#sneaker hustle

[fitnesslife21]

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[cumpletelyhappythesecond]

American Hustle by Mert & Marcus for Interview magazine

[savage-rhi]

✨️Magenta✨️

[snkrbonbon]

Nike Air Zoom G.T. Hustle 2 EP

[thewordisbond]

Reef Hustle Delivers "Juice Crew" Ft. UFO Fev X Big French (Single)

Posted on https://www.thewordisbond.com/reef-hustle-delivers-juice-crew-ft-ufo-fev-x-big-french-single/

Reef Hustle Delivers "Juice Crew" Ft. UFO Fev X Big French (Single)

Well-established BX Hip Hop artist Reef Hustle shares "Juice Crew" single. The record is taken from his critically acclaimed album 'Sneaker Box' and features UFO Fev with production by Reef himself as well as Big French. Reef Hustle shows off his natural knack to slay with metaphor after

[wileys-russo]

regular visitor II m.león

regular visitor II m.león

you exhaled shakily as you flashed your ID badge and peeled into the training complex, almost running over several pigeons pecking at the ground on your designated parking spot as your engine cut off and your head thumped against the steering wheel.

heart rate refusing to slow down from the various road rules you broke this morning you hustled to grab your things out of the car and hurry inside, well aware that due to some awful morning traffic you were running almost over an hour and a half late now.

yes it was definitely the traffics fault and not the fact you'd accidentally set your alarm for 6pm and not 6am, and considering you'd like to think of yourself as quite the punctual and professional person being on time was late for you, so this situation was something new and you loathed it beyond belief.

it wasn't a game day thankfully but you knew this would set you back dreadfully as you had appointments lined up all morning back to back, jona wanting almost all of the girls to have a quick check up and check in since most of them had only just returned from international break.

with a groan you shifted uncomfortably trying not to drop anything with your arms more than full, attempting to kick your car door shut behind you as your one free finger probed at your hips where your keys hung trying to find the lock button.

"oh hijo de puta!" you cursed as you struggled to hold everything, finally kicking your door shut but dropping your coffee and jumping back as it narrowly missed soiling your brand new white sneakers.

"un lenguaje tan grosero." you jolted in shock and almost fell over at the unexpected voice, a tattooed hand hurrying over to grab your bag right before it hit the ground as the other pressed against the small of your back to stop you toppling over.

"mapi." you exhaled with relief at the familiar face, the girl making sure you were steady on your feet before handing you back your bag, ignoring your protests as she took a few of the medical books stacked in your arms into her own.

"está bien, déjame ayudarte. quiero hacerlo!" the defender dismissed your concerns with a flick of her hand, sending you a dazzlingly white toothed smile as you took a moment to collect yourself.

"you are a little late today, no?" the girl questioned, the two of you falling into step as you smiled at her accented english.

despite the fact you did speak and understand most spanish you appreciated that a lot of the girls who spoke english did their best to do so around you, knowing you did get homesick every now and then having been born and raised in england up until around a year ago when you'd made the move to spain from manchester.

"i could say the same for you león." you quipped back making the defender send you a grin and knock her shoulder into yours. "i was allowed to sleep in. no fitness testing when you have been here training all summer." mapi smiled but you recognised it didn't quite meet her eyes as your features softened, not knowing the whole story but enough to know there were reasons she no longer played for spain.

"did you go to the library first chica?" the zaragozan teased quickly changing subject, jostling the heavy textbooks in her arms and reveling in the laughter it pulled from you as the pair of you made your way inside making small talk.

"gracias por su ayuda!" you exhaled gratefully, shifting your bag on your shoulder and holding out your arms for the books which mapi carefully placed down into them as you reached where you'd be parting ways.

"anytime." if mapi had planned to say more she didn't get the chance as you shot her another grateful smile and hurried away, the girl exhaling with an annoyed grumble at herself and wandering off toward the locker rooms.

"bon dia!" you sang out with a rushed smile, swiping your card at reception and practically sprinting toward the physio's wing, arriving to your office with a sigh of relief seeing there wasn't a line of disgruntled players yet.

"jona called a captains meeting to get everyone on the same page so everything's been pushed back, i took care of the younger girls who had the first appointments and rearranged the rest to come in after breakfast, you're fine amiga. breathe!" carmen the other physio on today assured as you collapsed at your desk with a groan, a thump sounding as you dropped everything and your limbs burned from the effort.

"thank you!" you gestured up to the sky making the woman laugh and sit down across from you, running you through the schedule for the day as you hurried to tidy everything up, grabbing out your diary and scribbling down the changes.

"so andrés and peter are in for the afternoon too?" you clarified, the tests for the girls hoping to be returning from injury this weekend having been moved to after lunch as carmen nodded and you were relieved to hear you'd be sharing the load.

"sí. makes it smoother to go through everyone on the list without having to rush anything or hold anyone back later than needed." the woman explained as you nodded in agreement.

a knock at the door gained your attention as you looked up to see a familiar face hovering in the doorway. "bon dia mapi!" carmen greeted her, taking her copy of the schedule and promising she'd be back soon for your upcoming meeting with a few of the other staff, and with a coffee in hand for you as you blew her a kiss with a grateful sigh.

"long time no see león." you teased as the defender gave you a grin. "i had to make sure nobody moved my chair." mapi huffed nodding to the padded massage chair she'd gotten all too familiar with during her rehab the last few months which you'd headed.

"moved it since you were sat in it...yesterday? you know maybe i should just get you your own personal bench at this point, with your initials and everything." you continued with a wink as mapi perked up and your gaze dropped back to your diary in front of you.

"are you here for help or for a chat maps?" you asked, half serious and half joking as you did have a busy day ahead, the defender rolling her eyes playfully.

"it is a professional visit, but we will chat anyway." mapi nodded confidently which you couldn't deny, but the footballer also had no leg to stand on as she did often find herself hanging about in your office in little bubbles of free time with no real reason bar wanting to talk to you.

though if you knew the real reasons why she seemed to hover, and if you'd caught on at all to the way she often shamelessly flirted with you, you'd made no move to show her so.

"tape time?" you laughed knowingly, a flurry of nods greeting you as you gestured for her to take a seat.

"so how was being back home?" mapi questioned with a smile, grabbing out what you needed as she hauled herself up onto the bench.

"like, overnight? it was fine!" you chuckled with a shake of your head. "no! during the break. you were gone for a week." mapi blushed slightly and hoped you hadn't heard the shake in her voice as you hunted around for another roll of tape.

she'd wanted to speak to you about it yesterday but all of this week you'd been busy preparing for everyone returning and the impending season, not having had much time to sit and talk with her like you normally would.

"oh that, it was nice." you smiled politely, not giving much away. "so whats troubling you today then?" you asked moving to stand over her as a panicked look crossed her face.

"qué? what do you mean?" mapi frowned in confusion, shuffling back a little to give you more room. "with the tape. what do you need taped mapi? your knee?" you chuckled, the girl exhaling with a noise of understanding.

"oh! sí. the knee, i went for a run last night and it has been a little...tight since." mapi shrugged as you nodded in understanding, the defender cleared for mostly everything now since her initial recovery and rehab.

"mm yeah there is a little tension. have you done much in the way of hard cardio outside of training since we cleared you?" you asked, massaging her knee and thigh expertly in your hands as mapi opened and closed her mouth, distracted temporarily by the way you were touching and squeezing her.

the girl loathed how around you her tongue and her words seemed to fail her, confidence not something she had ever ever struggled with but for some reason all it took was a bright eyed smile and a laugh from you and her mind would go blank.

"mapi?" you asked with a concerned frown when she didn't answer, the defender shaking her head for a moment. "oh! sí a little. i have been trying to fix my sleep schedule but when i cannot sleep, i try to go for a run." the girl admitted with a small smile and you pretended not to already know she was in therapy given it was part of her rehab program anyway, but you knew better than to every question any of the girls on things outside your realm of qualifications.

"that makes the nap you took yesterday make more sense." you teased with a grin as she scoffed. "i did not sleep! i was uh...how do you say? resting my eyes." mapi defended herself with a scowl making you laugh.

"oh? i did not know people snored when they rest their eyes." you smiled, the knot in her knee a little less prominent mapi tried to pretend she didn't miss the feelings of your hands on her as you backed off to measure out the tape.

"i do not snore!" mapi huffed, crossing her arms. "sure." you drawled sarcastically with a smile, gesturing for her to stretch out her leg as you wrapped the tape around expertly.

"vamos! off you go. if you are late for strength training carlos will have my head on a platter." you chuckled as she hopped down and you sat back at your desk. "head on a platter?" the girl gave you a face of confusion as you smiled.

"i would get the blame." you explained, shooing your hands at her and nodding at the door as you opened your laptop, fingers clicking away against the keys and mapi paused in the doorway for a moment.

"oye. would you want to-" you looked up with a quirked eyebrow and the eye contact seemed to suck the question from her as the spaniard shook her head, mumbling something and hurrying out of the room.

you'd just finished your check ups with a few more of the girls later in the day when you the familiar face poped back in only a few hours after you'd already seen her.

"again! what can i do for you this time maría?" you chucked, turning around and missing the way pina shot her a knowing look on her way out, shoving the girl and muttering something in her ear as she left the room.

"my calves are locked up." mapi pulled herself to sit up on the bench again as you hummed, grabbing out a bottle of massage oil and gesturing for her to lay down.

"did you overload the leg press again?" you sighed as she gave you a guilty smile and you shook your head. "mapi you know that if-" you started to lecture as she groaned.

"sí, lo sé! i have to be careful even if i am cleared. there are still risks." mapi parroted the words she'd heard from you time and time again. "then use these to listen!" you warned, tugging playfully at her ear as she chuckled.

the girl breathed a sigh of relief as you began to massage out the knots and tension in her lower legs, and though that wasn't the reason she'd really come here, it was a bonus.

