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atrwriting · 1 year ago

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games and other fun — rafe cameron x reader

HAPPY NYE FUCKERS HERES A TOXIC MAN THAT SHOULD DEFINITELY BE LEFT IN 2024 BUT NOT ON THIS BLOG HAHA

this is the hottest rafe scene and if you disagree i think ur silly

as always, warnings: smut, daddy kink, choking, slapping, dom!rafe, alcohol consumption, p in v sex, unprotected sex (please for the love of god wrap it), talk of drugs

anyways… here’s games and other fun:

…

the summer you got hot was coincidentally the same summer you moved to the outerbanks.

the climate was hotter than back hot, but… so were the men.

you and your friends had moved for the new adventure, and thankfully you had found a job in your field pretty quickly. while your friends looked for jobs in their field, they acquired jobs at some of the restaurants, bars, and catering gigs in town.

that was how your best friend met topper.

when she first told you the story, the blush on her cheeks had never been brighter. him and his buddies had been out that night — at the bar she worked at. almost immediately, topper started flirting with her. she claims she played it cool, but from her giggling you can tell that she was excited to talk to him as he was to talk to her. you were so, so happy for her.

…until she mentioned how he had a friend.

“absolutely not,” you stated, shaking your head,

“why not?!” she demanded. “the friend said you were cute!”

you raised an eyebrow at her. “you showed him my picture?”

she nodded. “he was cute! i swear!”

you sighed. “what’s his name?”

“kelce.” a mischievous smile began to play at her lips. “him and topper want to meet us at a party their other friend is throwing this weekend.”

“did you meet that friend?” you asked. “do you think he’d be cool with us coming?”

she dismissed you with a playful wave of her hand. “rafe’s a kook. they wouldn’t be kooks if they didn’t show off their wealth to the whole island.”

you laughed. “okay, fine — i’ll go, but who the fuck names their kid rafe?”

only the richest man on the entire fucking island did, apparently.

you were excited to meet kelce, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to who exactly rafe cameron was. your friend didn’t meet him, neither of you looked him up, but then again — there was a double date to prepare for.

your best friend had gotten ready together after the work day. bikins under levi cutoff shorts, crop tops, and sandals were sported, but the main event was how somehow you both mastered the beachy blowout and natural makeup look in this humidity. once you were done, you both caught an uber and headed straight for the cameron residence.

it was fucking massive.

there was no other word.

and, honestly… it was like something out of project x.

strobe lights, music blasting, and loud laughter and screams. your best friend was more of the partier, so she didn’t look too phased — but you? you were fucking bright-eyed. you hadn’t experienced anything like this before, and even if the date didn’t work out… at least there would be other things to occupy you.

once the uber had parked in front, you spotted a man waiting on the front stoop with his phone in his hands. your friend typed a quick text, hit sent, and through the window you watch the man on the front stoop smile.

place your bets now, you thought. that’s definitely topper.

and that he was.

when you both had met him on the front stoop, he engulfed your friend in a cute hug. afterwards, he extended a smile and his hand to you, and you shook his hand appreciatively.

a man that knew boundaries and manners… fuck yes, bestie.

he led you both inside and you had to stop your jaw from dropping. the party looked crazy from the outside, but nothing could compare to the absolute mayhem that was occurring inside. pong, lines being cut on a few tables, people jumping into the pool from the roof… you name it.

“this is awesome,” you spoke absentmindedly to no one in particular.

“i know,” topped laughed. “kelce’s around here somewhere... drinks?”

he led you both to the kitchen. if you were being honest, you knew that topper and your friend would hit it off pretty quickly and you didn’t want to cock-block them. you were hoping that kelce would find his way to you so you both could have your own fun, and leave your friends to their own devices.

…that was until topper started trying to call kelce over. topper, a bit drunk at this point, didn’t really get the memo from his friend that was turned around, basically back into the corner… that kelce did not want to be disturbed. in fact, when kelce finally got the message, he ripped away from whatever had caught his attention, and turned towards topper’s voice angrily. when he turned away… there was a petite woman pushed into the corner. she seemed very pissed off that kelce had broken their kiss.

who could blame her? he was hot.

no one could blame you for being a little upset, but you wouldn’t tell anyone that.

topper was at a loss for words. you almost felt bad.

letting the liquor provide comic relief, you spoke, “she’s hot. can’t blame him.”

topper laughed and then stuttered, trying to find the words to fight the embarrassment of the situation. even drunk, his manners were impeccable. his and your friend’s eyes revealed a mixture of guilty and sympathy, and you couldn’t deal with how uncomfortable it made you feel. your first instinct was to pretend it didn’t bother you… and if other people ignored your pain, you could too. it gnawed at you in the back of your throat — a rock lodged in your esophagus. your voice was tight, your cheeks were hot, and frustrated and embarrassed tears were pickling at your eyes.

“guys, don’t worry about it,” you laughed, trying to brush it off. “top, where’s the bathroom?”

maybe you couldn’t save yourself from embarrassment, but you could save them from secondhand embarrassment. once he directed you, you gave them both a smile and set off.

if you were being honest… it did hurt that had happened. it was fucking embarrassing. nothing horrible, but combined with having drank in a while, and you were already tipsy? you were feeling emotional, and that wasn’t a good luck. you needed a few minutes in the bathroom to cool off.

you texted your friend that you were going to find the pool after and that she shouldn’t wait up for you — you wanted her to have fun with topper.

you were barely in the bathroom for a few minutes when you heard banging on the door.

“hurry up!” a gruff voice from the other side of the door called.

you shut the water off and brushed away the loose tear. your eyes were red, and your face was a bit puffy, but you figured you’d be fine. you’d probably never see the guy on the other side of the door anyway.

as you opened the door, he went to bang on it again. with his weight forward, he accidentally stumbled into the bathroom while you were still in it.

“sorry, dude, uh —“ he rasped, standing before you and staring awkwardly down at you.

“you’re good…” you spoke, before trying to brush past him.

he caught your upper arm.

“woah, dude,” you laughed hesitantly, trying to step away from him. “i’m leaving, don’t worry.”

“sorry —“ he let go of your arm, still peering down at you. “you’re crying.”

“what? no,” you faked a laugh. “heat got to me s’all. needed some air.”

he eyed you. “never seen you before. not from around here?”

“no,” you shook your head. “my friend and i were invited.”

“by who?” he asked, raising a brow.

you took a step back, not particularly enjoying the third degree in a small space. “this guy she likes… topper.”

his eyes widened, almost in realization. “yeah, yeah… he told me about that. said there was another girl… for kelce.”

you laughed, but with a slight scoff in your voice. “he’s a bit… preoccupied at the moment. with someone else. i was going to go play pong after i… saw.”

“knew he had a pretty girl coming, and did that? guy’s a dick.”

you laughed, and shook your head — brushing off his comment. “‘m sure he’s fine. i don’t know who his friends are — not really in the mood to talk shit about someone i don’t know.”

“sweetheart, he’s one of my best friends — guy’s a dick.”

a smile played at your lips as you raised an eyebrow at the man. “and who are you?”

“the owner of this house,” he replied. “i’m rafe.”

you smiled, and introduced yourself as well. “i’ll, um — leave you to it, then. see you around.”

you turned to leave, when you heard him say your name. while peering down at you, he spoke, “nah… let’s mess with him.”

you shouldn’t have been excited… but you couldn’t deny that you were.

rafe led you back into the kitchen and you smiled at your friend. topper turned to look at you, and his eyes immediately perked up when he saw rafe walking directly behind you.

you greeted them both, but barely before rafe had picked you up by the hips and placed you on the counter next to your friend. you bit back a squeal at the motion, but rafe had leaned against your side as he cracked a beer.

topper turned to you. “i don’t know how you found him, or how you got him out of the woodwork… but the man barely comes to his own parties. nice job.”

you laughed, and let topper and your friend continue their fun.

“so…” you began, turning to rafe. “if you don’t come to your own parties, how do you have fun at things like this?”

a smirk played at the corner of his lips. “they’ve been kind of boring for me, lately, i don’t know… i’m usually in the corner somewhere, smoking.”

sarcastically, with a grin, you asked, “are you telling me i can’t convince you to be my pong partner?”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you could convince me to do a shot with you.”

mischief danced in your eyes. rafe was quick to notice, and the look in his eyes matched yours.

he immediately went for glasses and liquor.

“and you got him to lay off the snow?” asked topper, mouth wide. he looked back to your best friend, grinning. “you’re both coming to the next one.”

rafe poured four shots and handed them off to topper and your best friend. they smiled and laughed to themselves before linking arms, and taking their shots.

