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spatialwave · 7 months ago

Text

"yes, sir."

pairing: pre-war!cooper howard x fem!reader word count: 3k ask: “Cooper x Reader where reader’s a girl with a kink for cowboys, and Cooper plays it up for her? Kind of a roleplay situation (smut), also if he’s into how small she is, that’d be great.” warnings/tags: mdni! smut, porn with plot, cowboy/cowgirl kink, size difference, age difference, dom!cooper, sub!reader, oral (m+f receiving), doggy-style, riding/cowgirl, edging/denial, praising, slight verbal degradation, bondage, gagging, you’re cooper’s babygirl. notes: big thank you to the anon who asked for a cowboy kink/size difference fic, hehe. i hope it was okay that i wrote pre war cooper, but when i think of cowboy, i think of him in that slutty little cowboy fit, lol.

“come on, coop, don’t be a prude,” you said with a big smile, standing in front of your partner with your hands interlocked in his, “you played a sheriff before, why can’t you do it for me?”

his lips curved into a smile as he titled his head down, his hat covering the red blush rising on his cheeks, “maybe i am turning into a prude,” he chuckled, rousing a laugh from you as you led him into the bedroom with a coy smile spread on your lips.

you’d been seeing cooper howard exclusively for a few weeks, having weaseled your way into his life a few short months after his divorce had been finalized. you were a young stable girl at the ranch where he’d kept sugarfoot, no longer living with barb in their old house meant he didn’t have the capacity to care for her on his own anymore. it was difficult, but he trusted one of the best ranchers just out of los angeles.

it was a stroke of luck to have been the one to help him the first day he stopped by your grandfather’s ranch, keeping yourself from bursting into excitement as you got his mare situated in her new home. there was immediate chemistry flowing between each other, but you knew cooper was tiptoeing around you, and you couldn’t blame him.

you were certainly much younger than he was.

the movie star came around often, and although he’d spent most of his time riding sugarfoot, you couldn’t count on two hands the amount of times you’d caught him staring at you, covering it up by hiding his eyes behind the cowboy hat you’d always seen him wearing.

the sexual tension was mutual, so you acted on it.

you saw first-hand how incredibly pent-up he was, but you still couldn’t believe how quick he was to say yes when you offered him a blowjob a few days later. you didn’t beat around the bush when you knew what you wanted.

you led him behind one of the stables, covered up by a stack of hay bails, as you took him down your throat like the good girl you were. cooper didn’t last long, choking out a moan as he came in your mouth after a minute or two.

since then, cooper was head over heels for you—the country girl he always wanted. someone who would say yes in a heartbeat if he asked you to go up to bakersfield with him to live on a ranch. it was dangerous territory, he was sure of it, but he’d never once felt so much fire in his heart when he was around you. you kept his spirit young.

likewise, cooper howard was everything you could’ve dreamed of in a man. handsome, kind-hearted, and eager to please.

that’s why he couldn’t say no when you asked so nicely for him to do some roleplaying with you in bed. wasn’t your fault that you had a thing for cowboys, and he just happened to be the hottest one you’d ever set eyes on.

so, there you were in his bedroom in nothing but a skimpy bra and panties set that he bought you a week earlier. red, see-through lace that cupped your perky tits and accentuated the curves of your ass. you made sure he was fully dressed, though, from a cowboy hat all the way down to the worn-in boots.

“see, baby?” you purred, kneeling on the edge of his bed like a minx, “there’s no one sexier than you, cowboy.”

it was hard to miss the flicker of interest in cooper’s eyes as you cooed at him. his cock twitching under his denim jeans that he desperately wanted off.

if this is what you wanted, then he’d sure as hell give it to you.

“don’t talk like you’re the one in charge here. i’m the sheriff around these parts,” he drawled through a smirk, his voice alone making you wet in anticipation, “so, be a good girl and listen to me,” cooper stepped forward, towering over your small frame as a calloused hand tilted your chin up to look at him, “ya’ think ya’ can do that for me, sweetheart?”

“yes, sir,” you murmured, a soft squeak escaping your lips when he pressed his lips against yours in a sudden, passionate kiss that made your stomach twist and turn in all the right ways. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, and you opened your lips for him to taste all of you, but he pulled back just to leave you craving more, “please.” you whimpered.

