ... you know. Get all dusty and stuff before the mission."

"Place your feet against the seat in front of you right now and bend your toes."

"Huh?"

"Like this."

Nanami demonstrated, and Ino followed suit, slower due to his confusion.

"Leather always needs to be broken in. I've been wearing these shoes for close to a year now. And I alternate between pairs, so that I minimize wear and tear and allow the leather to rest, especially if I've been out in wet weather. If you go in as you are, the new leather will not have had time to take on the shape of your feet. You'll be in some discomfort a few hours in."

"For real?"

Balancing in his seat, the younger sorcerer hurriedly began to rock his feet back and forth against the seat in front of him, wondering how he couldn't have noticed how stiff the leather was. He could thank his lucky stars that Nanami had forewarned him.

"There's more, Ino."

"There is?"

"That pomade you have on your hair ... it's going to form stiff peaks as you perspire inside the ski mask. Next time, opt for a softer styling wax."

"Ohhh, damn. I didn't know that."

Nanami now reached across and ran his fingers along the hem of Ino's jacket, then grabbed one of his sleeves and tugged.

"Oh dang, what is it?"

"I'd also advise you to lose the jacket when you go into combat. I ask my tailor to perform a specific type of stitching that allows for more freedom of movement. You're going to need to remove the jacket if you want to move freely and effectively."

Ino's bubble of excitement was rapidly deflating. He'd wanted so badly to impress Nanami today, but all he'd succeeded in doing was showing off his inexperience and making himself look like some kind of desperate wannabe. He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, giving Nanami his signature bright smile and thumbs up. He hoped that he had somehow concealed how embarrassed he was feeling.

"Thanks Nanami. I promise I won't let you down today!"

By the end of the day, Ino was feeling a lot less chipper. Scratch that, he was feeling downright miserable.

The mission had started off promisingly. They'd found the warehouse infested with cursed spirits, some of them rather powerful. After drawing the bulk of the spirits out into the open, Nanami had retreated as planned, so that Ino could use his Reiki to shield himself from attacks and move swiftly between the raging curses.

This was where Ino's problems had started.

Due to the huge amount of cursed energy he burned through, and the highly physical nature of his technique, Ino perspired a lot in combat. His baggy clothing normally allowed ample air circulation around his body, letting him cool down faster, but the polo shirt and the thicker material of his new trousers did no such thing. 

As sweat poured down to sting his eyes, Ino was hyper aware of how the soaking material clung uncomfortably to his chest and back, how his legs felt like they were encased in a damp, restricting vice.

The leather shoes had started out comfortable enough thanks to the stretching Nanami had had him perform, but even they lost elasticity over time. Sore red ridges had been rubbed into his ankles and the area around his toes felt as if it had been chafed raw.

To add insult to injury, a vat of putrid fluid, that had been lying stagnant for God knew how long, had been upended all over Ino by one of the cursed spirits, ruining any chance he'd had of salvaging some dignity and completely ruining his outfit. Somehow, Nanami had dodged the spray of fluid and darted towards the offending spirit, ending it with a deadly, but elegant stroke of his blade. 

Ino had given it his all, of course. He'd fought with every ounce of determination he possessed, and they'd eventually decimated the spirits that infested the warehouse. At great cost to his body and dignity, of course. His muscles were screaming because of the unnatural strain he'd put them through, and his shoulder throbbed where a spirit had grabbed him and damn near dislocated it.

By the time they left the warehouse, Nanami was striding along at his usual pace, suit spotless, collar open, cufflinks gleaming, hair stylishly dishevelled, while something that looked like a veritable swamp monster hobbled along at his side, emitting feeble groans now and then.

"Ino."

"Y - Yeah?"

"Take off those shoes now."

"But - "

"Do as I say."

The shoes came off with a very distinct and soggy noise. Undaunted, Nanami reached for them and scooped them up so that they hung from the fingers of one hand. He then went down on one knee, facing away from Ino.

"Get on."

" ... what?"

"Climb on. Your can't make it all the way to the car in this condition."

"But - but I'm filthy, Nanami! I'll get this smelly shit all over your clothes!"

"Don't worry about that. The dry cleaners I frequent are excellent and ... accustomed to my requests by now."

With a great deal of reluctance, the young sorcerer climbed onto his senior's back, head flopping forward in sudden exhaustion when Nanami lifted him in piggy-back fashion. They made their way back to where the car awaited them.

"Nanami?"

"Yes?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How do you manage to look like ... you know. Like you can do anything you put your mind to. And why in a suit, of all things?"

The strong shoulders beneath Ino's chin jerked in a small huff of amusement.