“i like to take mine a different way,” rafe rasped, eyes peering down at your lips. “especially since my boy kelce has been staring us down since i put you on this counter.”

a smirk was beginning to form on your lips. in a sultry voice, you asked, “are you suggesting we give your friend a show, rafe?”

you stared into his piercing eyes before he spoke. his lips were parted, and he almost looked hungry. the heat was getting to the both of you making a shiny sheen of sweat glow because of the strobe lights. his eyes were focused on you, and really on you. it threw you off how rafe could have so many things going on around him, barely knowing you — and you were the apple of his eye. the next words rolled off his tongue like sugar, “that’s exactly what i’m suggesting, sweetheart.”

your teeth sank into your bottom lip as a blush rose across your cheeks. with a boldness you were a stranger to, you lifted your shirt above your head to reveal your string black bikini that barely hid your chest.

you figured rafe was lying about kelce — but that was until you saw him and the girl separate, and were now closer to where you and rafe stood. kelce had thrown a few glances your way every now and then, but now? now he was blatantly ignoring the girl next to him as he stared at your rack and rafe.

you threw back your shot, bending your chest towards rafe. you looked back to him with a smile on your face, and plucked his shot from his hands. holding your beasts together and placing the glass in your cleavage, you threw him a wink. rafe’s gaze darkened — and you knew you were in for it.

rafe rested a hand on your waist before he dipped his head lower. his lips wrapped around the circumference of the glass, and threw his head back with ease. your eyes drifted downwards to his broad shoulders, the thickness of his neck, and the muscles in his arms….

oh… you were in for it, alright.

before you knew it, rafe placed his glass down and connected his lips with yours. a whine of surprise rose and died in your throat after rafe placed both of his large hands on the warm skin of your waist. you held rafe’s strong jaw in both of your hands as you kissed him back, letting your tongue dance at his bottom lip.

“you’ve been too sweet to me tonight,” you whispered against his lips. “when are you going to let me be sweet to you?”

“fuck…” he rasped, stealing another kiss. “as soon as i know kelce knows what he missed out on.”

you laughed. “he’s been staring, rafe, come on…”

rafe had wrapped his arms under your ass and hoisted you against his chest. your hair cascaded down around you both, shielding the rest of the party goers for how your lips couldn’t leave his.

“if my dick wasn’t so hard right now — i’d shove it in his face more,” rafe spat. “teach that prick a lesson about how he should treat a beautiful woman.”

you giggled against his lips. “another time — please, rafe. i need you.”

a deep growl went off in his chest, and he let you swallow it whole. rafe kissed you once more before he swung you over his shoulder, one hand firmly planted on your ass to keep you steady, and began walking towards the upstairs.

laughing, you raised your heard to wave goodbye to topper and your best friend — who were laughing and happy for you as they waved back.

with each step towards an empty room, you giggled at rafe as he was cursing at people who got in his way. he kicked a couple of people out of the room before he let you fall onto your back on the bed. your giggles died within you as he began to crawl over you.

“what if i wanted to ride you, baby?” you whispered, running a thumb along his cheek as you bit your lip.

he kissed the inside of your hand as his eyes never left yours. “no, sweetheart — never had such a sexy woman below me. i’m taking my fuckin’ time.”

“taking your time?” you asked. “you’re the host of the party.”

“fuck ‘em,” he spat, capturing your lips once more.

rafe’s movements were much more dominant than in the kitchen. the privacy of the four walls and closed door allowed him to cage your body in and wedge the front of his hips against yours. you hooked your ankles behind his lower back, pulling him into you with a grinding motion. little whimpers left your lips as the friction from your jeans hit your clit in the perfect motion, making you shiver in rafe’s arms.

“want those pants off, daddy,” you rasped. “don’t make me wait.”

“call me that again and i’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart,” he spoke, his hands immediately darting for his belt buckle.

you tore off your and rafe’s pants and rafe made quick work of taking that skimpy bikini off your breasts.

“i almost told you no when you asked to go upstairs,” he spoke, his hands slowly sliding up your stomach. “i wanted to make kelce so fucking jealous…” the palms of rafe’s hands rested on the swell of your breasts, thumbs drawing circles on your nipples. “wanted him to realize that the chick next to him had nothin’ on you… that i was the one to have you… wanted to see the realization in his eyes….” his thumbs and pointer fingers began rolling your sensitive buds in between each other, drawing sharp breaths from between your lips. “but i think you were right, sweetheart. don’t want anyone to see what’s mine.”

“yours?” you let the pads of your fingertips slide down the length of his chest and stomach. you kept your eyes locked on his, provoking him. “no man’s ever been able to make me cum before. what makes you think you’re different?”

he raised an eyebrow, darkness covering his irises. he was silent for a moment, studying you. you kept your baiting look on your face, but inside you grew worried.

rafe’s hand held your jaw in his, thumb prodding at your plump bottom lip. “gonna be a brat for me, that it?”

you shouldn’t have — but you did anyway. “and what’re you gonna do about it?”

an evil smile crept up on rafe’s perfect face. he let go of your chin and got off of you. you were curious as to what his goal was, but that was until he got himself between your legs. you laid back against the bed, and when you looked up — you realized there was a mirror on the ceiling.

you gasped at the sight. your hair was as crazy as your skin was flush. your eyes were as wild as rafe’s, and he stared back at you with darkness and lust all wrapped into one.

“you see that, sweetheart?” he asked, staring back at you. “sight that almost made me take you right there in the kitchen. you gonna be good for daddy, and let me show you how i’m better than all of those little boys?”

your teeth sank into your bottom lip as your cheeks blushed. “yes, daddy, please.”

“so polite,” he rasps, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. a whine brews in your throat at the affection. “open your legs. let me see that pretty pussy.”

on command, you parted your legs for him. rafe slid one large hand down from your knee to the beginning of your tanned thigh. you watch as his hand cups your mound, and you shiver at the feeling.

“oh… just so soft for me…”

his voice was like caramel as it rolled of his tongue. smooth and sweet. he looked at your pussy like he fucking adored it, there was no other way to put it. when his head finally dipped and his tongue nudged itself at your clit, you leaned your head back against the pillows.

“you like to hide, huh?” he spoke, eyes wide at you as his tongue dripped in between your folds. “not tonight, darlin’. you’re watching me.”

you lifted your head up and watched as his tongue slid into your entrance, and rafe began to nudge your clit with his nose. you gasped at the feeling — completely unaware that was even a thing someone could do, let alone be good at.

“fuck…” you quietly gasped, folding your lips over each other.

rafe replaced his tongue with two fingers — sliding them in and out and curling at the top. a low hum began to build as you fought to keep your eyes on him. the hum was deep and warm, filling your rib cage. you didn’t want to scream, afraid of being too loud or too much for rafe… but keeping your eyes open was enough of a fight. when his perfect, plump lips made contact with your clit… you couldn’t help it. you let out a loud sigh as your vision began to glaze over.

“i wanna do everything i can to this pussy,” rafe bit, sucking at your clit. “smack it, lick it, fuck it, anything i want… just so warm and sweet.”

“…fuck…” while only one word, your voice had never broken so much. rafe’s words were so sensual and mind numbing it was hard not to lose yourself in the moment, free to completely enjoy the sight and feeling of one of the hottest men you had ever seen put you on a pedestal and fucking worship you. his tongue, velvet, was working its way around your clit like it wanted your thighs to clench and wrap around his head. “i’m so close, rafe…”

“that’s it, baby, yeah.” the slurping sounds from below you were pornographic. your hips were jutting up and down to meet his lips and fingers as he plunged inside of you. your hands had found the sides of his head, sad there wasn’t any hair to hold back. “you wanted to be a brat before, now what? blame all of those little boys? now look at you — too fucked out to care. dirty fuckin’ girl.”

he was right. your boldness had left you with your sanity. the low hum had now spread throughout your body until it was everywhere. a soft, quiet vibration could be felt in every one of your limbs until you sure you were shaking. a cocky bastard like rafe — you should’ve wanted to deny him your orgasm, the metaphorical trophy. however, every fiber in your being was telling you he deserved it. his tongue, his lips, his nose, his fingers, his eyes — they wanted you to finish all over his face, and they deserved it. every last drop. every bit of it. every. fucking. bit.

“you scared, baby? don’t get shy on me now.” he had now raised his face where now only his hand was on your pussy. with a concerned, focused look on his face, he dipped two fingers into your entrance as his rough palm was working your clit. “you want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

you shut your eyes for a little longer than you should’ve, but opened them back up for tears to collect in the corners of your eyes. the approach of an orgasm was like a current in water, sucking you under. there was no fight and there was no giving in. it was heavy, fast, and hard — drowning where you head had no chance of staying above water. your body was being pulled every which way as your brain fought to remain present, in control. through your glazed over eyes, you could see rafe smirk.

“oh — i don’t think my girl’s listening to me, is she?” his taunting voice was sending you up a wall. the rat bastard — making you feel so good and then demanding that you respond as if your mind wasn’t mush. he moved himself so he was now hovering over your body, balanced on one arm. “i know you can hear me. come on, baby — you wanna cry? do it. fuckin’ cry for me, darlin’.”

you weren’t sure why you needed permission — but something in your insecurity snapped that allowed you to let out one singular strangled moan in your sand paper throat. it was whiny, and soft, and most of all — fucking pathetic. you could see in rafe’s eyes he loved it.

“been so good for me, letting me play with you,” he whispered against your lips as he continued with his hand. “seeing this little body give in — wanna see how far i can go. can’t wait to split you on my cock.”

“let me cum on your cock, rafe, please…” you spoke through your tears. “need it so badly. please let me…”

“can’t cum without a cock inside of you?” he asked, immediately sitting up and undoing his pants. “finally allowed yourself to be a whore and ask for what you want… lettin’ me use that pussy…”

you were nodding furiously, tugging at him to come lay on top of you once more. he batted your hands away, confusing you.

“nah, lay back,” he spoke. “…because i know you want me to use that pussy, don’t you?”