"so how was your time back home?" mapi questioned again, propping herself up on one arm to look at you over her shoulder. "you already asked me that, it was nice!" you reminded with a laugh, the midfielders face flushing bright red in embarrassment.

"gah! more than nice. what did you do?" mapi asked, persistent to get a little more out of you which amused you. "saw family, spent time with my friends, caught up on all my paperwork because my patients don't listen to instructions about not overdoing it!" you answered with a wink, mapi's head thumping back down onto the bench as she looked to the floor.

"i do not always overdo it." you heard her grumble and merely smiled, the defender seemingly giving up on her questions as a comfortable silence fell between the pair of you.

"vale! all done." you squeezed her ankle and moved to wash your hands. "esperet! my uh, my shoulder is a little tight. we were doing...throw ins!" mapi quickly sat up as you narrowed your eyes.

"mm well we can't have that." you gestured for her to turn around as you gave her shoulder a squeeze. "higher or lower?" you asked, the spaniard guiding you to where her 'pain' was.

"okay, shirt off." you instructed as mapi quickly stripped off her training top leaving her in only a sports bra, and you ever so briefly caught the pink tint which coated her cheeks before her head faced the wall.

"so...what are you doing after work today?" mapi asked, wincing at the awkwardness in her tone, again never finding herself so tongue tied around anyone else.

"going home." you chuckled with a smile, working through the basically non existent knot in her shoulder but choosing not to say anything. "oh! cool." mapi nodded, pulling a face which she was grateful you couldn't see.

"you know, if you have something to ask me mapi, you can just ask." you encouraged, unsure if you were misreading the situation but having a feeling she was dancing around her true intentions and had been for awhile now.

"because you know if you wanted to ask me out you can just do it. instead of making up all of these injuries and excuses to come and hang out with me in here during work hours." you spoke casually but the words caused mapi to choke on air as she spun around and pulled her shirt back on.

you watched with amusement as the footballer opened and closed her mouth clearly in shock, causing a grin to curl into your features not used to seeing her so flustered.

"you're cute mapi, but we gotta work on your confidence!" you patted her leg with a smile, stepping back a little. "i have confidence, lots of it!" she blurted out with a frown as you hummed, waiting a moment for her to say anything else and chuckling when nothing followed.

"i'm free tonight, if you were wondering." you sat down at your desk and pulled out alexia's file, seeing her for a one on one next. "oh. oh!" things clicked for mapi as you raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to add some more on with a subtle wave of your hands.

"dinner. would you like to go and eat dinner, with me. a date! will you go on a date with me por favor?" mapi finally managed out, the pink flush creeping up her neck causing her to tug uncomfortably at the collar of her training top.

"sí, i'd love to." you answered softly, watching as her face lit up like that of a kid on christmas morning.

"vale. bien! genial!" mapi nodded happily, making a beeline for the door as you cleared your throat and she came to a halt. "would you like my number so we can make a plan for dinner?" you asked, her face perking up even further as she nodded.

you held your hand out for her phone, saving your number in it and handing it back to her. "you better text me león." you warned playfully as she backed out of the room. "i will! promesa." you melted at the dopey grin on her face as she left, hearing her footsteps thud away.

"estás muy guapa hoy!" your head lifted up as hers popped back in, sending you a charming grin before disappearing again, racing off away to the gym as you let out a laugh and focused back on your laptop in front of you, smile unable to be wiped from your lips the rest of the day.

[dippedanddripped]

Deadstock Nike dunk 1985 and Nike air max 98.

[shotmrmiller]

simon's many things. a retired fighter, for one. he hung his mma gloves a few of years ago with the excuse of getting older. he still sticks around, though— sitting in the front, so close to the hexagonal cage that his knees can touch the steel, occasionally gesturing price over to hand him a crinkled wad of cash.

gambling's illegal, you know.

thought you were a medic not a cop, pet.

a veterinarian.

good thing we're all dogs here, then.

he's also a bit unhinged, or so price says. you had pressed your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep from asking him if the hits simon's taken to the side of the head knocked a few things loose or if he was simply born that way. you'd be thoroughly unsurprised by the latter.

seen 'em take a man out with one ferocious hit— dislocated his jaw and retired him all in one second— all over cigarettes.

what, did they guy like steal them or something?

no. the prize for the winner of their fight was that pack of smokes.

incredible. (that's insane.)

he's also unrepentantly forward and a bit of a pervert, to boot. no explanation is needed.

lemme take ya out, love—

don't call me that.

and wear a pretty dress with heels. bet you'd look real good in—

stop talking, simon.

and now, you're about to find out that he's also, apparently, magnanimous.

a friday night's hustle and bustle has come and gone, as has the crowd that was in there earlier to watch a fight. the air smells of cheap alcohol and even cheaper cologne. the lighting inside is dim, casting a dull, almost sickly glow over wooden stands and the bloodied arena. the floor, once dry concrete, was now mud-slicked; drinks, urine, and spilled blood staining the surface. betting slips stick to your sneakers as you walk. (trudge, more like.)

with your worn medical supply bag around your shoulder, you tiredly head towards price's office whose metal door is being held open by an old barstool, and gently rap your knuckles on the frame. "i'm leaving, john."

he looks up at you, soft blue eyes crinkling over his glasses as he smiles. "sounds good, love. see ya later. want me to walk you out?"

always the gentleman. "no, i'm alright. i'm sure simon's out there waiting for me any—"

the metal entrance door slams open then, causing you to jump at the startling noise. you whip your head around and a resigned groan escapes your lips. it's simon and he's got bruised company. very bruised.

there's never any rest for the wicked.

"who's that?" john calls from behind you. "he lost?"

the guy whose arm is slung around simon's shoulders looks relatively young. thick, straight eyebrows, a swollen broken nose, and thin blood-crusted lips. the last time you saw a mohawk on someone, it'd been in the early 00s.

"somewhat but it's a good thing i found 'em," simon grunts. his eyes flash over to you. "can ya patch him up f'me, love? i'll go on tha' date you've been beggin' me for."

you ignore simon as you approach them both and tip the guy's head up with your fingers under his chin. searching in your front pocket, you tell him to look at you. "open your eyes as best you can, alright?"

his eyes are like sparkling blue gems— bright like the sky on a clear summer's day. he winces at the blinding white light emitting from the flashlight. "tha' necessary, lass? ah'm not seein' double, if tha's what ye lookin' fer."

he gives a pained grunt before simon tells him to stand still. "my girl here's the medic and what she says goes. clear?"

"crystal, sir." purple bruises are blooming like dark flowers around his left eye and right cheekbone, and the blood that oozed from his split lip long coagulated. his nose, however, continues to languidly drip crimson.

"not the worst break i've seen," you mutter.

the pair shuffle behind you quietly as you head toward the dedicated medical room. the sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic wafts through the air as the door swings open.

"sit, please," you gesture to the well-worn chair in the corner.

black latex gloves squeak in protest as you slide them on. "wanna tell me what's going on, simon? i'm not gonna fix the nose of a wanted murderer, am i?"

simon chuckles under his breath. "no. unlucky bloke chose to mug the wrong person. johnny here is real good at fightin', though, for someone with no real proper trainin'. figured i could give him a way to earn his money instead of stealin' it off of hard-workin' folk."

you hum and press your thumbs as gently as you can where the nasal fracture is. johnny hisses sharply and grips your wrist tightly. "easy. i barely touched it." you quickly tap the back of his hand with your knuckles. "let go, please. last thing i need is you tensing and breaking my arm."

he slackens his fingers and sits on both of his hands. "sorry, lass. ah'd never hurt a bonnie lass like ye. say, how'd ye even end up in the bowels of the city?"

his talking re-opened the cut on his upper lip, blood streaking his teeth pink. "i'm a charity case, just like you, i reckon."

johnny means to continue the conversation, but you take advantage of his distracted mind and push to the left, the sickening crunch of cartilage follows the adjustment. he curls in on himself and lets out a guttural noise that bounces off the white walls. "i'd be sorry but..." you trail off with a casual shrug.

pulling a clean rag from a basket nearby, you order johnny to sit up straight. "look up for me." he leans his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "hold this there," he squeezes his eyes shut when you firmly press the rag under his nose, "you'll stop bleeding soon enough."

you swivel on your stool, turning your attention to simon who's been silently watching you work by the door. "any injuries on you?"

he pulls his balaclava up, revealing a blonde stubble and scarred lips. "i got an injury right," he points at his mouth, "here tha' you can kiss—"

"stop talking, simon."

johnny's laughter emerges from behind the crimson-stained cloth.

--

this is the first time you've ever seen simon in the ring.

simon, even while 'retired', fights with a viciousness that borders on primal. his snarl— a ravenous wolf's— bare crooked teeth that hunger for victory, for dominance.

even when he's merely teaching johnny how to survive in this subterranean battleground.

"there's no room for mercy, soap!" he bellows. his eyes are sharp as blades, holding an edge of madness. he charges forward with fists like sledgehammers, delivering blow after punishing blow; johnny's body paying the price for his mistakes.

pain is the currency in that pit of despair, laswell had once said.

simon is a beast in human skin, ferocity incarnate...and you don't remember the last time you were this aroused by such a brute display. if this is what he looks like now, after years of being the spectator and not the spectacle, you can only imagine him in the zenith of his strength, his power.

heat licks up your cheeks at the mere thought.

he looks like he was born and bred to fight. his crib must've been the stained mat he's dancing on, his lullabies the sound of fists making contact, forcing flesh to yield. his broad back bears the weight of history— jagged flesh that stretches taut with each swing.