"I'm not sure what you mean, but I suppose experience is the best teacher. I've been on my fair share of missions. I know what to expect and plan accordingly. As to why I wear a suit, well ... "

His voice trailed off, but Ino remained silent, aware that if he stayed like this he might probably hear something that would give him greater insight into the man he admired above all others.

"Hmm. I suppose, it was something I learned when I worked as a salaryman. In society, the clothes you wear define who you are. They speak to others of your personality, your preferences, the way you want to be perceived and your standing in a certain social setting. I chose my clothes so that I would blend in. I wanted ... an ordinary life. A life that would let me pursue ordinary goals and let me retire in comfort."

"But you came back. Back to being a sorcerer, I mean."

"It wasn't that I missed this life. It wasn't that I wanted to be a sorcerer either. But my talent for working efficiently, and working hard, was best put to good use in a manner where I could help others."

"But you still kept the suit?"

"Indeed. The suit reminds me of who I am, at heart. I've never wanted more than a regular life. I never will want more. If I have to exorcise spirits looking like I used to as a salaryman, then so be it. Let the spirits experience my effort, my work ethic, my real and very ordinary self."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of Nanami's footsteps on the damp paving stones that led to the car park. Ino gave a weak chuckle.

"Ordinary? You know, I think I can get behind that."

"You can?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty much a regular guy too. But you know, Nanami ... "

The younger man's voice trailed off, and for a moment, Nanami thought he had drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Then Ino spoke again.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit. There's a reason I wanna be like you, more than other sorcerers. If being a run-of-the-mill guy means always choosing to put other people first, if it means choosing to do what you feel is right, and if it means ... that when you're gone, someday in the future, people will always remember the things you taught them and miss you like hell, then you wouldn't call yourself that ordinary, would you?"

Nanami was quiet for a long time after that.

Ino had never felt greater relief than when he was able to shower at Jujutsu Tech later that night, sling on a clean tracksuit and receive some treatment from Ieiri for his bruised and twisted shoulder. Feeling far more human, he made his way down to the foyer, wondering what he could have for a late-night snack.

To his surprise, Nanami was waiting for him.

"You're still here? I thought you'd have left already."

Namami held up a small bag.

"You left your jacket behind in the car."

"Ah." Ino scratched the back of his head. "Thanks. But I don't think I'll be wearing that again."

"Understandable. But, if you like, I can take you to my tailor to make some ... additions to your regular work clothes. You can still look your best, even while comfortable, you know."

Ino brightened considerably at this.

"Oh? I never thought of that."

"And I suppose you're hungry after the mission. We can go and get fried chicken and beer."

Whooping slightly, the younger sorcerer loped happily out the front doors, before stopping and glancing back at Nanami sheepishly.

"Uh, I'm kinda broke right now after splashing out on that suit ... "

"I'm paying."

"Now we're talking!"

[finniestoncrane]

Date, Digger Style

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 6k hi i am sorry, this was supposed to be like. a lil silly thing about what a first date with george might be like. and it ended up being 6k words. i just want him so bad it makes me look stupid quite honestly and i am ok with that 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sleazy behaviour, groping, tongue kissing, just the tip and then not just the tip but agreeably so, lots of physical affection, reader has tits and a vagina, reader is referred to with feminine pet names, descriptions of a gross kitchen, also let's pretend that he's always a lil bit drunk so his drunk driving seems like the normal state of things. he's a villain. he's allowed to break laws lmao (and it's fiction, so i'm allowed to decide what alcohol does to him)

Sitting on the edge of your sofa, you took a quick look at your phone to check the time and to see if you had missed any messages. Nothing. Not even a quick courtesy text with "on my way" typed hastily, or auto filled. You'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, with no sign of George. If this was what he considered a good start to your first formal 'date' then you two were perhaps too different after all to make this work. He was laid back, to a flaw. Horizontal. And you were more organised, at least more so than George Harkness.

Just as you began typing out a message, you heard the tell-tale screech of the tyres on his van, followed by the rumbling of the engine as he put the brakes on and came out of the creaking door. The sharp buzz at your door was enough for you to know your suspicions were right, and without answering it, you headed downstairs. At the door, you could see Digger, picking at his teeth and tucking the stray strands of hair back under the rim of his hat before he noticed you and struck a pose, goofy smile plastered onto his face.

He moved to grab you when you met him on the steps leading up to your building, but you dodged him, spitting his nickname at him.

"Digger."

"Aw, are you mad cos I'm late? You're not some bloody princess, I think you can wait five minutes!"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty, the- Twenty!?"

His eyes were wide as he looked to you, and you offered a solemn and unimpressed nod in response.

"Fuck... alright, that is a bit much. This'll be worth it though, I promise."