“yes, yes,” you cried, voice breaking. “just want you to use me — fuck, please, rafe…”

there was that smirk again — before he dove in.

rafe had pushed your legs against your chest and held you there as his cock slid easily inside you. since you were denied a very close orgasm — your pussy had never been wetter. it was like your slick was causing him to slide further and further inside so he could be buried in there. with every thrust, your pussy tightened around him — and rafe let you know.

you stared up at the mirror on the ceiling as you watched rafe’s muscles flex. his shoulders and back — holding you down, making you take every thrust. watching his glutes tighten and release with every thrust sent shivers up and down your spine. however, nothing, not one single thing, could compare to the way rafe’s arms flexed around your head and body — holding you in place.

“fucking love your cock, daddy,” you whimpered in his ear. “so, so deep. feels so good it hurts.”

he groaned against your ear, straining to fight against the pleasure. his thrusts began to pick up strength and speed, refusing to give in before you do.

“can tell it hurts, baby — pussy sucking me in like she’s never cum before,” he gasped, his own voice threatening to break. “just needed someone that knew how to work you, huh? give you what you needed? fuck you like the slut you are?”

you dug your face into the crook of his neck, feeling lost in his words and embrace. “slut for your cock, daddy — fuck, just like that. just like that — right there!”

one of his hands reached up to grab a fistful of your hair, and yanked you back. with parted lips and gritted teeth, rafe forced himself against your throat and began to suck on the soft skin. the strain of the position took away what last bit of control you had. you were completely at rafe’s mercy — and you didn’t mind. the head of his cock was pounding against that spot inside of you. your brain and the lower half of your body were working in tandem — acting like they had never had an orgasm before, but that wasn’t the case. no — they had just never had an orgasm like this before. the kind where you are completely out of control, unable to get it back, and under the hands of a man who took such good care of you. maybe you should’ve been scared because you barely knew him, but you weren’t. he wanted your orgasm as much as you did — and you let your naivety get the best of you.

“never wanted to breed a pussy so fuckin’ badly,” he spat against the skin of your throat. “she wants my cum so badly, doesn’t she? sucking me in — what else?”

incoherent. that’s all you were. rafe’s hips smacking against yours, cock hitting just right — there was nothing that allowed you to stay present and sensible in that situation. you were all his, under his control.

“be mean,” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut. “be mean to me — and i’ll cum. fucking christ — please.”

“pussy like this, dirty as you are —“ he spoke, trying to fight his own orgasm. “no one should touch you but me. i own this pussy. me. no one can fuck you like me, that right?”

it was like music to your ears. your pussy was being split open and fucked raw — so dirty, so naughty, so wrong. yet, you were both grasping onto each other like there’s was nothing else in the world. rafe was working his cock into your pussy like your orgasm was his, and his alone. he —

he got tired of waiting for a response. he lightly smacked your cheek, and wrapped a hand around your throat.

you couldn’t be surprised — because your pussy only got wetter.

“you’re gonna fucking cum for me,” he spat against your eyes. “that’s mine. all mine.”

you caught a glance of what you looked like in the mirror above — a mess. a fucking mess. your face was covered in sweat, spit, and tears. your hair was everywhere, just like there was a flush all over your body. you saw the way rafe’s veins in his neck and forehead tightened and protruded as he spat dirty words against the side of your face.

“give it to me,” he spat through gritted teeth.

your eyes couldn’t leave the mirror. it shoved you farther and farther into your trance that you couldn’t look away. couldn’t move. couldn’t think about anything else.

“it’s yours, it’s yours…” you cried, throwing your head back.

your hands immediately came up to dig your nails into his back. your back, arched, pushed your tits into rafe’s face. his face, in awe, couldn’t help but suck a nipple into his mouth as he watched your body fucking shake. there was no more low vibration — your body, every limb, had fully succumbed to shaking and crying.

“pussy so tight,” he gasped. “fuck, fuck, fuck…”

through the mirror, you watch both of your orgasms hit you at the exact same time. with one snap of rafe’s hips, the muscles of his ass tightened where his pelvis locked with yours. his back and shoulder muscles went taut, rippling with the bout of adrenaline running through his veins. with rafe’s body holding yours down, he stopped your body from spasming. your skin was prickly to the touch as your blood was pumping, pumping, pumping. the walls of your pussy squeezed around his cock as strangled gasps pushed past your lips, and were swallowed by rafe.

against your lips, he whispered, “never letting you go now, princess.”

you giggled softly, shivering. “is that so?”

“yeah,” he mumbled, kissing you. “you’re fucked.”

- - -

happy nye here’s some smut HAHA love yall

-L xoxox

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swordsandholly · 9 months ago

Text

Steel Magnolia

Part 1 - paused

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

#simon x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #fanfic #call of duty #plus size reader #fat reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #holly writes

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serpentface · 8 months ago

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19 year old Brakul between bouts at a kickboxing tournament, moping because he got hit in the face (which is a foul!!) and also is getting his ass kicked in general.

He is Bict Urbinnas (literally 'North Erubin Valley Folk') in origin, one of many peoples in the montane regions claimed as northern Wardin collectively referred to as the 'Hill Tribes'. The region has produced multiple homegrown martial arts and wrestling forms as a derivative of local warrior cultures, chiefmost of which are khait wrestling (where mounted combatants attempt to knock their opponents to the ground and gain control of their khait) and a form of kickboxing, shown here.

The particular variant discussed here is unique to the Erubin River peoples, where the sport is of particular significance. All men are expected to participate in at least one tournament upon reaching adulthood. Tournaments are held on a yearly basis, for pure sport, glory, bragging rights, and often as an outlet to diffuse tensions via mock combat (cattle raiding is ubiquitous in this particular region even between allied clans, and these martial sports are acknowledged as a nonlethal means of settling the score).

Boxers score points based on landing blows (both punches and kicks) and knocking their opponents to the ground. Attacks to the face, grappling, and striking a downed opponent are prohibited.

Outfit notes:

-Light padding may be worn over the upper body during practice, but nothing is worn during actual tournaments. Accumulated bruises are part of the spectacle.

-Padded greaves are worn over short trousers. These greaves are a component of armor worn by mounted warriors in the region and signal the martial nature of this sport. The ones worn in sport are lighter and mostly decorative in nature.

-Kickboxing is done barefoot. Sandals are merely being worn between bouts.

-Bandanas mark fighters and keep sweat out of their eyes.

-The loin piece supports a leather cup hidden underneath to protect the groin.

-The belt and khaitsmane skirt is the centerpoint of the outfit. Young men are given such a belt upon reaching adulthood, usually made and decorated by their mothers. The mane is attached to the belt and emphasizes the movements of the fighter, drawing attention to graceful kicks and dodges.

-Fighters braid a section of their skirt for every ten matches won, and winners of tournaments are awarded small bronze bells that are tied into the ends of the braids. Master kickboxers are distinguished by skirts with many strands of braids that jingle with every move. Brakul has not had any such accomplishments.

#brakul red dog #blightseed

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pancakesnake-exe · 6 months ago

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224 FACTS ABOUT

The Stig

It is The Stig

It was originally going to be called “The Gimp”, but was renamed The Stig, which means having a bad fashion sense while being born poor

“We don't know its name, we really don't know its name, nobody knows its name, and we don't want to know, because it's a racing driver.”

The Stig wears its helmet on set and most cast members don’t know who it is.

The Stig does not know who it is because they wiped its memory when it got the job.

It is the Pope.

There is only one The Stig.

The Stig used to work in Rome[as the pope], but gave up its job to be able to keep up with its work here

It has no face

It is terrified of scouts

The drinks cabinet in its car contains 14 different types of custard

Its favourite T-shirt has a picture of a T-shirt

It is afraid of bells

It is confused by stairs

It never blinks

The Stig is kept in the cupboard when not in use

It naturally faces magnetic north

It has a digital face

The Stig has an evil twin named Black Stig who died after driving off an aircraft carrier but came back to life https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Lkh0uWFg9c

It will charge you if you attempt to remove its helmet

Its nipples are explosive

It paid a $25,000 expenses claim for some gravel for his moat

The Stig has three legs

The Stig once dreamt for a whole week straight about what Rubens Barrichello would look like in a ham slicer

The Stig is banned from the town of Chichester

The Stig is the reincarnation of Jesus Christ

The Stig bought a slightly dented white Fiat Uno from the Duke of Edinburgh

If you hold it in the wrong way, it doesn't work properly

It is 47% horse

It has 17 children due to faulty condoms

The Stig has a special pissing technique that causes floods

It once punched a horse to the ground

It has Mansell Syndrome

The Stig runs on diesel

It has a very small brain

It “has no understanding of the concept of money”

The Stig’s credit card says “The Stig” and is issued by The Bank of Money

The Stig’s favorite genres of music are: Morse code, whale songs, baroque music, advertising jingles, country & western music, sales techniques, foreign language learning tapes, ABBA but French, speeches of Margaret Thatcher, Elton John, pipe bands, vuvuzelas, national anthems, Tuvan throat singing, self help audiotapes, and “an annoying ringing sound”

The Stig has to receive awards in its left hand, as its right one is magnetic

The Stig has decided all northerners are edible

It’s mission statement is to "just go out there and drive fast"

The Stig’s opinion is worthless

The Stig has died multiple times, but the Grim Reaper is too afraid to tell it.