"fight smart! rules dissolve once tha' bell tolls, mate. many come here for glory, others come for an escape but some--" simon ducks the undisciplined punch johnny throws and gives him a ruthless jab to the ribs once then another to the side of his cut jaw.

johnny falls like a tree that's been cut at the trunk, the sound his body makes on impact with the canvas echoing in the empty basement. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, sweat and trickles of blood mingling on his face. simon kneels next to him, grunting as he goes down. "some are only here for their next meal and those are the most dangerous."

he is in his element, all bruised flesh and bloodied nose.

oh no. johnny's nose is bleeding too. "simon!" his head snaps to you when you scream, eyes wide and unfettered. "i just fixed his nose, you dolt!" his expression softens then— furrowed brows and taut lips relax.

"he'll be alrigh'. even my nose whistles when i breathe," he remarks.

simpleton. nothing but fighting and gambling in that big head of his. "that doesn't mean that it's okay to break bones i mended a few days ago." you keep your eyes fixed on johnny, ignoring the way the heat that's radiating from simon's sweat-slick body seeps into your chilled skin. "why he call you soap, anyway? good at cleaning dishes?"

he slurs a little, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. "'cuz ah'm a shlippery bashtard."

you bite on your tongue, hoping that his slurring is because he's still mildly dazed from the punch and not something worse.

"wha' about me, love? i've got a beaten face too, y'know." you look at him then, narrowing your eyes as you take his bare face in. the bridge of his nose is pretty swollen, and you can see the onset of bruising already happening. it's also freely dribbling blood.

"shit, let me go get my medbag."

he hooks his fingers around the loops of your jeans, keeping you in place. "'fraid of a little blood, are ya? i think you'd look real good with me on you."

a jolt of arousal shoots up your spine unbidden, blooming desire, focus wavering. your breath catches and pupils dilate as they lock with his rich, brown ones.

"oi, get a room, aye?" johnny's hoarse voice snaps you back to the present, your thunderous heartbeat ebbing away like a tide from shore.

"whenever you want, sweetheart," simon purred. the lump lodged in your throat makes it hard to respond. "get the bag 'fore i bleed out. price will have my head if i drop dead on his mat."

you blink and scramble away on shaky legs and weak knees.

[fs3mmedia]

Motivated Move Maker sneaker by Frank Smith III. Available on my website fs3mmedia.com

fs3mmedia.com

[xn--nyc-hh33b]

Genie Print

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[murdrdocs]

thinking about patrick getting hired by some wealthy rich man to teach his daughter tennis. she's in her 20s and she can't help but be attracted to him and the same goes for him like ... idk

public sex; oral (f receiving); coach zweig once more; MDNI 18+ w/ PATRICK ZWEIG

for the first couple of sessions, it's blatantly obvious that you don't want to be here.

patrick sees it in the way you zone out every few seconds. the way you have absolutely no hustle when you're hitting. the way you're more focused on your chipped nail polish than on his instructions. really, if the check wasn't as big as it is, then patrick wouldn't want to be here either. but the check for one session is enough to keep him going for three months and patrick wants to keep the money flowing. so he's here, and he cares just enough, and he really would prefer it if you cared too.

he meets you on even ground in the middle of the second lesson. you're drinking from an expensive water bottle while patrick drinks from a plastic one. your skin has a light sheen of sweat from it, but not nearly enough in patrick's opinion. he's sure the sweat is from the sun and not your effort.

he kicks the front of your sneakers with his.

"what's your deal?"

you're looking up at him, squinting even though the brim of your visor shields your eyes from the sun. "my deal?"

patrick nods. "you clearly don't wanna be here. so why are you?"

it takes you a second. your jaw ticks as if you're a smoker, or maybe you're used to chewing gum. patrick usually keeps both with him, and he would've offered either to you if you weren't on a court in your backyard.

eventually, you respond. "i agreed to come home for the summer and i could either sit on the board with my father, or play tennis. anything to keep me from lounging around all day."

a small, knowing smile came to patrick's lips. he glanced behind you at the shape of your house. standing here, patrick sees you. he understands you. he, too, learned tennis to escape the future set up by his father. while yours is on a smaller scale, and something more temporary, he still understands.

he caps his water bottle and places it on the bench. "if you put in a little effort, tennis can be fun."

you snicker and place your water bottle next to his, humming noncommittally.

"i'll believe it when i see it."

it isn't long until patrick starts to see effort put into your movements during your sessions. instead of letting the ball fly past you, you're attempting to run for it, sometimes even succeeding. your skin shines with more than a light sweat. you're actually out of breath when you attempt to respond to patrick mid session.

it's nice to see you putting in work. it's attractive when you're bent over with your hands on your knees, heaving for air. it's alluring when you pout at patrick, a plea for a break already on your emphasized lips.

he doesn't know if your sudden enthusiasm is of your own doing, or from the way patrick rewards you. because no matter how much he pushed his desire down, no matter how often he tried to hide it in the name of professionalism, he still found himself drawn to you. glances up your skirt turned to his head up there. fleeting touches to your lower back turned to his rough hands gripping that very area as he took you from behind. watching the sun beat sweat down onto your skin had a completely different meaning when he fucked you on the court, both of you tucked away on the bench and barely hidden away from anyone—notably your father—who could come outside.

it's obvious that you wanted him, too, your sudden need to impress him on the courts whenever he rewarded you with kisses was a testament.

he asks you one day when he'd lightly smacked your ass with his racket when your session was over. "is tennis fun yet?" came his question, and you smiled at him, throwing a hand over your eye to shield your face from the sun. the shadows cast onto your face and your clavicle did nothing to hide the obvious hickey patrick gave you a few days ago and he found his eyes drawn there when you answered.

"dunno. maybe i need a few more sessions."

[sometimesanalice]

I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation.  You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.  

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.” 

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch. 

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.  

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”  

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

Tag list:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[snkrbonbon]

Nike Air Zoom G.T. Hustel 2 ASW

[nandolonso]

UNDISCLOSED DESIRES (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

TITLE: Undisclosed Desires – aka who is the biggest fan of whom? (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

I got inspired after Baku. P6 BABY, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO!

FYI: English is not my main language nor is Spanish. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: self-doubt, self-image issues, kind of shy reader, reassuring and slightly dominant Nando (who worships the shit out of you), happiness, positive social media presence, Spanish, dirty talking and fingering, smuttish – I hope you enjoy it. 😉

Recommended song: Undisclosed Desires by Muse

Explanation: Y/N – your name, Y/H/C – your hair color

Also, this GIF is chef's kiss, his gaze is so intense. GOSH!!! 🔥 I hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think! ❤️‍🔥

//

It was race day in Baku.

You were sitting in the paddock waiting for Fernando Alonso to show up. Your boyfriend. It was hard to comprehend that he was your man, your partner. It was an unbelievable title – but it was true, he really was yours.

However, the last period has been challenging for both of you. On the one hand, Alonso has spent several periods away from you, as Aston Martin has struggled to get a good position in recent months. Of course, Fernando took his job very seriously, so he helped the engineers where he could. They did a lot of test laps, planning, thinking.

As for you: you were an average person. You were not a reporter or a supermodel. You were completely different from Alonso's previous partners. You were ordinary – in the best possible way. But it was a very difficult situation for you. You often questioned yourself: were you good enough? Were you good enough not only for yourself but for him? Where did you belong in this world? Especially seeing the other WAGs, and how pretty and thin they were… And you could go on. So, all that time you spent apart didn't help your already fragile mental state.

It was tough for you not to project your self-doubt onto him. And you hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to be there to support him in every race. To be there for him, always. But a lot of times your state of mind, the media presence, and all the hustle and bustle didn't help you at all. That's why you stayed mostly in the background, as you didn't want Fernando to worry any more than he had been worrying lately.

Fortunately, Aston Martin recently managed to sign Adrian Newey to the team, and you could almost see the "life" returning to Fernando's eyes. The love of your life was shining as he entered the paddock: his stance was firm and confident, that mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth was back, and his gaze was sparkling with fire which you hadn't seen for a long time now.

You couldn't help thinking how good he looked. How he deserves to be world champion again. Your world champion. The thought made your chest tighten. You loved him so much it almost hurt. You wanted him to be happy and succeed so much – it was sometimes physically impossible to bear.

You have never felt this way about anyone, and you didn't want to lose him. You had been together for almost a year now, but you noticed your feelings for him growing every day. So, you thought this weekend was the perfect time to surprise him and actually show that. To be there for him not just mentally, but physically.

You pulled yourself together: you wore a custom Kimoa x Aston Martin shirt that fit your body perfectly. While you didn't have a supermodel figure, you were definitely gorgeous. You had a lot of heads turning in the paddock.  

Your Y/H/C hair glistened in the sunshine, your fingernails painted the typical "Aston Martin green". You counterbalanced the shirt with a black skort that showed off your body perfectly but wasn't too much. To top off everything, you were wearing a sneaker to keep it casual. But the way you wore Fernando's name on your body – front and back, sparkled in his colors, and carried his brand proudly, you were anything but "casual".

As soon as Fernando entered the garage, he noticed you. But he had to look twice just to make sure you were really there because he was not used to seeing you around. Although he made no secret of you, he was very aware of how much you tried to avoid the public. He could understand that you were suffering with your own demons, and he knew exactly how harsh the media could be on F1 drivers and their loved ones.  

But at that moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone. Just you. And all he felt was pride. You were a perfect fit. His perfect fit. And the fact that you were wearing Aston Martin colors, and his brand made his heart beat faster. Suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling.

The way he looked at you took your breath away for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room (even though it was half in the open air). The fire that flared up in Fernando's eyes was so intense, that you feared he would burn everyone alive. But mostly you.