Raising an eyebrow, you silently questioned that. You'd known him for a while now, skirted around the conversation, flirted constantly, but turned him down at every offer of a date. And now, when you had finally agreed and given in to his constant pestering, he was going to show up late and not even dressed differently or in clean clothes? You weren't sure it would be worth it. But, if all else failed, you could always count on him to make you laugh, or at very least conjure up a smile. And despite wanting to still maintain an exterior of disappointment, you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting as he opened up the passenger door and gestured to it with his arm, bowing low.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits."

As you stepped up and into the front of the van, the smell was the first thing that hit you. Stale beer, sweat, and about five other scents just indistinct enough to elude your keen nose. Trying not to think about it, you turned to grab your seatbelt and noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that the back of the truck was filled with empty beer cans and bottles, piles of clothing, some dirty and some clean. And in the middle of it all, a mattress, some pillows, and a scattering of sheets.

"Do you live in here?"

"Don't worry about it, babe."

Before you could ask him any follow up questions, he pulled away from the kerb with a stuttering acceleration, and carelessly pulled into traffic. After a few minutes of teeth grinding, life-threatening driving at high speed, he pulled off the main roads and began taking back streets.

Granted, you didn't know where you were going yet, since Digger was insistent on keeping it as a surprise, you still assumed that after ten minutes of nothing but roads dotted with potholes and routes plagued by speedbumps that it was surely quicker to have stayed on the main route until you were closer. However, it became clear that there were intentions behind this path after all, when you turned to question George about the route and found him quickly glancing from the road to your chest, smiling wider every time a bump jostled your body, causing your breasts to jiggle. With a heavy sigh, you turned to look out of the window, concealing the smile that threatened to give away your façade. There was no way you could let him know how oddly flattering you found his constant gawking, that would be a nightmare.

When the van stopped at a red light, you spoke, still looking out of the window, to try and get Digger to tell you where you were going.

"I just would feel better knowing how long we've got left to drive is all."

He reached over to you, placing his hand on your thigh and pressing his fingers and thumb together, squeezing the ample flesh.

"Listen, don't worry about it, we're almost there."

His palm pressed down and skimmed further up your leg, and as you turned to catch his eye, hoping to at least shame him into not continuing his bold heavy petting, you were instead met with his lopsided, careless grin. With one hand on the steering wheel and one permanently on your thigh, he continued driving for another ten minutes, until you were well on the outskirts of the city. When the van finally stopped, you could still hear the tinny rumbling and sharp clinking of the empty bottles and cans bashing around in the back, feeling like it had shrilly inserted itself permanently into your head. But once you had stepped out of the van and the fresh air, plus the odd stench, hit you, you could hear yourself think clear enough to know that you were definitely beginning to regret this decision once more.

"Told ya we wouldn't be much longer! We're here!"

"Where is here?"

"About twenty minutes outside Gotham."

"Digger."

He slapped his hand on your back and pulled you into a side hug, dragging you along as he walked towards the door of the flat roof building with broken neon lights that stood in front of you.

"Ah, come on babe! Get a sense of humour, or you'll always look fuckin' miserable!"

You weren't sure if he could hear your sighing over the sound of the gravel as you made your way to the front door, and he definitely couldn't hear the louder second one you let out when you got inside. The one that was cut short when you realised you could taste the smell that lingered on the air.

Taking your hand, an oddly gentle move from Digger. The moment was gone quickly when he smacked your ass as he ushered you into the dingiest looking booth at the back of the bar.

"George, really? Here?"

"Yeah, babe! This place is great. Cheap beer, good food. I promise, you just gotta trust me, alright?"

Taking a quick look around the place told you otherwise. But there was just something about him you found hard to say no to. Which you imagined would land you in much bigger problems later on, but for now, potential food poisoning and a hangover of the worst order seemed like a fair risk for what would no doubt be a fun night regardless. It always was with George.

"Aw, I know that face! You're on board! Right, I'm gonna go to the bar and get us some drinks and food."

"I don't know what I want though, I haven't looked at the menu."

"Don't have to, I'm getting us the usual. You'll like it, tr-"

"Trust you, yes, I know."

With a wink, he slid out of the booth and you watched him make his way to the bar, leaning on it with his oh-so-cocky attitude as he ordered for you. And when he sat back down, he slid a pint in front of you and began chugging at his own. Looking over the tip of your glass as you sipped, you tried to get a glimpse at the kitchen. From what you could see, it looked like the kind of place that might give any decent health inspector an aneurysm. The chef's clothes were dirty, the walls were a stained yellow colour that seemed as though it was dripping down the walls, and every surface had a strange assortment of crumbs and stains on it. But still, you persevered.

And still, when the plates were slammed down on the table in front of you by the uninterested waitress, you were optimistic. Because you were determined to have a nice time. It was likely that which annoyed you the most of all, because the moment you bit into the greasy sandwich you didn't care in the slightest what kind of health hazard it was prepared in. You just wanted more.