The extent of The Stig’s knowledge outside racing is two facts about ducks

Both facts are wrong

The three others once reenacted the journey of the three wise men, and at the end, the manger held a baby The Stig.

The next episode a month later, it was fully grown. Due to “Stigs grow very quickly, and the new The Stig was thus already fully grown.”

Stigs must be transported in delivery crates

The Stig has a fatter American cousin called Big Stig, who is a more relaxed driver

The Stig has an African cousin who only wears boots, a loincloth, racing gloves, and a helmet, has watched “The Lion King” 1780 times, ands second-best friend is a Cape buffalo

The Stig has a cousin who works as a truck driver named Rig Stig who can power slide and drift in trucks, has only one sleeve and wears special gloves, favorite song is “Forever Autumn" by Justin Hayward, and owns the world’s largest porn collection

The Stig has a red-suited Vietnamese cousin who is a communist and rides a motorcycle.

The Stig has a vegetarian cousin named Janet Stig Porter whose helmet is solar powered and wears overalls and socks with sandals

The Stig has a German cousin named Herr Stig who is identical to The Stig in every way besides having a mullet

The Stig has an Italian cousin named Bunga-Bunga Stig who wears a suit, is followed everywhere by three women, and only drives Italian sports cars

The Stig has a Chinese cousin named Attack Stig who is a kung-fu master, attacks anyone on sight indiscriminately, kicked James Lemay in the balls, beat up a large amount of the crew(even stopping in the middle of his timed lap to attack a track Marshall who accidentally entered its line of sight), and looks almost the same as The Stig

The Stig has a teenage cousin who wears headphones, wears low waist line pants showing its underwear, always looks at its phone, and made a mobile game titled “Top Gear: Race The Stig”

The Stig has an Australian cousin who lives in an open cut iron ore mine, wears dusty overalls and flip-flops, is very muscular, and has a very “large gentlemanly sausage”

The Stig has three other teenage cousins who are triplets, wear three different colored headphones and smartphones, and all have low waist line pants showing their underwear

The Stig has a Emirati cousin who looks similar to the normal Stig but wears a ghutrah on top its helmet and a huge diamond watch

The Stig has a relative of unknown association called “StigFoot” who lives in the woods

The Stig has a Japanese cousin named Ninja Stig who is a ninja, and wears a black helmet, a black ninja outfit, and has a katana on its back

The Stig has a business cousin named Business Stig who wears a red tie and a set of braces

The Stig’s father is named StigDad and wears a tank top and flare trousers

The Stig has another Australian cousin who lives upside down

The Stig has a New Zealander cousin named The Stug

The Stig has a Colorodonian cousin named Backwoods Stig who wears white racing overalls with torn off sleeves.

The Stig has a Yorkshire cousin named T’Stig with a flat cap on its helmet and 2 dogs by his feet at all times

The Stig has its own children’s book trilogy

The Stig has a chiseled jawline

The Stig has no friends

The Stig never blinks

The Stig roams the woods at night, foraging for wolves

The Stig is wanted by the CIA

The Stig sleeps upside down like a bat

The Stig can catch fish with its tounge

The Stig appears on high value stamps in Sweden

The Stig is illegal in 17 states

The Stig blinks sideways

The Stig’s breath smells like magnesium

Two of The Stig’s legs are hydraulic

The Stig lives in a tree

It’s sweat can be used to clean precious metals

It’s heart ticks like a watch

It’s voice can only be heard by cats

The Stig has two sets of knees

There is an airport in Russia named after it

Its skin has the texture of a dolphin

No matter where you are in the world, if you tune a radio to 88.4, you can hear its thoughts

The Stig has no understanding of clouds

Its earwax tastes like Turkish delight

The Stig is a master of politics

It’s tears are adhesive

If you set The Stig on fire, it would burn for a thousand days

The Stig can swim seven lengths under the water

The Stig has webbed buttchecks

Its heart is upside down

Its teeth glow in the dark

Its ears “aren’t where you would expect them to be”

The Stig once had an affair with John Prescott

If it felt like it, it could fire Alan Sugar

The Stig has upside down genitals

If it wanted to, it could crack the DaVinci Code in 43 seconds

Its ears have a paisley lining

The Stig is banned from the Chelsea Flower Show

The outline of The Stig’s left nipple is the exact same shape as the Nürburgring

If given a truly important job, The Stig will slack off and play croquet instead

The Stig invented Branston Pickle

On exceptionally warm days, it will shed its skin like a snake

The Stig is allergic to the Dutch

It’s first name is The

If it went in Celebrity Love Island, every one would be pregnant, including the cameramen

The Stig once threw a microwave at someone

The Stig once had a vicious knife fight with Anthea Turner

The Stig has nothing to do with the cash-for-honors scandal

The Stig is a CIA experiment that went wrong

The Stig only eats cheese

If you lick its chest, it will taste exactly like piccalilli

The Stig sucks moisture from ducks

Its crash helmet is modeled after Brittany Spears’ head

The Stig isn’t machine washable

All its potted plants are named Steve

The Stig’s scrotum has its own gravity field

To unlock The Stig, you must run your finger down its face

The Stig thought Star Wars was a documentary

The Stig is afraid of Australian trees

61 years ago, The Stig accidentally introduced the Queen of England to a Greek racialist

The Stig was beheaded, but grew it back

When it slows down, break lights turn on in his butt

The Stig is bad at soccer

The Stig once lost a canoe on a beach in the Northeast

The Stig once had to do time in a prison in Canterbury, because its teddy bear was named Baby Jesus

The Stig has never sat on Santa’s knee

The Stig has never watched Moonraker on Boxing Day

After having sex, The Stig bites the head off its partner

The Stig had to give up binge drinking when prices reached $1.50 a litre

Each of its toenails are exactly the same length as a woman’s nipples

It thinks Credit Crunch is a type of cereal

Its droppings have been found as far as New York

The Stig has a full-size tattoo of The Stig’s face on its face

It is impossible for The Stig to wear socks

The Stig can open a beer bottle with its testes

The Stig sleeps inside out

The Stig once had sex with an answering machine

The Stig invented November

One of its eyes is a testicle

Its left leg gets longer when it sees someone it finds attractive

The Stig doesn’t like getting its helmet wet

The Stig invented the curtain

The Stig thinks potato chips are a type of animal

The Stig is baffled by urinals

The Stig has twelve GCSEs, all in domestic science

The Stig has been producing artificial sperm for years, even though the team has repeatedly asked it not to

On Thursdays, The Stig becomes extremely bulbous

The Stig is highly contagious of the “The Stig Flu”, which killed countless pigs in Mexico

If The Stig compensated a soldier for getting wounded, it wouldn't try to take it all back again

The Stig made someone bald once

In the Autumn, all its arms turn brown and fall off

if it wrote you a letter of condolence, The Stog would get your name right

The Stig has terrible plans involving the Moon

The Stig‘s new Christmas range of fragrances includes the great smell of Wednesday

The Stig was turned down for the job of EU President because its face was just too recognizable

The Stig has never once hit a fire hydrant.

You shouldn't go around to its house for your Christmas lunch unless you enjoy the taste of seagull

The Stig has to take his shoes off with an alum key

The Stig’s New Year's Resolution is to eat fewer mice

Its discharge is luminous

There are 17 different reasons why The Stig is banned from the North Hampton branch of Little Chef

Its favourite airline pilot is Mark Webber, or two, actually

The Stig has an irrational hatred of Rubens Barricello

The Stig is terrified the BBC will reveal its salary because its paid in hardcore porn

Some people think the Scottish released it a little bit too soon

The Stig once spent all week slowly pushing an effigy of Rubens Barricello through his desk fan

The Stig has recently been releasing pop records under the pseudonym of "Lady Gaga"

Under its race suit, The Stig also wears a red G-string and suspenders

The Stig doesn't understand the word "envelope"

The Stig is the only person in Britain not to have slept with Alan Johnson's policeman

The Stig once tore a goat in half

Its nipples are explosive

In its wallet, it keeps a photograph of its wallet

Its favourite disease it had as a child was gout

The Stig doesn’t know what dogs are for

The Stig can't eat mashed potato for religious reasons

The Stig once received 47,000 Olympic tickets, all of them for the final of women's wrestling

The Stig refuses to acknowledge the existence of Nottinghamshire

The Stig once hacked into its own helmet

The Stig is the only person in Britain who knows what B&Q stands for

The Stig once spent its $1.5 million dollar bonus on French breast implants

The Stig has 50,000 photographs of its own camera

The Stig has high horsepower

The Stig is skilled in cocktail-making

The Stig is the only person in history to buy a DFS sofa when it wasn’t on sale

Its favourite boxing venue is Munich Airport

The Stig stores all of its shoes and cassette tapes on the motorway central reservation

Following the vote on gay marriage in Britain, The Stig got engaged to James May’s lawnmower

Its convinced that Henry IV is buried under the Follow-Through

The Stig used to be a stormtrooper, but it was kicked out when it tried to eat Darth Vader

The Stig is made of rubber porcelain

The Stig’s shadow is that of a beluga whale

The Stig can play guitar with the clutch

Its carbon fibre beard is chiselled in the most streamlined way

The Stig knighted the former Queen of England

The Stig once saved the former Queen from God

The Stig can hypnotize sheep

If bothered, The Stig could swim the entire Atlantic Ocean-underwater

The Stig once co-presented a Brazilian show about blimp disasters

The Stig once actually punched God

The Stig once killed a giraffe with just its feet

The Stig has a black belt in paper maché

Some say it is five foot tall with lead in its feet

Others say six feet with tall with air in its head

....but it doesn't care what you say

The Stig has contracted every STD known to man

The Stig has large inflatable breasts to get them out of speeding tickets

The Stig is one of the protons in the Large Hadron Collider

The Stig creates miniature black holes every time he sneezes

The Stig was the one who actually pulled Excalibur from the stone and is the rightful King of England

The Stig gave birth to Chuck Norris and the mother was Superman

The Stig has no understanding of queuing

The Stig once modelled for Page 3

Its feet are made from dog leather

The Stig invented the mankini because it was frustrated with how its speedos looked on it

The Stig is the reason why The Beatles split up

And finally: The Stig has never watched an episode of Top Gear because it prefers a different show that airs at the same time

“Right, that's the track, now we needed someone who could tame it. So we got ourselves a professional racing driver who could post consistently fast lap times. We um, we couldn't do that. Now we call this thing The Stig, okay, we don't know its name, we really don't know its name, no-one knows its name and we don't want to know because it's a racing driver and racing drivers have tiny little brains and therefore worthless opinions and they're very dull; doctors actually call it Mansell Syndrome. Um, its job is simply to go out there and drive fast.”