“shhh,” his lips pulled into a half-grin, and you knew then and there that he was enjoying this power dynamic as much as you were, “i need ya’ to be nice and quiet for me. don’t want anyone else in town listenin’ to what i do to you.”

your lips trembled as you sat patiently in front of him, heat building in your abdomen as your cunt squeezed and ached around nothing. cooper took off his hat, placing it nicely over your head—claiming you as his.

“lay back, darlin’,” he whispered, dipping his head low and following you as you landed onto the soft bed. he crawled over you, pressing wet kisses to your neck, down your chest until his lips teased around the band of your panties, “now, look at how wet you are. i barely even touched ya’,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your cunt over the wet fabric.

you held onto his hat, keeping it on your head, as you arched your back and chewed down on your lip to keep yourself from crying out in pleasure.

he tongued at the fabric, finding your swollen clit and giving it attention that you would’ve preferred without your underwear on. you kept quiet, though, knowing that if you were on your best behaviour, ‘the sheriff’ would be sure to give you everything you needed.

a whimper barely escaped your lips when he tugged the fabric aside, cool air making you pulse and twitch.

“christ, baby,” he groaned, “you want my cock so bad, don’t you? i bet you wanna’ ride me until you’re screamin’ my name and beggin’ for me to let you cum.”

you were fighting for your life as cooper’s thumb pressed slow circles on your bundle of nerves, the words falling from his tongue sending your stomach into a fit of butterflies. he had never been so vulgar with the way he spoke, you weren’t sure you’d be lasting long if he kept it up.

“cooper, please,” the words spilled from you before you could stop, a moan choking in your throat, “shit—i mean, sir,” you whined.

a man of his word, cooper pulled away from you, standing at the edge of the bed and watching the way you squirmed without his touch.

“i told you to be quiet,” he clicked his tongue in disappointment, unbuttoning the blue and yellow top that looked so perfect on him. accented with leather fringes hanging off his broad shoulder, and a little golden star on the left side—just like a sheriff, “i thought you’ were goin’ to be a good girl for me,” he sighed, “suppose i need to punish you, until you learn to behave.”

he finished unbuttoning the top, leaving his chest exposed, as he reached down and undid his belt buckle with one hand. cooper pulled the leather out from the belt loops of his denim, and your mind went haywire at the sharp sound.

“lay on your stomach,” he commanded, watching with a smirk as you obeyed. his hands took your wrists, pulling them behind you so he could snag them together until his belt had them forcefully restricted. he let out a whistle, “you look goddamn’ pretty all tied up,” he smiled, large hands reaching down and massaging your ass before pulling your panties off.

you looked over your shoulder at the cowboy, trying to pry your wrists apart, but he was good with a belt. eyes settled on his exposed chest and your mouth pooled with saliva, wishing you could turn around and let him fuck you while your fingernails scratched against his abs and left reddened marks on his skin.

cooper’s hands moved to your hips and lifted you onto spread knees on the edge of the bed, just high enough so he had the perfect angle to fuck you as good as he believed you deserved. you kept your face turned to the side, breathing heavy and biting back moans as you felt his fingers rub through your folds. already you felt your knees wanting to give up, but you willed yourself to stay upright. the last thing you needed was to upset him and be edged for hours—or worse, not allowed to cum at all.

he pushed a finger inside you, heavy-lidded hazel eyes watching your expression as your tight cunt contracted around his digit. your fingers bent and dug into the leather belt as he slid in a second, roughly finger fucking you as your eyes had begun to roll into the back of your head. it was so damned good, but it wasn’t enough—you rocked your hips back against his fingers, silently begging for him to fuck you harder and deeper.

you held back a moan, the sound radiating deep in your chest and loud enough for cooper to hear.

“now, now, babygirl,” he murmured gently, free hand holding your hips still, “once i start fuckin’ you, i promise you can try bein’ as loud as you want.”

that alone made another whimper come from you, an agonizing feeling swallowing you whole when his fingers pulled out and left you empty and exposed.

you opened your mouth, ready to talk out of turn and beg for his cock desperately, but you were met with your panties being shoved between your lips, rightly so. a makeshift gag that would make it near impossible to get any sounds out.

“good girl,” cooper uttered, his hand brushing back hair so he could see your face, “i did say ‘try’, didn’t i?” he chuckled, taking far too much pleasure in the dominance he had over you, and by the looks of you, he knew you loved it.

he shimmied the opened shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them to his thighs, so his cock sprung free. the cowboy didn’t waste time running the head along your wet pussy, watching as his pre-cum dripped out and coated your entrance. the lace gag muffled your moans as each stroke along you made your thighs quake in pleasure, leaving you a complete fucking mess.