Your feet rooted to the ground; you gulped as he strode confidently towards you.

"Mi vida," Fernando began, and leaving you no time to think, he pulled you close to him, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

In that moment you forgot that other people were standing around you. There were probably a few photos taken of you, but you didn't care. At that moment, it was just the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you to deepen the kiss.

Not only his eyes were fiery, but so was the passion he kissed with. There was almost no space left between the two of you as he pulled you shut to him, his hand holding your waist tightly.

Your tongues brushed against each other to have a taste. You almost moaned out loud at the sensation, and you knew you had to stop now, or you wouldn't be able to contain yourself. This man brought out emotions that you never had before. With him... Well, you were always horny, so to speak.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought of him taking you there and then, so you broke the kiss. You tilted your forehead to his.

"Nando," you said breathlessly. "People are watching."

"I don’t care, mi amor," he replied, his Spanish accent getting heavier, which tends to come out when he's very passionate or angry. You hoped it was the former. "Estoy tan contenta de verte," he murmured into your lips in Spanish. It meant he was very happy to see you. You have spent the last year trying to learn as much of the language as possible, which he of course appreciated. You were of a different nationality as well and English was your common language.

You learned a lot from him in bed. He was quite vocal – to say the least. Calling you pet names and talking through it… Enough, you thought to yourself, snapping out of your trans.

Fernando laughed at your expression and how easy it was to make you riled up just with a simple sentence. It was as if he could see inside your head. It was easy for him to read you. And he enjoyed teasing the hell out of you.

He pulled you closer to him for a hug and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

"I'm really glad that you're here," he said once again, this time in English, squeezing you gently to mark his words. "And you look beautiful too," You hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his chest and taking in his intoxicating scent. The smell that always kept you going: something leathery and woody. It was very masculine, but somehow still comforting and reassuring. Thanks to Boss. They were doing God's work with this man.

"Here to support the best," you muttered into his shirt. You pulled away from him for a moment to look him in the eye. "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that." He loved the way you were looking up at him: the way you were glowing with love and desire. How your lips were swelled up after the kiss, how you stood there in the garage, proud to belong to him.

Alonso was like you. He hasn't felt that way about anyone for a very long time. And although he did everything he could for you, somehow it was very difficult for him to talk about his feelings. And not because he was ashamed of them or because he wasn't sure of himself – he was too sure of what he felt. And it frightened him. He was afraid to open up and might lose you. He was old enough to know what he wanted, and he didn't want to start over again with anyone else. All he wanted was you. In the end, somehow, he was still afraid. You had been together for about a year, but he was afraid to say those particular three words, even though he kept calling you "my love" and its synonyms in Spanish.

And at the moment as he looked at you… He was sure. He was sure he wanted you for the rest of his life and that you weren't his biggest fan, but more like vice versa. And he wanted to prove it to you.

He pulled you into his embrace once more.

"I know, mi amor," he mumbled into your hair and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. "I'll put myself out there, just for you," he added with a gentle chuckle. You squeezed him and then let him go, knowing how much he had to do before the race. You took a few steps back just to take him in, now there was even more determination in his eyes than before. Fernando was almost vibrating with excitement, knowing you were there to cheer and support him. And there was something in his eyes as well that made the butterflies in your stomach revive.

"I…" you wanted to say something, but how his eyes softened with tenderness made you speechless. He slowly reached for your hands, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin of your palm.

"Can I take some photos of you guys?" suddenly one of the team members of Aston Martin popped between the two of you. He was clearly making some content for the team's social media channel and even though you were nervous, you somehow felt put together and wanted to support Fernando all the way. "You look so good together," he added with a soft smile. You tried to find lies in his eyes, but he seemed sincere. Maybe it's time to really believe that you're GOOD and that you looked great together. Fernando Alonso wasn't with you for nothing.

Fernando looked at you and waited for your approval. You nodded slightly and Alonso immediately pulled you to him by the waist.

"The best girl on the grid," Alonso said loudly and proudly, pushing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but smile at his affection and you pulled him closer to you as well, while the social media guy snapped a few pics.

After that, he showed you all the pictures. As Fernando looked at you in the photos, all his emotions were clear: his eyes radiated with love and respect. And you were definitely glowing next to him. The guy went on to show you some of the photos, eventually stopped when he had taken the two of you kissing. You indeed looked very good together.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," he mumbled to himself. Fernando tensed for a moment next to you, waiting for any protest. But you didn't. You really did look good together and wanted nothing more than to show the two of you to the world.

"It’s okay," you started. "The pictures are really great," you reassured the guy and Fernando next to you loosened up. He pressed another kiss to your temple then took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry, mi amor, but I have to go now," he said. "Enjoy the race," Fernando added with a wink. That damn wink. And that damn smirk. Gosh, that will be the end of you. Pendejo.

You turned back towards the social media guy, and at that moment you realized that because of his interference, you didn't say out loud what you wanted to a few moments ago. You wanted to declare your love to Fernando for the very first time, out loud, but now you missed your chance…

"Can I take a few more of you, especially the shirt and nails?" he asked shyly, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You seem like a truly great soul who supports and respects Alonso, and I want to show that to the world," you were almost touched by his words. You were definitely genuine with Fernando and didn't want to use him for anything. You were just there because you were his greatest fan. And that was the best thing for you.

You nodded softly and you guys managed to make a full-on photoshoot in the end. You were surprised at how liberated you felt at the end, and you even chuckled and did some "model-poses."

"You're a natural," he chuckled but you soon stopped as the race began.

//

The race was very exciting. Full of overtaking and adrenaline. At the end of the race, Alonso managed to score P6, which is a very big word from Aston Martin these days. You couldn't help but be excited all the way through, expressing emotion and knowing you were going to be all over social media, but you didn't care. Because Fernando Alonso won. In your eyes that P6 was P1.

After the race, you ran up to him and hugged him. He still had his mask on, but you pressed a kiss to the plexiglass. Of course, the cameras were clicking around you, but you didn't care. Because you were incredibly happy, and you were glad for Alonso. And at that moment, that was all that mattered. If it didn't bother him that you were in every picture (and it probably didn't, because he'd asked you to come with him to the paddock countless times), why would it have bothered you?

In that moment you realized that even though you never said those three words, it was clear how you felt about each other. Alonso lifted you up as he celebrated.

"Yes, baby," he said then laughed. You loved it when he was so excited. And you couldn't wait to see what the new season would bring him under Newey's aegis.

//

A few hours after the race, you were sitting in your hotel room looking at your phone.

Social media, especially Aston Martin's official Instagram page, was full of you and Fernando. You couldn't stop smiling as you saw the hashtag #couplegoals and the many, many supportive comments from fans. What were you afraid of in the first place?

Sure, there will always be some people who don't like certain things, but the majority of commenters were supportive. At least, most of them. You locked your phone and looked out the window. You were thinking about everything that happened that day and you couldn't help but admire the wonderful view of the old town of Baku. You tried to take in every little detail, but your mind kept wandering back to how truly happy you looked at those pictures. And how you guys looked good together.

You let a soft sight as you snapped back to reality. You were waiting for Alonso and he was always on time. You were more the late type, but now you're well ahead of schedule. You wanted everything to be perfect. Not just for the night but for you as well. After the race, you took a thorough bath, did the typical "girly routine", used lotion, did your hair, your make-up... You wore his favorite perfume that made you both sweet and seductive – just to make sure he loses his mind. Then you put on an Aston Martin green evening dress that perfectly accentuated your figure and hid what you were less than happy with. That's how you were waiting for him as the two of you arranged to have dinner tonight to celebrate his placing. Just the two of you. You took your eyes off the city and slowly stood up and went to the full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom to examine yourself.

You've smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, but you've looked quite nice ��� even you were satisfied, which is a big thing. You nodded to yourself, just when you heard a knock on your door.

Slowly you walked over and opened it. There stood Alonso, in all his glory. He was wearing a black shirt and a black suit. For some reason, the color combination looked very good on his skin. His stubble was short and thick, the hair was all set. You were instantly struck by the typical "Alonso scent", the leathery, woody, Boss-y fragrance. Gosh, he looked delightful. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

But as he looked at you, he was the one taken aback. You looked like an angel in that green dress. And he was ready to be your demon in that black attire of his, to lead you into the dark mysteries of the night as his eyes locked with yours. You were like the perfect match for him: black and white, Ying and Yang to each other.

"Y/N," he basically growled, as he stepped closer to you, his accent heavy. He tried crossing the distance between the two of you. The emotions of the whole day were stirring inside him. As he stepped closer, you stepped back. He looked at you as if he were the hunter and you were his prey.

His eyes burned with a fire you'd probably never seen from him before. You were almost afraid that as soon as he got close to you, it would burn. And you weren't sure you didn't want to burn all the way.

As you stepped back, he stepped forward one more step, closing the door behind him.

The back-and-forth game continued until you got to the bed. As soon as your knee hit the thing, a truly devilish smile spread across Fernando's face. His eyes almost darkened, with only one thing in his mind: you. Oh, he wanted to explore every inch of you like he'd never done before.

Suddenly you didn’t know why, maybe because of the intensity of his gaze, you felt very shy. You felt almost naked even though you were fully dressed up. You were almost certain that he saw right through you and he could see your flaws and mistakes. At least, that's how you were with yourself. Because when it always came to "that", it was very hard to switch off and let go.

"Mi amor," he started. "Look at me!" he ordered, and you obeyed. Not that you could argue with that: he stepped closer to you to lift your chin, so you had to look him in the eye. He could read you like an open book. He knew your past, your traumas, your hurts. "I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide."