-God probably

#please reblog this took almost 4 hours #I have never watched an episode of Top Gear #I just like The Stig #comment if I missed one #The Stig #Stig #Top Gear #James May #Hammond #richard hammond #jeremy clarkson #my posts #art #these are all real by the way #they aren’t in order

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allthiings · 2 years ago

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Shop Grey & Yellow Sports Sandals For Men Online | Impakto

#sports sandals for men

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aygofootwear01 · 7 months ago

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A Few Tips to Choose the Best Women Slippers

Slippers are considered as one of the most comfortable footwear for both men and women. But when it comes to choosing women slippers, there are several things that one needs to consider. Women slippers can be worn at home or they can also be worn for casual outings. The Women Slippers Manufacturers are designing a wide variety of women's slippers to match their expectations and lifestyles. But when it comes to choosing the best one, there are a few tips that women must keep into consideration. In this blog, we are sharing all those tips to help women buy the right slippers for themselves.

Buy women slippers according to the purpose

At present, women slipper manufacturers are designing different types of slippers to meet the varying requirements of women. From designing slippers for home to designing slippers for market hopping, different types of slippers are available for women. The design, quality, and price of these slippers do vary from each other. That is why it is recommended to buy these slippers according to the requirements.

Never compromise on the comfort

Comfort is not only required in clothing but it is also required in footwear. When buying these slippers, most women only look at their style and often compromise on comfort and quality. But when wearing them, they regret it due to the uncomfortable fit and poor quality of the slippers. We always recommend that pay attention to the size of the slippers to buy the one that fits well and offers complete comfort in walking. Also, ensure that the slippers come with thick sole to make offer support during walking for long hours. Do not compromise on your comfort level by buying low-priced or cheap women's slippers. If you will buy them from reputed women slippers manufacturers in India, you will get comfortable slippers.

Go for appealing designs that match your expectations

The availability of a plethora of women's slippers in the market has made it possible to choose the best design slippers. Women's slippers are available in different colours and different styles. From single-colour slippers to match your outfit to vibrant women's slippers for casual outings explore a wide range of options that match your style. According to the style and design the price of these slippers may vary. But if you are buying from the best manufacturer, you need not worry about the quality.

Other than these things, also check the material these slippers are made of. For comfort and durability, the material also matters a lot. At present, Aygo Footwear is known worldwide for offering a premium range of women's slippers at the most affordable prices. So, stop looking elsewhere and get the best women's slippers today only from Aygo Footwear.

#Ladies Sport Shoes Manufacturers #Top 10 Shoes Brand in India #Women Slippers Manufacturers #School Shoes Manufacturers #Kids School Shoes Manufacturers in India #Men Slippers Manufacturers #Women Sandals Manufacturers in Delhi #Men Sports Shoes Manufacturers #Footwear Manufacturers in Delhi

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aygofootwear · 6 months ago

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Top Quality School Shoes Manufacturers – Aygo Footwear

If you are looking for the top quality School Shoes Manufacturers then you’ve come to the right place. Aygo Footwear provides top-quality black and white kid's school shoes for both, boys and girls. There are several designs in which a pair of shoes can be brought. In every new session, children get new books, bags, uniforms, and much more. As kids are at their growing stage, they require new shoes more often. Therefore, we have priced our kid's school shoes low, without compromising on the quality part. We are aware of the fact that shoes can get harsh treatment by children, so we are making kid's school shoes durable and long-lasting.

To know more information about our products, you can directly contact us at 9671301301.

#top 10 footwear manufacturers in india #School Shoes Manufacturers #Top 10 Shoes Brand in India #Women Sandals Manufacturers in Delhi #Kids School Shoes Manufacturers in India #Men Slippers Manufacturers #Women Slippers Manufacturers #Ladies Sport Shoes Manufacturers

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footwearfootranger · 2 years ago

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Shop Mod Comfys Shoes for Comfort and Style

Step into style and comfort with mod comfys shoes. Shop our selection of stylish and comfortable casual shoes, boots, and sandals to pair with any outfit.

#best shoes #formal shoes #footranger #women fashion #women boots #women shoes #mens shoes #mensfashion #mod comfys #street style #best boots #fashion #casual shoes #sports sandals #kidsfashion

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nerdygaymormon · 7 months ago

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Happy Pride

I want to wish a Happy Pride to:

Green Carnations

In 1892, Oscar Wilde had some of his friends wear a green carnation on their left lapels to the opening night of his show. An elegant and witty character in the play—who paralleled real-life Oscar Wilde—wore a carnation as part of his costume. Why green? It was an unnatural color for a carnation, Wilde chose this since it was said that homosexuality was unnatural. The green carnation became associated with Wilde and his flamboyant friends, and spread as a secret code to show others that you're gay.

"Be Gay, Do Crime"

The slogan "Be gay, do crime" has existed since at least 2011. The slogan suggests that crime and incivility may be necessary to earn equal rights given the criminalization of homosexuality around the world and a reminder that the Stonewall uprising was a riot. The slogan stands in contrast to the polished, corporate version of contemporary Pride, and shows that queerness has always been transgressive, regardless of its legal status. Part of being queer is being willing to push boundaries and protect one's self from the law since we have traditionally been attacked by it.

Peppermint Patty and Marcie

Peppermint Patty defied traditional gender norms. She played all sorts of sports at a time when it wasn't common for girls to do so. All the other female characters wore dresses, but Patty wears a t-shirt, shorts and sandals and the only other female character not to wear dresses is Marcie.

Peppermint Patty regularly flirts with Charlie Brown and has a strong bond with Marcie. While we don't know for sure, it certainly seems that Peppermint Patty is bi and her best friend Marcie is a lesbian.

I can imagine Peppermint Patty organizing the school's GSA or an all-inclusive dance, and loudly calling out any queerphobia. I like thinking of Patty getting a man's suit from a thrift store and going to Prom where she dances with both Marcie and Charlie Brown

Absolut Vodka

In 1979, Absolut entered the American market, but sales were slow. In 1981, Absolut starting targeting the LGBTQ consumer with the idea this group are trendsetters. Since 1981, Absolut has had print ads in queer magazines, sponsored events in gay bars, donated more than $40 million to queer charities and causes, sponsors the GLAAD Media Awards, and numerous major LGBTQ events in the US annually. Absolut has commissioned many openly gay artists to create ads, such as Andy Warhol, Nereyda Garcia Ferraz, David Spada, Keith Haring and Kenny Scharf. Supporting the queer community in 1981 was risky, but they have invested in the community and earned loyalty in return.

Pink Triangle

In the 1930s and 40s, just as Nazi Germany required Jews in the concentration camps to wear a yellow star of David, gay men, bi men, and trans women had to wear a downward-pointing triangle on their chest. The symbol was reclaimed in the 1970's by the queer liberation movement as a symbol against homophobia, and then was adopted widely by the LGBTQ community. The community took this symbol from the holocaust to show we are stronger than the worst done to us.

The pink triangle has largely been replaced by the rainbow Pride flag, and a reason for this is explaining why a pink triangle is the symbol of the community required an explanation of its dark past and therefore was about what others did to us rather than a symbol representing who we are and our hopes & aspirations. Although it isn't used much anymore, it's important to remember the pink triangle as the first widely-adopted visual symbol of the queer community

Ace & Aro Rings

Beginning in 2005, wearing a black ring on the middle finger of your right hand became a way for people to signify their asexuality. The material and design of the ring are not important as long as it is primarily black. It’s about carrying a reminder on our hands that there are others like us, and it's a way to identify each other. A white ring on the left hand of the middle finger is the aro equivalent.

Eyebrow Slits

Eyebrow slits was a trend in the hip hop community in the 1990's and called "eyebrow cuts." The trend fell out of style, but was brought back in the 2010's by some male artists and models as an edgy fashion statement. Lesbians quickly adopted this trend, perhaps as a way of showing they aren't beholden to gendered fashion rules, and it quickly grew in popularity on social media as a way for members of the queer community to express themselves and signal to each other. It seems natural that a fashion style containing an underlying rebelliousness appeals to a group who are marginalized by society. The eyebrow slit trend largely has faded except among the LGBTQ+ community, and so has become associated with us.