“fuck,” he groaned lowly, holding the base of his cock with his right hand, the other holding your hip up so you didn’t collapse, “i don’t know how you’re gonna’ take this cock,” he breathed heavy, slowly pushing into your cunt, “so small… just a sweet little thing.”

you groaned, your tongue pressing against the fabric in your mouth when tears stung your ears as his cock filled you. he wasn’t wrong, you weren’t sure how you managed to take him; he towered over you in height, and he was very well-endowed. he often fucked you so deep that your stomach bulged with each rough snap of his hips, his hand would press against your lower tummy so he could feel his cock fucking you dumb.

cooper groaned when he reached the hilt, giving you only a few seconds to adjust to the fullness you were a good girl who could take it, you’d proven that many times.

his thick cock slid through your swollen walls and stretched you with each forward push of his hips, balls slapping hard against your clit. you were gagging on the fabric pathetically, the sounds from you nothing more than muffled whimpers.

his hand tugged on the belt strapped tight around your wrists, using it as leverage as he fucked you so hard you felt like you might pass out. your eyes fluttered closed as they rolled back, body shaking in tandem with the bed as spit dripped down your chin after your panties fully soaked in your mouth.

with how tight you were squeezing around his cock, cooper knew you were close.

“don’t cum, yet, baby,” he moaned, head falling back as he rocked hard against you, tugging harder on your wrists so you were pulled up from the bed, tits bouncing with every thrust.

you were seconds away from cumming when cooper dropped your wrists and pulled out—your cunt dripping with juices down your thighs. you landed hard against the bed, face buried in the blanket as it swallowed up the tears streaming down your cheeks from the denial. your lover undid the belt around your wrists, and you were quick to pull them apart, relishing in the freedom to touch where you wanted.

cooper bent down and pressed his tongue to your abused cunt, lapping at you wildly and getting a good taste. you pulled the gag out of your mouth just in time to let out a strangled moan, vibrating deep from your chest.

“fuck, cooper—“ you cried, hips and knees shaking uncontrollably, “you’re gonna’ make me cum, please, don’t stop. i wanna’ cum so bad.”

“you cum when i tell you, you can,” he mumbled against you, hands grabbing tight at your ass as his tongue pushed inside you.

it took everything for you to focus on holding back your climax, the way his tongue penetrated you nearly threw you over the edge, but he was good at knowing your triggers. he pulled back from you, licking his lips as he stood back up on his feet and kicked off his boots and jeans.

“ride me,” he said breathlessly, watching you crawl to your hands and knees as he moved to lay back on the bed with his head in the pillows, “you like ridin’ cowboys, don’t you?”

“yes, sir,” you mewled, chewing on your bottom lip as you moved to straddle him. cooper had never looked sexier to you, his forehead and chest were damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed a perfect shade of pink.

with one hand, he reached behind you and unhooked the clasp of your bra, snagging the fabric from your body and tossing it off the bed. his hands were quick to massage your tits, squeezing your nipples between his fingers as you sunk down on his cock with one quick drop of your hips.

you and cooper moaned together as he stretched you out, your body flushed hot as you pressed your hands to his chest and rocked your hips.

he praised you often, saying sweet little nothing's and showering you in compliments as you rode him just the way he liked it. there was no better gratification than watching the way his face twisted in pleasure as he moaned your name over and over like a prayer.

“i want you to cum in me,” you said through a quick inhale, beginning to lose your breath, “please, sir. i’ve been so good for you.”

a guttural growl came from him as he grabbed at your jaw and yanked you down roughly into a hungry kiss. he licked into your mouth, and you were much too willing to part your lips and let him take your breath away.

cooper lifted his hips with his remaining strength, just enough so he could pull his cock from you and thrust back up, fucking you relentlessly. you buried your face against his neck, gurgled moans bubbling up your throat and into his ear as your body rolled toward the edge once again. his stubble rubbed against your cheek, and it was the only thing you focused on as you held back your orgasm until he gave you permission.

you had become nothing but a toy of pleasure for him, your body limp as he slammed his hips into yours, and the sound of your skin slapping together echoed louder than the headboard banging against the wall.