That sentence meant more to you than you knew. The knowledge that he saw you, like really saw you, that you didn't have to hide yourself from him, and that he accepted you as you are, said more than anything. You tried not to get emotional, but you couldn't help it as a single tear rolled out of your eye. Fernando slowly wiped it away with his finger.

His gaze became a touch gentler, his hand slid down your face, down your arm, all the way to your fingers. There he intertwined his with yours and slowly guided you to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

"Trust me," he said confidently, as you stood in front of the mirror. The mirror was tilted a little so you could see both of your figures quite well.  "You are the one," he whispered softly to your ear from behind.

You shivered a little, then let go and leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Fernando stroked your arm again, from the bottom all the way up to your neck.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, leaning your head back to his shoulder.

"As I said, mi amor," the words rolled out of his tongue. "You're the one for me." You opened your eyes and again met that burning look in the mirror as he held your gaze. "I love you, Y/N, just the way you are," he admitted. "Completely and utterly."

The air caught in your throat at the confession. You looked at him with eyes full of emotion, then turned in his arms so that you were face to face with him.

You tried to analyze every little movement of his. Was it true? All the alarm bells went off in your head, but you wanted to believe it. And he seemed sincere. You deserve to be happy too, so it's time to give yourself to it.

 "I love you so much, it almost hurts," you confessed as well. Fernando grabbed the fabric of your dress, it was really hard for him to contain himself. His lips hovered just a few inches above yours.

His chest tightened at the sound of your words, and he could barely restrain himself from taking you at that moment. But he wanted to make sure you felt worshipped and loved – just how you deserved it.

He brushed his lips against yours, looking at your reaction. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he loved the sight of it. He wanted you to see it as well. He wanted you to see how he makes you react. And how he makes you feel good.

He firmly but gently started to turn your hips between his hands. He encouraged you to turn back, so his chest could face your back and you could see yourself in the mirror once again.

"I'm only going to say this once, mi amor," he began, running his hand down your arm again. His voice was firm and dominant. You just loved it when he was like that with you. You knew deep down he was devoted and wanted only good things for you. "Keep your eyes on me," he said in the mirror. "I know it's hard," he added. "But can you do it for me, princess?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Así amor," he murmured into your neck.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of your neck, then moved his hand lower, now on your hip. There he firmly grabbed the dress and almost ripped it off you so that now you were standing in front of the mirror in just your underwear. As he saw the black lace piece, another growl erupted from his throat.

"Mierda," he cussed at the sight of you. You would have preferred to hide. You didn't want to tear yourself away from his gaze, but you didn't want to look at yourself either.

Just like he could read your mind he said: "You're beautiful," sliding his hand from your waist to your stomach, so that he could slowly slip his hand inside your panties. "What did I say, mi amor?" he asked in a dominant voice, suddenly stopping in his movements.

You knew exactly what he meant: you swallowed hard. Once again.

"To look at you," you answered, searching for his eyes again. As your gazes interlaced, he began to move his hands once again.

"Así es," he whispered softly into your neck, then left a hot trail of kisses behind. At the same time, he started to move his fingers skillfully, reaching for the perfect spot: where he could feel your aching desire for him. The need started to pool between your legs larger and larger.

You wanted to close your eyes and lean back to him, to lose fully to the sensation but you knew him just well enough that if you would do that he would stop. He kept eye contact while his fingers were deep inside you. The demon in black, your demon who wanted nothing but to make his angel come undone at his touch and mercy.

"Nando," you whispered, as you looked at the two of you in the mirror.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked, looking into your eyes while he kept his steady rhythm, collecting your wetness on his fingers, now pressing the end of his palm to your core. You bite down at your lower lips at the sensation, letting out a soft moan. "Use your words, princess," he smirked, knowing how hard it was to concentrate right now. He loved seeing you like this, and you loved the effect you had on him, as you could feel his hardness pressing against your behind. His intense gaze, his body, his touch, and his words almost sent you over the edge. Almost.

Then he suddenly stopped. You let out a frustrated breath and you get a chuckle in return.

"I…" you gasped and then shut up.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked once again, tilting his head to the side as he was looking at you in the mirror. You desperately craved some friction, you even tried to rub together your thighs, but nothing helped.

"I…" you started once again, and he looked at you with encouraging eyes. "I want to…" your cheeks heated up at your words and you didn't even know why. "I want to cum." you finally managed to blurt out. 

He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips with one of his hands and he slid back his other under your panties.

"Was it so hard, princessa?" he asked, and he started using his fingers again. This time more passionately and faster. With one hand you grabbed Fernando's forearm while still trying to keep your eyes on him. "That’s it," he told you as he tried to help you finally push over the line. He knew how much you loved him when he talked you through it. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come undone for me," he whispered into your ear and that's what it took. You shook in his arms as you finally reached the highest highs, fireworks playing before your eyes and at this point, you couldn't help but close your eyes. Your feelings for him, his voice, his touch – it was just too much. You suddenly stumbled, but he was there to catch you. And he always will be.

"That's it, mi amor," he whispered, holding you close to him, while he pressed soft kisses to your neck as he guided you through your high.

For a few moments, you stayed in silence. Then he spoke: "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that," he repeated your words from earlier. Your chest tightened at his confession, and you turned in his embrace, now facing him. A soft and loving smile played on your lips as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“But you’re the one who won, we should celebrate you,” you said mischievously. You started to push him back towards the bed where he sat down, so you could straddle him. Fernando groaned as he felt you move against him. His whole body was becoming hard.

“Oh, we will celebrate, mi vida,” he chuckled darkly. “All. Night. Long.” he said and kissed you with so much passion that it consumed the two of you. Each one was like a promise, a seal, a mark for your happiness and a long, prosperous future together.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 6

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 6 🔞

Word Count: 6110

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: Just a little heads up for the first scene 🔞 the rest is SFW! Also, doesn't it feel right for Doffy to slip in a few words of Spanish every now and then? I'm sure I've seen people do that in x reader fics (it's not new!) and maybe that's why it feels right...

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil

Masterlist

|Chapter 5| | |Chapter 7|

-*- Start of 🔞 -*-

Law closes the door to the bathroom and locks it. Now that he's alone he lets himself lose a sliver of his control. He slumps against it softly and closes his eyes, ragged breaths leaving his parted lips. 

He went too far. 

He didn't mean to make you come, he just wanted to tease you. But your face, your whimpers, your heat… it was all too much for him to handle. He needed to feel you close, to have you wrapped around him and holding him like a vise. He gave in. He shouldn't have. 

He kicks his sneakers away and unbuttons his jeans with a soft groan, finally freeing his bulging cock. He got rock hard as soon as he started to touch you. He can usually prolong the teasing as far as he wants without getting this turned on himself. 

But your whimpers… the way you gave up and begged, your willingness to let him do what he wants to you. It's all too much and yet, he is well aware that it will never be enough. He got a taste and now he’s obsessed. 

Turning the shower on cold and removing the rest of his clothes, he hisses as soon as the water hits his back. He needs to regain his control. He shouldn't have gone this far, he'll have to apologise to you. 

But for now, not even the icy water can take away the sound of your mewls in his ears, the way your lips part willingly for him and the way your flesh moulds easily in his hands. 

“Fuck!” He curses softly as he punches the wall of the shower in frustration. Closing his eyes, his hand finds his cock throbbing and he palms it. A gentle squeeze and then a rougher one. He imagines you on your knees, willingly opening your mouth for him, your small, warm hands grabbing his length and licking it from top to bottom, your sweet eyes holding his gaze. 

“Yes, sweetheart, good girl.” He mumbles against his teeth as his hand bobs up and down. He won't need much stimulation. He'll unravel just as easily as you did earlier. The tension between both of you is so thick that it's crushing. 

He groans and tenses, he's so close. 

He wasn't lying about your love story. Maybe it's not love yet, but it's something he hasn't felt in a while. You're special, you make him happy. 

His hips thrust forward, faster against his hand as he pumps himself in a maddening rhythm. He's now picturing you squirming beneath him, your lips chanting his name in abandon, your whole body clenching his. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

It's not just attraction and want. 

He comes with a muffled grunt, his viscous seed spilling against his stomach, his hand and dripping down the drain of the shower. His breaths are uneven and the ice-cold water does nothing to break this heat. 

It's not just attraction and want. It's so much more. 

-*- End of 🔞 -*-

You sit on the armchair as soon as Law enters the bathroom. Your heart is still beating out of sync, you're still breathless and a haze fills your brain. 

How did he make you come undone so easily? He didn’t even need to properly touch you. What kind of spell does he have on you?

As you get up, trying to shake away all the lingering feelings of his touch and lips on your body, you remember how he couldn’t even look into your eyes afterwards. You shouldn’t have let go so easily. Maybe he wanted you to last longer. You didn’t discuss orgasms in your boundaries, but, as you ruled out sex, you didn’t realise that it might happen with just teasing. 

You can’t help but think that you’ve, somehow, crossed some kind of unspoken barrier. You’ll need to apologise to him. 

And you both might need to make your boundaries clearer. 

It’s not that you mind what happened. You don’t regret it and you wouldn’t mind at all if it happened again. But if he’s not comfortable with it, it needs to be spoken about. 

Sighing heavily, you stare at your clothes, about to choose something to wear to dinner, but you don’t know what to wear. Is it formal? Casual? Are jeans too casual but a cocktail dress too formal?

You’re about to sit back down again, your tablet already open on your trusted spreadsheet to distract you, while you wait for Law to come out of the bathroom so he can tell you what clothes would be appropriate, when the door opens. 

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and still dripping against his tattooed torso and you have to swallow hard before you start to drool. His eyes meet yours for a brief second and you can already tell how much collected he is since your earlier interaction.

“I didn’t grab any clothes before hitting the shower.” He says, to justify his state of undress.