Nautical Star Tattoos

For centuries, sailors would get tattoos, often of images with symbolic meanings, such as the nautical star (which represents the North Star) which was believed to ensure a sailor’s safe return home. In the 1940s and 50s, lesbians were navigating the choppy waters of societal norms and expectations, and this five-pointed star tattoo became their compass, helping them find others like themselves. They'd get this tattoo on the inner wrist because it could be covered by a watch strap during the day, allowing women to hide their identity when necessary for their safety or professional lives, but could reveal it in safe spaces. This symbol was revived in the 1970's and is still used by some to this day.

Online "Am I Gay?" Quizzes

A common experience of people who are gay, bi, and pan, is they find an online quiz that will ask a few questions and then determine whether you are gay, or will reveal how gay you are (as though this can be graded like a school test). Sometimes the questions are lighthearted, while others try to be more serious. Here's the thing, more than any quiz results, searching for this type of quiz is probably the biggest indicator that a person experiences attraction to people of their same gender. It can be helpful for someone to have a "confirmation" of how they're feeling, and thus these "am I gay" quizzes will remain a rite of passage many.

Subaru

In the early 1990's, Subaru was struggling. Sales of their dependable but plain cars were in decline. Subaru knew teachers, healthcare professionals, IT professionals, and the outdoorsy types bought 1/2 their cars in America, and they targeted advertisements at those groups. Soon they realized there was yet another core group, lesbians were 4 times more likely than the average American to purchase a Subaru.

Subaru began printing advertisements that made subtle nods to lesbians in a way that slipped past the notice of other Americans, such as having the license plate "XENA LVR" on a car. Many ads had taglines with double meanings. "Get Out. And Stay Out" could refer to exploring the outdoors in a Subaru—or coming out as gay. "It’s Not a Choice. It’s the Way We’re Built" could refer to all Subarus coming with all-wheel-drive—or an LGBTQ identity.

Subaru noticed a group of customers and created ads for them, a group which often felt unwelcome and invisible. The campaign was so successful that it became a stereotype that lesbians drive Subarus, even leading to the word "Lesbaru." Polls show that the queer community views Subaru as the most queer-friendly brand.

#happy pride 🌈

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itsgodepi · 9 hours ago

Text

If I lose my mind | Ch. 12

Series summary: When you're buried under a mountain of problems and can’t seem to catch a break, it might feel like you need a complete reset. But did it really have to come with a one-way ticket to a new dimension? Surely, a couple problem-solving courses would’ve done the trick. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 5,4k Also on AO3

The sun bears down with an almost tangible weight, each ray a fiery tendril pressing against your skin. What began as a blissful oasis—a magnificent sunbed that cradled you in its warm embrace after your swim in the icy water, rocking you to the rhythm of the lapping waves—has betrayed you. The once-soft fabric and plush cushions have gradually transformed into a stifling grill beneath your back. Sweat beads at your temples, and the tingling heat along your shoulders hints at a sunburn brewing just beneath the surface

With a sigh, you sit up, the teak deck creaking softly beneath you. The Mediterranean stretches endlessly in every direction, a tranquil expanse of sapphire shimmering under the sun’s golden touch. You slip into your sandals, the straps warm against your skin, and head toward the shaded back deck. If you're honest, when Carlos first mentioned his latest "shiny acquisition," you’d pictured a sleek little boat, perfect for a casual day on the water. Nothing could have prepared you for the sprawling luxury of the yacht anchored at the port outside his beach house this morning.

Just another reminder that you and Carlos don’t exactly share the same tax bracket.

The shaded area greets you with a rush of cooler air and the sight of Carlos lounging on a plush sofa, still in his swim trunks. His tanned skin glistens with the remnants of saltwater from your earlier swim, his eyes glued to his phone, a half-played chess game abandoned beside him.

You shake your head, smirking. He and Charles had been bickering all morning over chess strategies like two old men in a park. They’d finally decided to settle it with one last match, and you’d used the chance to escape and catch some sun. Clearly, they’d taken their sweet time.

Carlos notices your footsteps before you even reach him. His face lights up with that familiar grin, and as you approach, he puts his phone down and extends a hand toward you. His fingers slip around yours effortlessly, his thumb grazing your knuckles in a warm, unhurried motion. It’s oddly comforting, a habit of his that’s grown on you.

“Did you lose?” you ask, arching a brow at the abandoned game.

“Never,” he replies, the arrogance in his tone undercut by the grin tugging at his lips.

“Where’s Charles?”

“Talking on the phone. His mummy called,” Carlos quips, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes, leaning in to flick his forehead with your intertwined hands. “Don’t act like you weren’t calling your mum this morning all like, ‘Mami, que nos vamos con el barco, (Mummy, we’re taking the boat)’” you mimic, your voice climbing to a falsetto.

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, though he tries to protest, “I don’t talk like that!”

“Que sí, mamá, que tenemos cuidado (Yes mom, we’ll be careful)” you continue, doubling down on your impersonation, complete with dramatic hand gestures. “Ya me he puesto crema, ¡no traigas más mamá! (I’ve alredy put oon sunscreen, don’t bring more!)”

His jaw drops at your performance, mock outrage lighting up his expression. “Stop making fun of me!” he exclaims, though his laughter betrays him. His free hand darts out to tickle your side, a sudden and ruthless retaliation.

“Hey, stop it!” you yelp, struggling to squirm away, but Carlos is far stronger. His previous grip on your hand prevents any real escape, and with his other hand, he mercilessly tickles you until your resistance falters. You trip in your attempt to escape, tumbling onto him.

“¡Que me tiras! (You’re going to make me fall!)” you gasp, half-laughing, half-protesting as you land awkwardly against him.

“That’s the plan,” he says smugly, locking his arms around you in a triumphant hug

“Carlos, I’m all sticky with suncream and sweating!”

“I don’t care!” he replies, his voice sing-song as he pulls you closer.

Despite yourself, you can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation deflating your protests. The driver’s hold on you is inescapable, his strength far outmatching yours. His next words come as a triumphant whisper against your ear “Por lo menos he conseguido oírte hablar en español (At least I got you to talk in Spanish)”

“Huh?” You pull back slightly, blinking at him. He has a point —you don’t think you’ve ever had a proper conversation with him in Spanish. It’s not a conscious decision, you are always surrounded by non-Spanish speakers, and when he does approach you alone, he usually defaults to English.

It’s oddly endearing how pleased he seems with himself though.

“No tienes que practicar más tu inglés (You don’t have to practise your English no more),” he adds with a grin. “¡Ya sabes más que yo! (Already know more than I do!)”

“Sure, sure,” you reply, skeptical. You don’t really know what he is talking about, when did you ask him to practice your English?

“È meglio in italiano?” he switches languages, his grin widening.

“What did you say?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“C’mon, Charles told me you wanted to practice your Italian before Monza. You can practice with me too.”

Oh, Charles did mention something like that one of the first times you met him, even talked to you in Italian a couple times. You could never really follow the conversations, only understanding half of what he said because of your Spanish, so he didn’t push any further.

“I don’t know Italian,” you deflect, shaking your head.

“Two years in the Ferrari academy, and you didn’t pick up anything?” Carlos teases, his disbelief evident in his tone. His grin is wide, mischievous, and altogether too charming. You try to shrug it off, but his raised eyebrow signals he’s not letting you off the hook “That’s where you met Charles, right?”

You blink. New information. You really should speak Spanish with him more often if this is the kind of intel you’ll get.

“I guess,” you say nonchalantly, feigning indifference. Inside, though, you’re already planning to search about it the moment you get back.

Carlos narrows his eyes, suspicious of your evasiveness. “I guess?” His voice rises in mock exasperation, and then, before you can brace yourself, his hands attack your sides again in a relentless tickling assault.

“Okay, okay, stop!” you gasp, laughter bubbling uncontrollably from your chest as you twist and squirm, your hands blindly grappling for his wrists. His grip falters just enough for you to catch one hand, then the other, but the struggle only lands you in an even more precarious position: half-seated on top of him. “Fine! Yes, I knew him from there, before he was in Sauber. Happy now?”

Guess playing those guess the driver based on their teams challenges from tiktok had to come in handy at some point. You got addicted at those.

Carlos leans back slightly, utterly unfazed, not putting resistance against your hold. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he teases, his voice as warm and smooth as the sunlit waves lapping against the boat, cradling you from side to side.

One of his hands settles casually on your hip when you let go, the other remaining loosely trapped in your grip.

“Whatever,” you mutter, but your tone lacks conviction. You let out a soft huff of air, trying and failing to suppress the smallest of smiles when he throws you a wink, boyish and entirely too charming.

You still can’t understand how he always manages to turn your interactions into moments like this — moments so tender and charged that they feel almost deliberate, yet completely unspoken. The way your eyes linger on each other, the way you’re so close, sometimes even holding one another. How easily you’ve slipped into this dynamic with the Ferrari driver.

Why doesn’t this closeness feel strange? You’ve known him for such a short time, and yet it feels natural, like you’ve always been this way. The gentle way your fingers trace patterns along his, the soothing circles his hand draws on your side, a gesture so unconscious it sends a quiet shiver up your spine.