"See, told you it was good."

Nodding in agreement, mouth too full to speak, you swallowed down the rest of the sandwich, although by the time you had finished it and your accompanying beer, Digger was already onto his third pint, and the sandwich was but a memory. Until he burped and you could smell it on his breath, something he found hilarious.

"Lighten up! You try, give it your best shot."

"I'm not having a burping contest with you, George. We're on a date."

"Yeah, but you're on a date with Digger. Way more fun, far less stuffy. Go on."

You mustered up the best you had to offer, cheese and beer and lettuce the most noted flavours in the air you expelled. Closing his eyes for a moment, Digger reached out across the table and took your hands.

"That was, without a doubt... the most pathetic fuckin' burp ever. We gotta get you another drink!"

Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling out of the booth and shakily making his way back to the bar. A bad decision being made and you couldn't really stop him. He could handle his alcohol, definitely, you'd seen him do it a number of times before. Digger could put away what might kill a lesser, for want of a better word, man. But it didn't make him any easier to be around. You'd already found yourself flushing hot, cheeks darkening, a heat building in your stomach with each lingering touch or flirtatious stare. So far this evening, you'd almost kissed him twice. It wasn't going to be any easier to prolong what you felt was the inevitable if he got far too drunk and became his usual, handsy self.

Of course, that's exactly what did happen. One more pint in and Digger was all over you in the booth. He'd leaned in at first to say something to you, speaking over the noise of the bar, close to your ear, his arm reaching up and around you and pulling you close and then keeping you there. As his fingers stroked at your shoulder, the other hand fell to your thigh, periodically squeezing it between his fingers and thumb. And every time you got distracted by how far up your thigh he was snaking his palm, fingers splayed out, pinkie grazing over your crotch, his other hand would pull your attention away as his fingertips skimmed over the top of your breasts.

It was difficult to try and hold him off. You were both tipsy, or at least you were tipsy, Digger seemed to be wasted. No good decision could come from that. But the way he touched you, the way he smelled as he leaned in, sweat, cheap body spray, acrid beer, it was intoxicating. If you'd been any less sober you might have leaned in then and there in the booth to kiss him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue, letting him put his hands all over you, anywhere, anywhere. But luckily, before you could make what you knew was a mistake, he sat back and laughed, one loud and sharp 'ha'.

"I fuckin' love this song, babe! C'mon!"

Before you could argue otherwise, you were being dragged out of the booth to join Digger on the tiny dance floor in front of the band. The song was difficult to dance to, at least you had assumed, given the heavy rock riffs that underlined the inaudible, high volume lyrics. But George wasn't deterred. It was almost endearing, how horrendously embarrassing he was, standing there with his air guitar, throwing goat horns at the band as he bounced on the spot. Cute, nearly. But mercifully cut short as the song ended.

"Aw, just as I was finding my groove."

You smiled at him, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy, biting your inner cheek as you felt how strong he was, impressed by his muscular arm as you let your hand slip down to graze over it.

"A real shame, George. Let's go back to- "

The band started up again, this time, a slower song, one that lent itself well to the kind of 'end of prom' vibes all young lovers were hoping for. And before you could finish your suggestion of heading back to the booth, Digger had pulled you close, his arms around your back, falling to your waist as he swayed back and forth. It could have been dancing, it could have been the uncoordinated shuffling of a man who had one too many beers, but either way, you leaned into it, allowing your head to rest against his chest while you placed your hands, linked together, at the nape of his neck.

It was almost too romantic, in its own, strange way. The dim lights, the other couples around you, the unique twang on the guitars, the stench of the greasy food, and the way George kept his hips, his crotch, pressed tight to you as you leaned against him. Not particularly from a storybook romance, but perfect all the same. You'd known this would happen. One date, and you were already falling for him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because deep down you knew you had been into him, since almost the moment you'd met. But you'd fought it, because men like George Harkness, you assumed, weren't the kind of nice boy you dated.

But here he was, holding you, swaying you, sighing softly as the music swelled. Granted the movements weren't exactly graceful, but they were surprisingly fluid, as though he might be good at dancing when he was sober. Yet another surprise for you to learn about, but obviously not right now. He was trying though, his hands at a respectable height, his head leaning on your shoulder. Every so often, he nuzzled into your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it when the notion took him. And when the song finished, you could hear his words clear, spoken gently into your ear.

"You wanna head out?"

You weren't sure if that was "out" as in "get some fresh air" or "out" as in "let's head home, yours or mine" but either option seemed good. The last remaining bit of sun and a soothing breeze might be enough to sober George up before you brought him back in for more dancing. And if it didn't, you were happy to take him to your place for a coffee, nothing more. Although, you were potentially considering letting him sleep on the sofa. You couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to nurse a hangover in the back of his van.