“It’s alright, I was just wondering what I was supposed to wear. Is dinner formal? Casual?” Your voice is still altered and on edge, too high-pitched to be your normal tone and you’re sure he picks up on it.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he opens his bag to fish out some clothes. “Dinner in this household is always a formal event. Though you are fine with semi-formal clothes.” Immediately your eyes rake the closet for what dresses you packed. There are some that fit the description so you should be fine.

“I shouldn’t have gone too far. It wasn’t my intention.” Your head whips back at him. He’s scratching the back of his neck - still undressed - and has a conflicted expression on his face. Though he can hold your gaze now. 

A nervous smile tugs at your lips as you turn and shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay. It was my fault I… I got too caught up in the moment and-...”

“You don’t have to apologise for feeling pleasure.” His voice drags and envelops you. There’s a sense of safety in his words, a lack of judgement for any and all of your actions. Suddenly it hits you:

As controlling as he tends to be in these intimate settings - domineering even - he makes you feel free. You can be yourself. You can be whatever you need to be and he’ll accept you with open arms. For who you are.

And that is very new, uncharted territory.

Because with Ichiji you were always trying to be someone you were not. Faking your happiness, your likes and dislikes, just faking!

With Law…

It’s simple. So, so simple. 

And this realisation makes your breath hitch, leaving you speechless and winded. Even from where you’re standing, you can see the way Law’s jaw clenches and ticks as he takes in your reaction with calculated measures. 

“I won’t do it again. We never have to go that far again, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” Is that regret or sadness in his voice?

You shake your head with vigour. He’s got it all wrong. Yet you don’t trust yourself enough to open your mouth at this moment. Your throat is tight with tension. It has been some time since you have felt validated and actually heard. It’s silly, heck, it’s silly as hell, but the simplest things are the ones that trigger you the most. 

Law approaches you tentatively, he can probably sense something is wrong but the all-too familiar crease wrinkling his brows tells you he thinks he’s the cause of this tension. And he is, but for all the right reasons. 

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks, taking a step back even before fully reaching you. 

“No.” You finally find your voice, though it’s still trembling and weak. “I’m not hurt, or ashamed, or angry, or anything like that!” You let your eyes meet his, a blush on your cheeks and a soft smile tugging at your lips. “It just hit me that I can be exactly who I am with you. And that’s okay. I don’t need to pretend anymore.” Then you chuckle, a snort following your outburst. “I mean, we are pretending, but between you and me… I… well, I can’t quite explain it, but it’s good. I’m feeling good! Because of you.”

The sigh that escapes his lips is soft and full of relief. 

“I don’t need to understand completely. As long as I didn’t make you uncomfortable. As long as you’re happy.”

You nod with another smile and he returns to his hunt for clothes while maintaining a close eye on you. 

“Law.” You whisper, not looking at him while you too select the clothes you’re going to wear before heading towards the bathroom. “You said you wouldn’t do it again but… I…” He’s silent. He’s going to make you say it.

Somehow you know he’ll always make you say what you want, express your desires and needs. He wants to hear you. 

Wait, always? That’s too long…

“I won’t mind if you… do it again. Nothing’s changed. No boundaries were added. At least on my part.” You briefly look at him. He’s wearing a smug smirk on his lips, just a raised corner of his mouth as his amber gaze pierces you. “Do you-...” 

“No boundaries added.” He interrupts you and you nod. Already that familiar heat is starting to pool in your belly again. All the possibilities are still open. 

And you’re willing to take them with open arms.

-*-

The air between you has cleared and everything is back to normal. You're both showered and dressed and ready to go mingle with family and close friends. There's still a bit of time before you're expected downstairs so you're sitting on your knees in the middle of the bed, with the tablet open in front of you, your notebook on the side and you're chewing on the end of your pen, mouthing facts and curiosities about Law in order to memorise them. 

Law has been sitting in the armchair across from you for about ten minutes. His chin resting against his knuckles and eyes fixed on you, watching your every move. 

“Are you nearly done?” His voice chimes with amusement. 

“Not even close.” You mumble and sigh, opening your arms and falling back to face the ceiling. “I'm so nervous. I'm so doomed. Law, I don't want to fail you.” You drape your arm over your eyes for dramatic effect. 

Your whine is both desperate and frustrated. You think you're ready for all the personal questions anyone sends your way, and even if there's something amiss, you've only been ‘dating’ for two months! It's completely believable. 

However, before you can rally and say you're prepared, you feel pressure on your ankles and Law pulls you towards the edge of the bed, dragging you close to him. Leaning on his arms, which he places on each side of your head, he stares at your eyes deadpan. 

“You're ready. You've got this. We've got this.” His gaze doesn't waver and he's hovering very, very close to your face. So you just nod. His presence is too intense for anything other than that. “Use your words, sweetheart. Do you have this?”

“I've got this.” You whisper. 

“Good.”

For a second it almost looks as if he's going to kiss you, but he backs away and a feeling of dread in your stomach makes you wonder if something’s really changed after what happened earlier. The second after, you’re chastising yourself. Nothing’s changed because there’s nothing to change. You’re nothing to each other. Period.

You’re helping him in a tricky family situation and he’s helping you with your over-controlling issues. Nothing else.

“Let's go.”

-*-

You end up choosing a beautiful cocktail dress that is not overly formal but is not as casual as a summer dress and, after fixing your hair and dress again - from having been dragged by Law on top of the bed - he assures you that you look stunning and you both leave the room. 

Law's dressed in black jeans, a white dress shirt - half open to show off his tattoos - and a blazer. You sigh. You can't get enough of his sexiness. 

He extends his hand for you to take and you can't help a small smile from curling your lips. This does feel like a real relationship, so you need to keep reminding yourself that it's all fake. You can't fall in love with Law over a fake relationship. 

Wait, fall in love? Where did that come from? 

Law leads you through corridors and halls and, slowly, his demeanour becomes charged again. The usual scowl in place, the familiar creasing in his forehead. It's like he's a different person around his uncle, so much more guarded. So much more unattainable. When you reach the stairs to descend to the hall where all the guests are mingling before heading towards the dining room, Law lets go of your hand and places it on your lower back instead. 

“It's showtime.�� He mutters softly as you begin descending. You can feel all the eyes turning towards you, it seems like everyone is already gathered downstairs. 

Baby 5 is the first to approach you, a big smile on her face as she drags a taller man with an annoyed expression on his face towards you. “Cousin Law! I've missed you!” She tries to hug him but Law grunts and refuses, making you chuckle. “This is Sai! My husband-to-be! Isn't he handsome?” She says dreamily. Sai doesn't seem too thrilled to be here at all, but when their eyes meet, you can see how his gaze softens. There might be love under all that gruffness after all.  

Law clasps the man's hand and shakes it, then introduces you to them. 

“Hello, it's very nice to meet you, and congratulations on your nuptials.” You say with a smile. “You make the most wonderful couple.”

Baby 5 is delighted with you. “Oh, Law! She's wonderful!” When Law looks at you to confirm her words, you somehow find his eyes softening as well, but he's interrupted before he can say anything. 

“Trafalgar, it's been a while since I've seen you.” A blonde man with prominent scars on his face and a wide grin approaches. He speaks to Law but his eyes linger on you. “Baby 5 is right, your friend is wonderful.”

Law's scowl becomes more pronounced, his hold on your back tightens and he pulls you closer. “It's girlfriend, Bellamy.”

Bellamy chuckles and raises his hands in apology before you and Law move on to greet other guests. There are some board members Law said would be present and they're an odd bunch - Trebol, Diamante, Pica and Vergo are their names. The bridesmaid, Sugar, looks really young but Law tells you she's just two years younger than Baby 5. A groomsman, Buffalo and, of course, Doffy and Cora. The bride says that the rest of the wedding party will only arrive tomorrow so it's quite an intimate affair. 

To you, it is anything but intimate. It's intimidating. Doflamingo keeps watching you and Law like a hawk, waiting for some kind of slip-up; his associates are already trying to whisk Law away, though he manages to postpone business talk until after dinner; and Bellamy keeps leering at you. 

When Cora cheerfully announces that it's time to head to dinner, you close your eyes briefly and take a deep shaky breath. Law notices your discomfort and lingers behind, letting the guests enter the dining room ahead of you. 

Then, he turns you towards him, his fingers grazing your ear and then your earring, trailing down your neck as you sigh. The signal. “If this were real,” he whispers near your ear so only you can hear, “you wouldn't have to feel nervous. You'd know I would be there at your side every step of the way. You'd count on me.”

Law's eyes bore into yours as his hands cup your cheeks in an intimate gesture. It’s so comforting that you have to keep repeating in your head that this is all fake and that he just used the signal! Then, you nod in acknowledgment of his words. “I do, Law. I count on you. I trust you.” You don't need to use the signal for your words, they're not fake, they're the absolute truth. You spy Doflamingo watching you from the doorway and Law must have seen him too, because he leans forward and gives you a small peck on the cheek. The small smile on your lips that follows his gesture is also something that is completely true. 

Law clasps your hand in his to lead you to the dining room but Doflamingo still looms on the threshold, observing both of you closely, his arms crossed over his chest and a huge grin on his face. “Law, princesa. I hope you had an agreeable rest, earlier.” 

You blush at his words. It's almost as if he knows something happened between you, but he can't know, right? It's just a silly guess. “Yes, Uncle, very agreeable. The car ride was quite tiring.” Law pulls you but Doflamingo steps forward, cutting your path and staring directly into your eyes. 

“And you, cariño?” A shiver runs down your spine as you face the intensity of his stare and your heart rate accelerates dramatically.  

“Yes, sir. Very agreeable, thank you.” You can't help but notice how small and meek your voice sounds under his scrutiny. Doflamingo really is someone who demands respect. 