‘It’s just Carlos’ you tell yourself, as if that’s enough. Carlos, with his disarming warmth, his easy-going nature and unguarded affection. He seems so comfortable with this closeness, so unafraid to seek it out with you — it’s simply who he is. With you.

And somehow, without a second thought, you let yourself sink into it.

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, his voice soft enough to blend with the gentle crash of waves. His gaze is unwavering, those warm brown eyes studying your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

The wind tousles his hair, leaving it a mess of dark strands framing his face. His bracelet catches the light as your fingers toy absently with the cord, the handmade piece adorned with his initials and the tiny Ferrari badge drawn on little white cubes. It’s a fan gift, of all things, but its presence now, between your hands, feels...

A pang shoots through your chest, the ache of it almost too much.

It’s not... real. None of this is real.

“Nothing, I’m…” you smile, the tremble on your lips so easily noticeable and so difficult to hide. “It’s just..., you know, this, and I’m...” you bite down on your tongue, physically restraining the words from escaping.

Forcing yourself to just shut up.

You take a breath in, trying to push down the thoughts that so easily started poisoning the moment. Your eyebrows draw together and you keep your eyes down, letting go of the cord of his bracelet like it’s burning.

It’s fake. Everything.

I’m scared, you want to say, I’m so fucking scared of this —of all of it. Thirty-six days of living this surreal, impossible life, of being thrust into a world of fast cars, flashing cameras, and unimaginable luxury. Of private boats and breathtaking views, of thinking how nice you fit into the arms of this amazing man. And the quiet horror of realizing how easily you could lose yourself in it.

“Carlos,” you begin, the words spilling out before you can stop them. But what are you supposed to say? That this isn’t real? The boat, this life, him? You glance at his expectant face, the furrowed brows, the quiet weight in his gaze. He’ll think you’ve lost it, that you’re going crazy under the weight of it all. “I don’t know how to say this, but I’m… you’re— none of this is—”

The sudden creak of the driving cabin door cuts through your faltering confession, and your head jerks up to see Charles stepping out, his phone clutched in one hand. He doesn’t notice you at first, his thumb furiously swiping at the screen.

He stops just short of the two of you, his gaze flicking up to you, then Carlos, and finally settling back on you. Something lingers in that glance, his green eyes catching the fading sunlight in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

“Think we should head back,” Charles mutters, his voice clipped, as though reluctant to interrupt. “Some weirdo’s been taking photos.”

Guess Charles wasn’t talking to his mum after all. Instead, it was someone from the Ferrari media team, calling to warn him about the photos of you that had been slowly making their way onto social media since this morning. They had just received a fresh batch of unseen ones just a couple minutes ago: a series of candid shots of the three of you, lounging on the boat, laughing, completely at ease, unaware of the long lenses pointed at you from the distance.

Both teams scramble to get the photos pulled, sending messages, making calls, trying to keep the damage contained. But it doesn’t take long for them to see the light. And, as expected, the reactions are far from kind.

_______

“You should stop looking at that” Charles advices, his voice even softer than usual as he sets the pile of plates and cutlery down onto the table on the back patio.

The faint scent of saltwater from the sea mixes with the cool evening air, and the setting sun casts a warm golden glow on everything around you. He moves with practiced ease, placing everything in its place.

You pull your legs from the chair and sit up, stretching as you glance back into the house. Phone left over the table, still displaying the article you found about your ‘escapade’. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Inside, the lights are all on, and the shadows of indistinguishable figures move about the kitchen, the soft clatter of utensils filtering through the open window.

“Are they already making dinner? Sorry, you need help?”

The Monegasque stops you with a swift gesture of his hand, starting to place everything on the table by himself. His hair is damp and unruly from his recent shower, the blue shirt he's wearing showing traces of the droplets that must have been falling just minutes ago. He looks so effortlessly nice.

“Don’t worry, Carlos’ mom warned us not to bother you”

“Is that so?” you chuckle softly, a hint of relief creeping in. But you don’t stop yourself from reaching for the forks and knives, setting them in their places on the table —seven seats in total. Carlos’ sister and her husband are joining you tonight. "You should’ve told me anyway..."

"I don’t think she’d let you help even if you wanted to. She even sent the cook home for the night" he calms you, finishing his task and resting his arms on the backrest of the seat opposite to you

“What is she making?”

Charles hesitates, his gaze darting back to the kitchen before turning to you again. His mouth opens and closes with stray syllables that don’t really make any dish you have ever heard before. “Some kind of fish, I think? They’ve said the name a couple times but I didn't get it” he shrugs lightly, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips. "It smells good though. That’s all I can say"

“It does smell nice” you give him, a grin of your own pulling at your lips. You sit down again as ordered, taking your still light up phone from the table and turning off the screen.

She should respect herself is the last thing you manage to read on it, one of the nicest comment of the hundreds hanging on the comment section of the page. You sigh. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks a few meters away filling in the silence that falls right after.

“Try not to worry about it too much, okay?” he almost whispers, his hand moves through his hair, shaking it out of place “I know it’s hard, but... some people are just assholes, no use in reading the shit they put out there”

A sigh slips from your lips as you lean your elbows over the glass table and glance away, the weight of your thoughts pressing on your chest. "A lot has come up about Monaco too..."

While you can hardly stomach the repulsive comments surrounding the supposed relationship between you Charles, or Carlos, or both of them? Some even asking themselves how your closeness with Lewis might fit into the mix. The constant invasion of privacy, the sense that you’re being watched every second of every day, has been weighting on you lately.

They know where you've been. Where you ate. What you wore. They even managed to snap a picture of that tiny clay hedgehog Charles bought you back at the artisan market —a detail so small, yet so personal, and now it’s making the rounds in social media. It’s all out there now, for anyone to dissect, to judge, to speculate.

One thing is people knowing your hotel back in the middle of a Grand Prix, and another thing entirely is being followed back to Charles’ building entrance. There’s even photos of you carrying the suitcase inside the Sainz’s villa just couple days ago.

The thought of going back to Monaco after this trip to Mallorca feels suffocating. You’re not sure if you can face it. Not after everything. You feel so exposed, like there’s nowhere safe anymore.

Charles’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. "No, I don’t even look at those things anymore," he confesses, the finality in his voice talking of a decision he took long ago. The driver has spent years on the spotlight, for good a not so much "Look, I know we talked about this before, but I really don’t care what anyone says."

His words linger in the quite night, his eyes never leaving yours. "I enjoy this. Being here, with you. Spending more time together outside of racing and being normal, you know?" His smile softens, but there's something deeper in his expression, something you can’t quite put your finger on. "And I loved showing you around Monaco, having you at home. So really, why would I care about what some loser has to say about it? This... this is just me and you. Us."

Oh, that’s...

What?

A rush of warmth blooms across your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest, leaving you breathless for a moment. Your heart flutters, faster than it should, that’s so nice, so comforting in a way you didn’t expect. And the way he’s looking at you, the intensity in his gaze expressing a million things more than he can manage to put into words.

But where is all this coming from? He’s never said anything remotely close to this before. Sure, he’s talked about how great it was spending time with you, how much fun the last few days were, but this?

“I...” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your mind struggles to catch up. You look up at him, heart racing and nerves threatening to unravel you entirely. What are you even supposed to say? His words, his tone, the way his eyes seem to search yours with such quiet urgency. It all feels so much deeper than just this conversation “I had a lot of fun too, Charles”

As soon as the words slip from your lips, you realize with a sinking feeling that you’ve said the wrong thing. The change in the air is almost tangible, as if the moment itself has shifted, taking on a new weight you can’t shake off. Charles’s smile is still there, but it’s different now. It’s more distant, reserved.

You open your mouth instinctively, your mind scrambling for something to say, something to undo the sudden tension. But the words don’t come. They’re caught somewhere, stuck behind the pressure building inside you.

But nothing comes. The words stay lodged in your throat, swallowed by hesitation, and all you can do is watch as he turns and walks away.

“Toma, dale a la cría más jamón, hombre (Here, give the girl some more jamón, boy)” Carlos Senior voice breaks through the chatter, abrupt yet kindly, leaning over the table to take one of the dishes of cut meat scattered around the table and giving it to his son.

You try to wave it off, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, no, no, por favor,” you stammer, already chewing on a bite of the rich, salty meat. But before you can protest further, Carlos takes the plate from his father’s hand and places it in front of you. A bit of heat rises to your cheeks, “Sorry, it’s been a while since I last got to eat it and-”

“No, love, eat some more! There’s cheese here as well, do you want some?” Reyes, Carlos’ mother, swiftly diverts the talk, not waiting for an answer before picking another one of the dishes and sending it down the table towards you.

“Tendríamos pedir más y así se llevan los chicos (We should buy some more, so the kids can take them home)” she suggests to her husband, taking her glass in one hand and turning to the other guest at the table “Charles, do you like it too? And the cheese? We’ll prepare some for you to take back”

You laugh under your breath, trying not to look overwhelmed. The plates seem to multiply around you, the family circling you both in a flurry of food. You catch Charles’ eye across the table, his dimples flashing in an innocent smile. He’s probably not understanding half of the conversation, the rapid-fire Spanish swirling around him too much to keep up with.

Your mind drifts briefly to Nick, he's definitely not going to be happy about this. From the delicate codfish Reyes had spent hours preparing, to the fragrant cake Carlos' sister brought over, you’ve already eaten more than you intended. This time you’re truly not sure if you’ll fit on the car.