Outside, finally able to breathe without choking on the stench or the thickness of the air, you watched as Digger shielded his eyes from the sky. His stumbling stopped, and he began walking with his usual confidence, almost sobering up immediately in the light of the day.

"Christ! Still pretty bright out here..."

"Yeah, it's not that late. You tapping out early, George?"

"Nah, nah. Not at all! If I've got you for the night, then I'm havin' you for the night. C'mon, I know a place."

Admittedly, and strangely enough, you really hadn't had enough of him yet. It was one of the few things you agreed on, actually. This was supposed to be a date, you'd set aside the evening for it, so you were keen to make it last as long as possible. You couldn't let George know that, though. Keeping the upperhand seemed to be key with him, so you offered him a reluctant smile and rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Well, I suppose so."

Stepping up into the passenger seat of his van you caught him smiling back at you, knowingly. You weren't kidding him, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first pass, but he was kind enough to let you keep up the ruse. It didn't stop him getting a little dig in at you, however.

"Are you sure? If you're not keen I can take you home, babe. Wouldn't want you to be bored or something."

"And where are you planning on taking me that isn't boring, then?"

"Eh... just a little spot I know of. Quiet, secluded. Up that back road to the overlook. But again, if you're not into it..."

"No, no. It sounds... well, it doesn't sound boring, anyway."

Digger laughed, starting up the van which groaned horrendously before sputtering to life. Before he drove off, he turned to you and winked.

"Definitely won't be, it never is with me, babe."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned away from the city and onto the quieter roads which led out past the city lines and into the expansive countryside that secluded Gotham from the rest of the world. From the window, you watched the sun slowly setting, clouds turning purple and navy as they pushed in from the sides like curtains on a stage show. You had all the time in the world to gaze peacefully, as George was driving in complete silence, way below the speed limit, focusing intensely on the road. He'd seemed to sober up once you were out of the bar, but you didn't want to distract him while he was doing his best to keep you both alive.

The van bounced along a short dirt trail until it stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides and far above the dim, intrusive glow of the city, which buzzed against the now deep, navy sky. Shutting off the engine, George turned and shot you a smile, eyebrows raised playfully, before he leapt out. He walked quickly to the back of the van and you followed, waiting patiently as he opened the two back doors wide, finally giving you a better look at what had been rolling around there the whole time he had been driving.

There wasn't much you could think to say, being of the opinion that you should only speak if you had kind things to say. From where you were standing, you could definitely tell that you had been correct in your earlier assumptions. This was where he lived. His rolling apartment. Convenient, yes. But it was a long way away from being one of the trendy 'tiny homes' you'd seen. The walls were adorned with four posters in total, all of them the kind of cheap standards you would expect in the bargain bin of some ancient music store, miscellaneous women in very little clothing gazing out as seductively as they could from the airbrushed backdrops. On the floor, there was a stick and poke tattoo kit that looked like it might be the source of several new variants of hepatitis, and it was littered with empty beer bottles and cans, some of which may have been half-full at the point he decided to drive off given how sticky the surfaces looked. And to top it off, there was a worn out mattress. No sheets on it, no sheets around it save for one scruffy blanket. It was covered in stains that you couldn't quite place, which matched the single, dented and almost flat pillow that lay haphazardly to the side.

"You live like this?"

That was what you had wanted to say, but again, your polite nature stopped you.

"Handy to just get in the van and sleep, or get out of bed and go."

George smiled, looking oddly proud of himself.

"See, you get it. You won't believe the amount of people who have been put off by- uh... well..."

He looked to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand.

"Not that there's been that many people I've invited into- A-and not that there haven't been any people that have been-"

"George."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and raised your eyebrows, offering him a sympathetic grin. He took the out, thankful that you'd put an end to his suffering, and reached in for the blanket, placing it flat over the top of the bed before offering his hand to you. Taking it, he helped you shift yourself into the back of the van, watching as you got comfortable on the mattress as best as you could, at which point he joined you.

Leaning back on his arms, he looked to the sky, sitting in silence for a few minutes. You had joined him, watching the stars start to sparkle as they became visible against the darkening backdrop. At some point, you realised that he was staring at you, and you wondered how long you'd had his gaze trained on the side of your head. Not on any other part of your body, you noted. He was looking at your face, gazing at your eyes. When you turned, you caught his stare immediately, smiling softly when he blinked and looked away with a cough meant to clear the air of the awkwardness he was bringing about.