“Hmm…” He starts, holding a hand against his chest, and then whispers. “Careful, you're making me like you. You're really something.” Without taking his eyes off yours, he addresses Law. “You better keep a good hold on this one, Law. I might steal her too.”

Law growls, his calm facade showing a few cracks before he pulls you inside so you can find your seats. There’s no chance to ask him what his uncle meant now, the room is too crowded, and there’s no telling who could be listening.

But what could he mean about stealing you too? What happened? With whom? It feels like this is something you should be privy to, especially because Doflamingo keeps hinting at something. You make a mental note not to forget to address this with Law once both of you are alone. 

The dining room is, like everything else in this house, grand and opulent, screaming wealth and fortune. Enormous chandeliers hang from the ceiling, shadowing the massive table. Beautiful china adorns it, along with vases of flowers and the most stunning silverware. It’s all so beautiful.

Law finds your seats and holds the chair for you, helping you get comfortable. He’s by your side, Sugar on your other side and Bellamy directly in front of Law. Cora sits at one end of the table, next to Law, and Doflamingo is on the other end, carefully watching every exchange with his observant gaze. 

Bellamy keeps stealing glances at you and Law’s scowl deepens even more. His hand rests on your thigh under the table, and even though no one can see it, it’s a definitive claim to you. He’s acting possessive, and it stirs something within you.

Is it all fake? 

The meal begins and everything seems to be flowing smoothly now. Baby 5 is a regular chatterbox and, being at Bellamy’s side, she alone holds the entire conversation for the majority of dinner. Every now and then, she asks you something or other about your relationship, nothing of much importance and all things you and Law have already rehearsed.

You feel a sense of peace and calmness washing away your earlier anxiety. It seems as if you were dreading this dinner for nothing. If the rest of the weekend goes as smoothly as this meal, you’ll both be perfectly fine. 

But the wine has been flowing freely. You and Law have been restrained and switched to water long ago. Neither of you wants to get drunk and ruin the pretence, but the other guests are more at ease. And that fact is quite clear when Bellamy decides to stare directly at you. His gaze unmoving and his grin wide.

You begin to shift uncomfortably in your chair, wishing for this dinner to end so you can all get up, but dessert is still being served so it will be another half-hour, at least.

Law senses your discomfort and leans into your ear, you lean towards him as well and when he speaks, his whisper tickles your ear and sends shivers down your spine. “Relax. I’ll put him in his place.” His hand reaches up as he caresses your ear and earring using your signal. “You’re mine, and I’ll let him know soon enough that I don’t share.”

The word ‘mine’ sends a different kind of shiver up your spine. One that lingers. One that burns. It travels through your veins like molten lava and settles low in your core, a thrum beating at the same unholy rhythm as your heart. 

You can only nod as Law pulls back.

Another moment passes as you receive your dessert and engage in a bit of girl talk with Sugar and Baby 5 about wedding dresses, but you can still feel the burning, lingering gaze of Bellamy upon you. It’s disconcerting.

Law places his hand on your thigh again, making sure Bellamy sees the gesture, before facing him with a sly smirk. “Bellamy,” his tone is casual, though thick with tension. “Is there something you would like to say to my girlfriend? You keep staring. It’s rude.”

The chatter around you silences as people close to you follow the exchange. Bellamy’s grin falters a bit as he shifts and adjusts his seat in the chair. He wasn’t expecting Law’s confrontational question. 

“I just like to look at pretty things, Law. Didn’t know it was a crime.” He leans back, hands in the air, to excuse his behaviour. 

Law’s smirk never falters, his touch is unwavering. His tone, however, speaks of annoyance and defiance. “Oh, I know she’s pretty. More than that, she’s stunning. But it’s not just about looking, is it, Bellamy? It’s about intent. And yours seems very, very misplaced.”

Your heart tightens in your chest as you see, from the corner of your eye, Doflamingo watching you attentively, though the rest of the table on his side is pretty oblivious to what is happening around you. 

“Come on, man, relax. Drink some more wine. Looking doesn’t do any harm.” Bellamy lets out a nervous chuckle.

“It does when you’re looking at something that doesn't belong to you. You should learn to keep your gaze away from what is mine.” He nearly growls the word.

That word again. Your breath hitches and you bite your lower lip. You can’t help but feel safe and protected near Law. A bright flush spreads through your cheeks and you take a sip of water to try and calm yourself. Law’s hand on your leg squeezes and you take a deep breath. 

Yet the fire in you burns hotter.

“Alright, alright. Geez, man, I didn’t mean any disrespect.” Bellamy adds, though his smug grin says otherwise.

“Good. We’re clear then.” Law’s gaze is unwavering and he doesn’t stop piercing his amber eyes into Bellamy’s until the blonde looks somewhere else. 

You can’t help but hear Law’s voice saying ‘mine’ over and over again in your head, just like a song on repeat. 

-*-

Finally dinner comes to an end, but it’s still far too early in the night to retire and you are all ushered by a smiling Cora to a lounge with a bar where you can have a few more drinks and let conversation flow.

After all, some guests are having fun.

Law leads you with a firm hand on your lower back, but you can feel some strain in his countenance, and you quickly understand why when one of Doflamingo’s associates beckons him over to a table. 

Law groans, facing you. “I need to take care of some business with those oafs over there.” Then he sighs as he uses the signal on your earring again. Leaning in, he presses his lips to yours, a very chaste kiss to share in public. A kiss that doesn’t fail to send tingles all over your skin and burn in more places than it should. Law whispers: “If this were real, you wouldn’t need to worry if I were away from you. I’d be imprinted so hard on your body, mind and soul, that you wouldn’t even miss me.”

His words never fail to make you shiver. The intensity with which he delivers them is so powerful that, for a brief moment, you’re fooled into thinking he actually means it. Just a brief moment, though. “I’ll be alright. We’re in the same room. What can happen that is so terrible?”

Law’s scowl is back in an instant and his gaze flickers towards Doflamingo. “Much can happen. But I won’t allow it.” Another peck and he turns his back on you to meet with the men who have already called him again.

You sigh, locate Bellamy, still gazing at you, and decide to go to the complete opposite side of the room. Luckily Baby 5 and Sugar gather near you and you manage to distract yourself with the girls. Time goes by rather fast, in contrast to what happened during dinner and in the blink of an eye, Law is back by your side. But he's still sporting that tense scowl. 

“I just came to check on you.” Baby 5 and Sugar are listening so he keeps the pretence, however, he doesn’t use the signal. “Wouldn't want you to think I've abandoned you.” 

Your smile is genuine as you grab his hands. “It's alright, Law. I'm in good hands.” He squeezes and the way he's looking at you makes something flutter in your stomach. 

You are suddenly reminded that you both discussed physical boundaries, but never emotional ones. Should you? Because this soft look he's giving you could be far more dangerous to your heart than a heated touch. 

“You guys are so cute. I wish I could just turn you into plushies and have you on my bed.” Sugar says, her eyes sparkling with emotion. 

Well that certainly cuts the emotional tension in the bud. Law rolls his eyes and you chuckle. “I'm just going to get a drink and go back there. It won't be long now, they're discussing a new merger and want to make sure everyone on the board approves.”

You sigh, your lower lip inadvertently pouting a bit. Why must he talk business at a family meeting? 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your lip. “That's cute.” He murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “See you soon.” His hand lingers on your lip before releasing with another longing sigh from you. 

You excuse yourself to go to the restroom and when you return, Baby 5 and Sugar are nowhere to be seen. They must have had some last minute wedding stuff to attend to, but now you feel oddly out of place. Law doesn't acknowledge your entry, too entangled in a heated conversation with Vergo, his expression very guarded. Something must not be going very well with the discussions. You're thirsty, so you swing by the bar - complete with a bartender - and ask for a virgin mojito, while leaning slightly on the counter to stretch your back. 

“Lovely accent, mi querida.” Doflamingo’s drawl makes your breath hitch and you turn towards his voice, a deer-in-headlights expression on your face. You look for Law, but his uncle is standing right in your line of sight and he's so big that you doubt Law knows you're there. He probably still thinks you're in the bathroom. 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper to him, accepting the drink from the bartender with a strained smile and taking a step back. 

His grin widens, turning wicked and you take a sip of the cold drink to distract yourself from his sharp, piercing gaze. Doflamingo accepts his glass of red wine without a ‘thank you’ or any sort of acknowledgment to the bartender, his eyes never leaving you. 

“You're interesting.” He states once again. “Makes me wonder why you're in a relationship with my nephew.” His tone is inquisitive. He's probing, you have to sell this, you're prepared. You just need to forget how extremely intimidating he is. 

“I'm in a relationship with Law because we fell in love, sir. It's as simple as that.” You say, like it's the most obvious statement in the world. Then you set down your drink and grasp the counter to stop the shaking of your hands. 

He tuts and sighs dramatically. “Nothing regarding love is ever just simple.” Then he takes another step, further invading your space. “Is it?”

You stand your ground, trying not to feel intimidated. “With us it is. We want to be together. I want to be with Law.” Why are you being so defensive? Is he going to read through your act? You desperately want Law to see you, to come to you. Maybe even Cora? But Cora was also engaged in that discussion and, thinking about it, shouldn't the head of Donquixote Enterprises also be there? Why was he taunting you instead? 

“You don't know what you want yet, princesa. Trust me.” He says. His grin widens and he leans his head forward, whispering in your ear. “Law is too soft for you. His words are too gentle, his touch is too sweet.” Doffy’s breath feels hot in your ear and you want so desperately to pull back, but you don’t want to give him that advantage over you. “Law doesn’t know how to handle a woman like you. I saw how you behaved when he was acting possessive at the table. I understand you, I know what you want. And you need more than he can offer.”