Well, the trainer had actually seemed quite willing to ease up on the strictness of the diet when you brought up your conversation with Daniel a few weeks ago. He even programmed a new plan just a couple of days later. For some reason and despite their differences, Nick was oddly pleased that Daniel had discussed the topic with you, even admitted he wasn’t really comfortable with such a rigid calorie count either.

So then, why was it programmed in the first place?

“Where are you taking them tomorrow?” Carlos' sister leans forward, finishing her piece of cheese as she watches the scene unfold around them, her eyes scanning the quiet evening.

“We were going to Palma, to see the market, but now that they know we’re all here...” her brother reclines lazily on the chair, a sigh flowing out his lips “I don’t know, maybe take a trip to Menorca?”

Carlos glances over at you and Charles, his eyes scanning for a response. You nod encouragingly, the idea appealing. It'll throw the paparazzies off for a while, the island not that far from you, but enough to be off the radar for a bit.

His father also supports the idea, instantly taking out his phone to show Carlos a restaurant they visited a few years back as a suggestion for lunch “Your mother loved this one, it had a terrace over the sea and all. And there was this plate of roasted lamb...”

Carlos and his sister both chuckle at the enthusiasm in the man’s voice, exchanging a look with their mother. It’s probably not the first time they’ve heard this story, and judging by the way their father dives into every single detail of it —even in English—, the last time won’t be anytime soon either.

The conversation drifts to other places worth visiting before they leave the island. The family has had this house for years, and while they know Mallorca like the back of their hands, they’ve explored the other islands multiple times as well.

After a while, Carlos’ hand fall onto your knee to gain your attention “Like the plan?”

“Menorca? Yeah, at least for tomorrow” you whisper back, your eyes meeting his. They’re the ones who know how to navigate the chaos of fame, so you better follow along with their advice.

The Ferrari driver nods, his hand giving your knee a reassuring squeeze before leaving it to rest there, calm and steady. The warmth of his touch lingers as the evening stretches on. Yeah, he’s getting too smooth at it, you think —but you don’t mind.

_____

Turns out the Sainz family has an excellent taste, from the restaurants they recommend to the activities Carlos is roped into taking you on. Menorca, it turns out, is even more enchanting than the glossy postcards or travel blogs ever hinted at, with its tranquil waters and the shimmering sun. You spend most of the trip in a blissful haze, thankfully managing to avoid too many encounters with paparazzi or curious fans.

That conversation with Charles from the first evening? It’s not mentioned again, by either of you. The air between you settling back into that familiarity slowly but surely. Still, it lingers in the back of your mind, and you make a mental note to talk things through with him once you’re away from all of this.

The days on the islands vanish like grains of sand through your fingers, blurring into an endless string of sunsets and laughter. You try to memorize every detail —the way the sunlight catches on Carlos’ grin, the sound of Charles’ rare and genuine laugh, the warm feeling being with them bring you. But no matter how tightly you cling, the end still comes.

Your escapade to the Balearic Islands has come to an end, and now you’re heading to Monaco for the last couple of days you’ll get to spend with Charles.

When the time to finally part ways at the airport comes, Carlos holds you tightly. His hug is firm, his arms wrapping around you as if they alone could keep you from leaving. He sways you gently from side to side, reluctant to let go.

“So, you’re coming back every break, aren’t you?” his words, though light, strike a chord deep in your chest.

You want to respond, to reassure him, but the truth lodges in your throat. Because this, whatever it is, probably won’t happen ever again. You won’t get to spend your holidays with the two drivers, won’t be able to talk to them again, to see them, to hug them. This dream, or whatever this temporarily insanity of yours is, will come to an end at some point. Right?

But even as you nod and give him a wry smile, the question haunts you: do you want it to end?

The thought keeps circling your mind over the following days and weeks, as you try to convince yourself of the only sane solution. You have to go back, to your apartment, to your work, to your life –How? You’ll have to figure that one out too. Nevertheless, this feeling reaches its breaking two weeks later, at the afterparty of the Belgian Grand Prix, cradled in his arms once again, this time under the crisp chill of his victory night as you lose yourself in his eyes.

Do you really want this to end?

“Thanks again for coming,” Carlos murmurs, looking down at you in a hug that you both refuse parting from. “I know you’ve been a little anxious about parties and going out lately”

You lean back slightly to look at him, the warmth of his presence anchoring you “I couldn’t miss it.”

“Who knows when I’ll win again, right?” he teases, a sly smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, shut it!” you laugh, swatting his chest. The sound of your voice bounces off the quiet entrance, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

“What? You’re the one who said it first!”

“Me?! When?” your incredulous glare only makes his grin wider “It’s you who heard that, always thinking the worst of me”

“If that helps you sleep at night”

You push at him in mock indignation, stepping back from the hug to create some distance, but your heel catches on the uneven ground. The world tilts alarmingly, but before gravity can do its worst, his hands are there—firm and steady—gripping your waist and pulling you back upright in one seamless motion “Nope, we’re not having none of that tonight”

“What? can’t a woman fall down with dignity now?” you spurt back, regaining your footing. Your feet hurt with these heels, you thought rich people parties were supposed to be more of sitting down fun, some wine and expensive food. Instead got that undanceable music

“With dignity?” he chuckles, low and warm, letting you adjust yourself but keeping his hold on you. You don’t know if it's in fear you’ll fall again or simply a need to keep you close “Someone just had a little too many daquiris”

You look at him then, big eyes on display and your lower lip pushed out, like a child caught red-handed and whine “They were so good, Carlos, so sweet!”

“I knew you’d like then,” Carlos’ smirk softens, glad you enjoyed the drink he recommended “When I tried the cherry one, I immediately thought of you.”

“Oh, that’s why it tasted like a lollypop!” The revelation feels groundbreaking in your slightly woozy state. His sweets words somehow flying pass you. You point at him accusingly then, wobbling a bit in your heels. “But don’t change the topic, I’m not drunk no more, I swear!”

“No? You’re not?”

“Perfectly fine now. Just the heels, I promise” you nod, you haven’t drink that much and he know it. He is just teasing “I’m, like, tipsy. Fun tipsy.”

“Fun tipsy, you say?” Carlos repeats in a chuckle, voice almost a whisper, and his gaze lingers. The noise of the party behind you fades to a distant hum. He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression makes your chest tighten and your stomach flip in equal measure.

You don’t notice when his hands begin to slide, one moving up from your waist to rest just below your neck. His thumb brushes along your jawline, tentative but deliberate. The gentle warmth of his palm against your cheek is intoxicating, and before you know it, you’re leaning into the touch, your body betraying you.

“Then...” the man’s eyes glimmer, catching the golden glow of the patio lights. His voice is laced with hesitance, searching yours for a question he suddenly feels too shy to ask “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

The question lingers between you, heavy with meaning. For a moment, all you can do is nod, barely aware of the small, trembling movement. The distance between you vanishes as he leans in, his hand cradling your cheek with a gentleness that makes your breath hitch.

When Carlos’ lips finally meet yours, it’s like the world stops spinning. The first touch is soft, testing, as though he’s afraid to break the moment. You respond almost instinctively, leaning into him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. The kiss deepens, his lips pressing against yours with a growing confidence.

His other hand finds its way back to your waist, anchoring you to him, steady and unyielding. Your hand clutching his shirt while the other drifts up to his shoulder. The warmth of him seeps into your fingertips, your skin, until you feel like you might melt into him entirely.

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, the sound almost deafening in your ears. His fingers graze along your jawline, tracing a path as if trying to memorize every inch of you in this fleeting moment. You’re hyper-aware of everything —his touch, the way his breath mingles with yours, the slight tug of his lips as he smiles into the kiss.

When he pulls away, it’s agonizingly slow, his lips lingering against yours as if reluctant to part. His forehead comes to rest lightly against yours.

“That was really nice” Carlos murmurs, his voice hushed, almost reverent.

“Yeah, it was” you agree, your voice barely a whisper. You lean back, looking up at him with a smile that betrays the fluttering in your chest and can’t help but chuckle “A bit unexpected maybe, but—”

"Unexpected?" he asks with a relaxed laugh, his fingers drawing invisible circles on your waist, his touch light but steady. "You can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted to do that."

Before you can respond, he leans in for a quick, soft kiss, his lips brushing yours one last time, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more.

“Like two hours?” you guess, playfully, as you play with the buttons of his dark shirt, and he shakes his head in denial

The sound of a car approaching cuts through the moment—the unmistakable hum of your Uber arriving. Carlos glances over his shoulder at the car, then back at you, his expression softening “Guess it’s time for you to go, I’ll tell you about it another day”

The Ferrari driver pulls back and reaches for your hand, guiding you down the stairs and toward the car. You pause at the door, feeling a little reluctant to part ways, but before you can say anything, Carlos steps close again. His hand slides to your waist, pulling you in for a brief but sweet kiss, one that leaves you with a small smile on your lips.

"Send me a message when you get there, alright?" he murmurs, his lips still close to yours.

"Yeah, I will," you reply, a little breathless, before stepping back and getting into the car.

"Goodnight, Carlos"

“Buenas noches, cielo”

Author's note: Thank you all so much for reading, any kind of interaction is greatly appreciated! I know it's been way too long

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#carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x you #formula one x reader #formula one x you

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