Rooting around behind him, he eventually found two unopened beer cans, both of which were loose amongst the rest of his belongings. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other to you. He raised his, tipping his head with a 'cheers' and then cracked it open. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, a small trickle of foam slipping past his lips and down his chin. The urge to lean in and lick it off was disturbing, most of all because you felt yourself moving towards him before you even realised it. Settling back down into the strange romance of the moment, you pulled the tab on your own can.

The immediate explosion, the build up of pressure and gasses from the can being jostled around as you drove up the bumpy, dirt track to the spot you now sat in, left you in shock. Your shirt was soaked, completely, and the cool air was already beginning to chill your body. You blinked in shock, watching as Boomer tried to conceal his giggles while he stood up.

"Take your shirt off."

Looking to him, you raised an eyebrow, a look that said "is this really how you're going to make that move?" in a way that he read almost straight away. He began unzipping his blue hoodie, turning from you and passing it behind him, generously, and uncharacteristically, offering you some privacy.

Taking it from him, you quickly made the swap, your body exposed to the cold night air only briefly before you zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Digger's body. You tucked your bra and shirt under the mattress, making a mental note to collect them before you were home, hoping they would be dry. Making sure the zip was up completely, not offering any suggestive cleavage for Digger to hook his ideas into, you settled yourself, noticing that you were smiling. You could smell him on the fabric that covered your body. Beer, sweat, lingering smoke, an acrid smell you couldn't quite place and a sweet one on top of that. As the fabric grazed over you, you could feel your nipples hardening. It wasn't the cold though, it was faint arousal at the way you felt so close to him.

"You done yet, you're only putting a hoodie on!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

"I can look?"

He raised his hands, pulling them from his pockets and holding them up to his side, questioningly.

"Mhm, yeah."

When he was facing you again, he let his lips turn into an appreciative expression.

"Looks good. Suits you!"

Thudding back down beside you, George immediately lifted his arm up, wrapping it around your body and pulling you close. You found yourself settling into the hug, a natural embrace, one that made your heart flutter slightly as you let your head rest entirely against him. And then it happened, the moment that secured your confusion about him and his intentions. He sighed wistfully. So deep and joyous, his fingers digging into your arm to let you know you were the reason for the warmth spreading through him.

"It's nice out here, you can actually see the stars. Couldn't tell you what any of them were though."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

"What?"

"What? What are you doing? You brought me up here to look at the stars?"

George narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in confusion and slight irritation.

"Yeah! I thought it would be romantic!"

"Exactly!"

"Exa-... what?"

"You're so confusing. This whole evening, you yourself, it's not how I thought it would be. I mean, it wouldn't be you without the occasional grope and cheeky wink, but you've been so... You're so... It's weird to see you being so..."

Digger's hand fell to your thigh, a light pressure aiming to calm you down.

"So what?"

You couldn't answer it, because you weren't even able to settle on a definitive answer yourself.

So confusing?

So disgusting?

So gentlemanly?

So romantic?

So hot?

All of that and more.

And when words had failed you, you decided that you'd have to express your feelings another way.

It was less of a romantic, graceful move and more that you sank into him, falling against his body, your lips luckily making contact with his as you both found your way in the kiss. Neither of you expected it, both of you surprised. The tenderness, the hunger behind it. You could taste everything about him, smell him even better than you had when you had put on his hoodie. You expected he was experiencing the same.

Digger fell back, his hands catching your waist as he pulled you with him, both of you laying now on the mattress in the back of his van. His hands pawed, grabbed, skimmed over you, oddly restrained in fact. That was until you shifted yourself up and onto him, straddling his hips and staring down at him, panting heavily as you both caught your breath and took stock of the situation you were now in. His hands on your waist made their way up to your shoulders, your neck, cupping your cheeks as he grinned at you. Watching your face, your expression, for any subtle changes as he let his hands trail back down your front, fingers catching on to the zip of his hoodie and pulling it down slowly, opening it to expose you to him before he cupped at your breasts as you bit your lip.

"Fuck me..."

Digger let out a low groan that followed his short, to the point statement. His fingers circled your nipples, tightening around them as he teased you. His hips bucked up, jostling you, letting you feel how hard he was. You could tell just from that motion that the rumours about how gifted he was had truth behind them.

Bending down to kiss him again, you let your tongue slip past his lips, his own meeting in your mouth. He tasted divine. Sweet, but acidic. Earthy almost, definitely addictive. Everything felt dream like, surreal. Mostly, you assumed, because you were doing something you'd never dream of, something you knew was ill-advised, a little bit silly, embarrassing in the right company. But it was hard to care.

You were quickly brought out of the dream like state however, as you felt Digger's hands between both of your crotches, unbuckling his belt and fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"Wait... on the first date? You think you've charmed me enough for that?"

With the smug, self-satisfied grin you had grown oddly fond of, George looked into your eyes as he spoke.

"I think you started this, so it's a pretty good indication of how much I've charmed you."