Somehow his voice drops even lower, a predatory whisper that manages to bristle all the hairs on your body. “I can make you feel what it’s like to be completely owned. You’d learn quickly where you belong.” His whisper burns your skin, but the shivers running through you are as cold as ice. “Under me, or on your knees, I would bend your will with just one look. I know what you crave.”

He’s challenging you, pushing you to your limits with crass words and rude behaviour. Law told you he was inappropriate but, somehow, you didn’t expect this much. It’s terrifying, even.  

“You don’t know me.” The murmur that leaves your lips is barely heard, your voice trembles and your lip shakes, but you don’t want to be disrespectful, so you add something: “Sir.” 

His hand reaches out, and he tucks a strand of hair out of your face as he hums in satisfaction. “But I know your kind, cariño. You’re all after power. I can give you that.” You try to pull back, to step away from him and his velvety words, but he grabs your forearm, his touch commanding and domineering, making your breath hitch in your throat. “If I were with you, mi querida, I wouldn’t hesitate to bend you over the nearest surface and remind you of who you belong to. I know that’s what you most desire, to be brought to your knees with a simple look. Not to be coddled by my nephew.”

You purse your lips to suppress a gasp as his fingers dig into your skin, his grin widening into a manic smile. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to fight for air, or to find the right words. You can barely think, he scares you. He pushes you and bends you and you just don’t want to break under pressure.

You don’t have time, however, to think of a good answer because you feel a pull at your waist as a familiar safe sensation invades you and you can breathe again. “Is there something I can help you with, Uncle Doffy?”

Law’s voice is low and calm. His usually controlled demeanour takes over, however, the crease in his forehead is deep and pronounced and there’s a lingering rage underneath the surface. Doflamingo releases your arm and you wince, slipping closer to Law, moulding to the side of his body easily. 

“Not at all, Law. I was just getting acquainted with your lovely novia. There’s no need to be so possessive, is there?” He smirks as he leans back, taking a casual sip of his drink while his eyes still linger over you. 

Law’s jaw clenches and he lets out a low growl, but Doflamingo continues. 

“It’s funny,” he chuckles long and low, “it reminds me of a different time, long ago. Remember, Law? Back when you thought loyalty and love were something you could not buy?”

You’re not quite sure where Doflamingo is going with his speech, but Law’s hold on you tightens and he pulls you even closer. “That’s not important tonight, Doffy.”

“But I think it is, Law. You see, I thought I had taught you better than this. Yet it seems as if you haven’t learned. You keep seeking women who need more than you can offer. Something your soft words cannot provide. Must I teach you again what power does a firmer hand and money hold? How easy it is to make someone… change allegiances?” His eyes are menacing as he alternates between you and Law. 

You’re still very lost as to what they are referring to, yet he is getting under Law’s skin. You’ve never seen Law this discomposed. He’s almost baring his teeth at his uncle, his eyes darkening as his fingers dig deep into your waist, they will certainly bruise. 

“That’s enough, Uncle.”

“Women who seek a little power are all the same, Law.” Doflamingo’s smirk drops and he straightens up, his figure imposing as he stares at Law. “You once thought love was all it took, but all I had to do was wave a few bills. Let’s see just how long this one holds, I’m actually very interested in the challenge.” 

He speaks as if you’re not there. It’s a personal agenda he and Law have and you can almost see the tension building around them. For a sliver of a moment, Law’s mask of perfect control slips and a soft vulnerability rattles him, like he’s considering his uncle’s words. 

“Every woman has a price, Law. Whether it’s monetary, or just power and influence. I have it all.”

The way Law pulls you to him makes you wince, but you don’t pull back, it’s like they barely know you’re there. 

“Don’t compare them, Doffy.” He says your name through gritted teeth. “She and Monet are not the same.”

Monet? Who is she? Law didn’t tell you about her, though from what you can grasp of the conversation, it seems as if she was someone Law loved. And Doffy lured her away. 

How twisted.

Doflamingo leans in, his face inches away from Law’s, but he doesn’t flinch. “You know something I’ve learned, Law, is that the more I rattle you, and the more paranoid and possessive you get… the easier it becomes to steal your toys.” The manic grin on Doflamingo’s face widens before he finally falls back. He finishes his wine glass and decides to call an end to this taunting session. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Law is left staring at the spot where his uncle just stood. His face is a mix of emotions, something you’ve never witnessed before. He’s beyond rattled, he’s on the verge of losing the control he normally possesses. 

He’s still gripping you tight and it’s beginning to be unbearable, so you place your hand on his chest, trying to get him to look at you. “Law?” He doesn’t respond immediately, his throat bobbing up and down, clearly trying to regain control of his emotions. “Law you’re hurting me.” You say softly and that makes him come back.

“Sorry!” He releases you in haste, the hand that was holding you tousling his hair as he lets out a loud sigh. Then he clasps your hand in his and pulls you. “Let’s go.”

You follow him blindly. A myriad of questions burning at the back of your mind. Why does Doflamingo rattle him so much? And why is he so adamant about breaking Law? Who was Monet? What did she mean to Law? 

But mostly… is she still important to him?

|Chapter 7|

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale's White Satin Pumps Are Ridiculous (And I love them)

So this is a continuation of the lengthy rant I posted here about Aziraphale's outfit in the Bastille scene of GO and all the ways it would have pissed people in Revolutionary Paris off. I got to the shoes and realized they needed their own post.

Aziraphale's Blessed Little White Satin Pumps

To recap: in 1793, Paris is in control of The People, who are making up for decades of oppression and poverty by beheading the fuck out of everyone remotely nobility-adjacent. And into this mess strolls one Angel in white satin heels.

Some facts about this style of shoe:

The buckle means they're specifically court shoes as opposed to streetwear. Buckles were out of fashion unless you were hanging out with royalty and needed to look fancy. Everyday shoes had laces by this point.

This heel style for men is specifically called Louis Heels because they were popularized by Louis XVI. Y'know... the king Paris just beheaded in 1793. Here's a pair in a similar style from the late 18th century:

One big difference you may notice in Aziraphale's shoes and the ones above is that the ones above are normal, practical leather whereas Aziraphale is wearing white satin shoes. This is because Aziraphale is ridiculous.

The Allure of White Satin Shoes

In this modern world of laundry machines and affordable shoes I feel that people do not fully understand how absolutely over-the-top ridiculous a pair of white satin shoes would be to people in 1793.

First off lets address the fact that they're white:

If you have ever known anyone who was super into sneakers, you know that keeping white shoes white is a full-time job. It was even more so in the 18th century. The fact that Aziraphale is wearing perfectly clean white shoes says one thing: "I am rich enough to be able to pay someone to clean these, and to replace them when they invariably get stained."

And they would get stained. Oh would they get stained.

Because he is not wearing them for their intended function - lazing around indoors. No, he is wearing them on the streets of 18th Century Paris. And 18th Century Paris was fucking disgusting.

Kind of like how London had its famed London Smog, Paris had its own brand of filth. A unique Parisian muck made up of mixtures of mud, offal from the slaughterhouses, animal waste, human waste, household garbage, and rotting dead animals, all mashed down into what a British visitor called, "A thick, black, unctuous oil, that where it sticks no art can wash it off."

Voltaire said: "We blush with shame to see the public markets, set up in narrow streets, displaying their filth, spreading infection, and causing continual disorders…" and called Paris a city, "Partly of gold and partly of muck."

This is a city with over a million people, with no central plumbing, and no public sanitation laws. Households threw their waste in the streets. Businesses like tanneries and slaughterhouses threw their waste right out into the streets. Horses were the main mode of transportation and nobody was cleaning up after them. It was apparently a thriving hustle that Parisian beggars would hang out in the worst areas with big pieces of wood, and charge wealthy people money to walk on the board over the worst puddles of filth.

That's where Aziraphale is wearing his pristine little white satin shoes. In a city so gross it has its own world-renowned stinking black mud.

And on the subject of those shoes, lets look at the satin part... By the 18th Century, France was no longer dependent on Asia for its silk and satin. There was domestic production, but it was still expensive. A book about the cost of living published in London in 1770 lists the price for a single yard of satin at just over 18 shillings. For comparison, here are some other things you could get for 18 shillings in London at the time:

two box seats at Covent Garden

six barrels of oysters

a really nice wig

a week's wages for a skilled tradesman

15 steak dinners

3 secondhand coats So the outer fabric alone on Aziraphale's shoes cost what it would take a skilled worker about a week to make. Again, that's just for the fabric. Since the shoes themselves were high quality, would be handmade, and required skilled labor, the shoes themselves would be expensive even without the satin. In 1788 a pair of leather gentleman's court shoes cost about 6 livres in France. By comparison, a pound of bread, which was considered a day's food for a peasant, cost roughly 10 sous. So we'll roughly estimate that Aziraphale's shoes without the satin cost the equivalent of 12 days worth of food for an average person.

And, I cannot stress this enough, he is wearing these white shoes, which could easily feed an entire family for weeks, in a city that is abso-fucking-lutely filthy with stinking, staining, sticky mud.

Aziraphale's shoes, probably:

I mean - imagine you're a normal everyday French peasant during the Revolution. You spend decades struggling to feed your family, and some dingbat walks up to you in white court shoes styled after the king you just executed. Shoes that cost more than you make in a month, which he is wearing around your notoriously filthy city with apparently 0 fucks given for the fact that they will be absolutely ruined and will have to be thrown away. (Obviously Aziraphale could just miracle them clean but you're a revolutionary peasant, you don't know that.)

And then this walking audacity asks you for cake.

Aziraphale, hon, you are so lucky they decided to try to execute you and not just like. jump your dumb ass in an alley and steal your pretty little white satin shoes.