He winked as he let his fingers tug at the waistband of your own pants, pulling at them as you leaned in to another kiss. Your attempts to stop him, or at least to pretend that was your intention, were put to one side as your body reacted to the feeling of the cool air against your bare skin, his hands, rougher than you expected, holding your thighs, pulling your pants down further until he needed you to move.

"Well... have I charmed the pants off you at least?"

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head from side to side as though you were weighing up his efforts over the evening.

"I suppose you have charmed the pants off me, yes. But... I'm not sure how much further your winning personality has gotten you."

"There's plenty of time for me to catch up, then."

Clumsily, and with very little grace, you shifted and removed your pants, blushing as you noticed Digger watching you intensely, taking note of every movement, every second of you undresssing, as though you were offering him the performance of a lifetime. As you steadied yourself, he hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulled you back to him, landing you flat on top o f his body, your hands on his chest.

Teasing at the band of your panties, he dipped two fingers underneath the fabric, skating over your mound and down to your lips, stroking them gently before spreading them apart. He rubbed one finger up and down, collecting your slick as he licked his lips, desperate to know how you tasted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he ran them on his tongue, sucking them with his eyes rolling back.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me."

He continued unzipping his pants and pulling them down, boxers included, to reveal his more than impressive cock. At least ten inches, easily, thick, perfect, topped with a tuft of almost flaming red hair. Trying to control yourself, you leaned back.

"What are you planning on doing with that, Harkness?"

He squirmed, pressing his eyes shut and biting his lip before he managed to strain himself enough to speak.

"I just want... I want you... touch it... feel you... something... come on, please!"

Shuffling forward, teasing him knowingly as you felt his head, his length, against your thighs, you mused out loud, humming as though you were actually considering it, as though you hadn't already made your mind up yet.

"I suppose... this was a pleasant enough date. I could give you something, throw you a bone."

He nodded furiously below you, muttering his words of agreement.

"But! Just the tip. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. It should come with a warning."

George actually blushed, looking away from you for a moment, as though the comment had genuinely embarrassed him. It did seem odd to you in that moment that he wasn't constantly bragging about his prowess in that area. He struck you as exactly the kind of person who would mention the size of his cock at any opportunity. You wondered if had the effect on others that it had on you. It was daunting, a little bit nerve-wracking. How many of the few people who had made it this far had given up at the sight of it, you wondered.

Most, you assumed, as despite how desperate he seemed to fuck you, he agreed enthusiastically, happy to be offered any opportunity to get as close to you as possible. He was already pulling at your underwear, grasping at it, trying to pull it down before deciding to push it to the side as he lined up the head of his cock with your swollen lips.

Looking directly at you he maintained the intense eye contact as he slid himself between your lips, pushing at your tight entrance slowly, carefully, only allowing his head to enter you. It felt amazing. So good, better than you thought. It stretched, filled you up, and that was ten percent of what he had to give. He hissed, gritting his teeth in concentration, trying his hardest not to move his hips, to buck them, to push himself any further inside of you.

As you balanced yourself, trying to contend with the little of him that was inside of you, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it, making you twitch, contracting against him, tightening the grip your cunt had on his head. As he groaned, you couldn't help yourself anymore. You wanted him, all of him. You were willing to risk it.

"God, George... just fuck me."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck me! Just..."

Realising you might need to take matters into your own hands, you let yourself slide down his cock, each inch stretching you further, a shockwave of pain followed by dull throbs of ache and arousal coarsed through your body, the pit of your stomach feeling pressed, your insides stuffed with him. Llike you were being entirely consumed, enveloped, in George Harkness.

"Christ..."

It was all he could manage with the limited breath he had, his whole body stopping any other function to focus on not letting himself cum inside of you immediatel. The sudden warmth, the tight, wet embrace, the way you leaned back, breasts bouncing as helped yourself to him, riding his cock as he lay back and held your hips. His thumbs, stroking against your skin, where the top of your thighs met your lower stomach, feeling your own desperation as you worked him harder, faster, palms resting on his chest to balance yourself as you took everything he had.

Brows furrowed in concentration, pursuing your orgasm, you wailed as his fingers found their way back to your nipples, teasing them, grabbing at your breasts as you rolled your hips and felt his cock twitching agaisnt your walls. It hurt, but in a way that was delicious, a way that felt like it should be borderline illegal, like most things that provided such a wonderful, addictive experience were. But there you were, enjoying it. Loudly, explicitly. And very publicly. It didn't matter to you, and it really didn't seem to matter to George. You were quite happy to scream it from the rooftops then and there, how much you were enjoying it. Being fucked by Captain Boomerang, as ridiculous as his name always seemed to you. You'd be quite content to tell everyone that he was making you cum, that he was one stroke of his thumb against your erect nipples, one tap of his cock against the exact spot inside of you, from losing all composure.

"George... George..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's good... eh? I'm good."

"Fuck, you are. Yeah. Yes! Yes!"

One final, loud, resounding 'yes' echoed around you, filling the air, bursting through the trees. You imagined that anyone within a five mile radius might have heard Digger coming. His cock, falling from you against his body, still dripping with your slick, still spurting streams of his thick, white cum all over his abdomen, covering his thick pubic hair. His hands, still embedded in your skin, creating deep, red marks where the grip was far too tight, stinging so perfectly pleasantly.

Your own notes of pleasure hadn't exactly been all that much quieter than his own, but still drowned out by the amped up grunting and wailing of George. At least you could hold that saving grace. Allow yourself to cling to that modicum of your dignity.

Because you certainly weren't bothered about any other facets of it, as you slid down beside George on the dingy mattress, curling around his body, hand on his chest, smugly satisfied to know that you had contributed to the stains that would no doubt be a permanent feature.

[scarletts-scribbles]

Driving Her Home

⁀➷ Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

⁀➷ Notes: I wrote most of this during my lecture, I wont lie…

⁀➷ Summary: Natasha falls asleep in the car as you drive her home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The night air was heavy with relief when Natasha had finally completed her mission. Solo missions weren’t that fun anymore. Not after she’d grown so accustomed to having you by her side.

You’d always try to go on missions together anyway, even if it did mean hounding Fury until he eventually caved (which often didn’t take long with how persistent you were). However whenever you couldn’t go together, the two of you had fell into the habit of being the one to pick the other up afterwards. Being the one to drive or fly out to the other. It was a way to reconnect and make up for lost time, not only that but you certainly knew that Nat picking you up after a rough mission was the biggest step to moving on from it.

This time was no different. The road was dim as you drove alone, the lack of streetlights meant you only really had your headlights to illuminate the way through the narrow alleyways. Luckily you knew where you were going - you probably would’ve got lost otherwise. Natasha had turned on her active location tracker earlier and after a 40 minute drive the gps on your phone beeped to signal you were only 5 minutes away from her location.

When you finally arrived, Natasha emerged from the darkness, a silhouette bathed in the soft glow of the car's headlights. You made quick work of pulling up alongside the kerb for her.

“Hi sweetheart,” Your voice murmured softly as Natasha slid into the passenger seat, her demeanor a mix of weariness and quiet satisfaction. Without another word, you handed her a bottle of water from the bag you’d packed to take along. It was a small but thoughtful gesture, “There’s some snacks too if you want them.”

She mumbled a quiet thank you and took the water, taking a long swig, "Long night.” She finally sighed, using the back of her hand to wipe away the few droplets of remaining water from her lips.

“You wanna talk about it?” You offered, allowing her the chance to open up if she wanted too.

She seemed to think for a moment but inevitably shook her head. You nodded, not wanting to push her to talk until she was ready.

“That’s fine my love, it’s about a 40 minute drive so get comfy, we can talk whenever you’re ready.”

With each passing mile, Natasha's eyelids grew heavier. The steady motion of the car seemed to lull her into a drowsy state. You adjusted the temperature in the car, ensuring she was comfortable.

You reached over to gently squeeze Natasha's hand, a silent reassurance. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady road beneath you provided a soothing backdrop. As the car rolled on, Natasha's exhaustion became more apparent.

After a while, she leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes. The tension in her shoulders gradually eased, and the weariness on her face seemed to soften.

The next time you looked over, Natasha was asleep, her eyes closed as she sat curled up in her seat. She looked adorable. You turned the radio down gradually, not wanting to risk her waking up with its noise. At the next safest point, you slowly pulled over, making sure to brake softly to avoid jostling her. Once you’d stopped, you unbuckled your seatbelt and slid out your door. As silently as you could, you crept round to the boot and opened it, taking the fuzzy dark-grey blanket you always kept it in there.

Tucking the blanket under your arm, you quietly got back behind the wheel then as gently as you could, laid the blanket over Natasha, making sure it covered her sufficiently.

You took a moment to look over her sleep-filled features, feeling a swell of love and pride as you watched her snooze. You knew these missions took a lot out of her, even if she wasn’t always willing to admit it. Before setting off again, you leaned over and gently pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before whispering in a restful tone, “Sleep well my baby.”

For the rest of the journey, you kept your eye on her, smiling softly as you drove down the quiet streets. You knew you’d probably have to wake her up once you made it back home - but for now you were happy to just let her rest. To sleep away her problems, to finally unwind and let herself be relaxed as you lovingly watched over her.

ﾟ:*

〚 Masterlist! 〛 ೃ༄ 〚Join My Taglist! 〛