“you take my cock so fuckin’ good, baby. i want you to cum with me,” cooper whined into your ear, and you could hear his voice shaking, “fuck, i’m gonna’ cum,” he growled.

cooper reached a hand between you and thumbed at your clit, circling it several times in a quick pattern—all you needed for your pleasure to erupt you into a state of euphoria. you saw stars, a fucked out smile on your lips as your cunt tightened around his cock and left you babbling his name as cooper continued to fuck you. his thrusts stuttered a few times, unable to keep up the rhythm as your pulsing cunt milked out his orgasm. he came inside you with a deep-throated groan, filling you with wet, sticky cum.

his body finally gave in, and he collapsed back on the bed with you dropping to his chest. you were both covered in sweat, chests heaving as you caught your breath and gave your bodies time to be still and quiet. relishing in the aftermath of one of your kinkiest rendezvous.

cooper was the first to groan and shift in his position, his body already sore and knowing he’d be aching for a couple days. those beautiful hazel eyes of his stayed focused on your face as you leaned your head back to get a good look at him. he smiled lopsided, making you blush, as his hand brushed hair out of your face that clung to the sweat gathering on your skin.

“you’re so damn perfect,” he whispered to you in that thick southern accent, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips that made you fall in love with him all over again, “my babygirl.”

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #pw!cooper howard #fallout prime fic #cooper howard fic #the ghoul fic #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x fem!reader #wordsbyspatial

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lcriedlastnight · 5 months ago

Note

Enemies to lovers with Lando. Someone says something bad / criticises Lando in front of reader and she immediately defends him without knowing he’s behind her and can hear everything. And maybe as she’s defending him she’s also unknowingly/ without realizing / accidentally admitting her feelings for him

i love this idea! thank you so much anon, love!

tw: fem!reader, swears, logan hate (do not support!), little lando hate, not spellchecked or proof read, lmk if you want me to add anything else.

w/c: 2k

you and lando had never gotten along. you’d never gotten along and you’d never tried to. it was just one of those things, you supposed. you didn’t make a big deal out of it as the two of you shared a friend group and didn’t want to cause any issues between the group. lando however, well it seemed like he had a serious issue with you.

at first you did try to get along with him, his ego was massive and that really did put you off wanting to be friends with him but you could be fake a friendship with him. a friendship out of convenience was perfectly fine with you. lando was just having none of it. he’d ignore any conversation you would try to have with him - even in a group setting. you had tried just not talking to him but even that left you on the receiving end of dirty looks and mean comments. you’d had enough with it so you stopped caring about him entirely.

well that’s what you told your friends. in reality; you cared what he thought, you looked for his reaction to any story that was told in the room and you looked to see if he laughed at your jokes. every single time you were left with blank stares and bored expressions.

your friends noticed this and tried their best to ease the tension between the two of you but because of lando’s stubbornness, there was nothing they could really do. he really did make things difficult sometimes.

you had all gathered around the drivers house to celebrate a mutual close friend’s birthday. you and you close girl friends had gotten ready for the get together at your house and headed to the party together.

“so is the vibe for tonight party or chilled?” your friend asks as you jump out of the taxi outside lando’s apartment complex. your other friend snorts in amusement before she replies.

“girl, we’re at lando’s what do you think the vibe is?”. you frown. the party vibe wasn’t really what the birthday boy enjoyed so you hoped for his sake it was more a chilled, hanging with friends vibe. you also didn’t really dress for a party, your favourite pair of jeans on as well as one of those cute baby tee’s you found on tiktok.

“i hope not. fin doesn’t really like parties.” you remind them as you press the buzzer for lando’s. it rings for a second then you hear his crackly voice through the speaker. “hello?”. he sounded sober. good start.

“can you let us in please?” you ask into the intercom. there is a pause before lando replies.

“no. we’re full.”

your friend rolls her eyes at his words, knowing all this is was because he was talking to you. if he would just stop acting like a dickhead for more than two seconds people could maybe get things done. meanwhile, you huff at lando’s words opening your mouth to complain to him but your friend cuts in. “just let us in, norris.”.

she sounds fed up enough already that lando immediately tells them to “head on up, then.” she storms ahead of you and your other friend. you look at each other with annoyed looks.

“to be fair it’s a good thing she did that because you haven’t fell into his traps in months.” she reminds you as you reach his door which was open waiting on you and your friend. you nod. it was true, ignoring lando was really going well for you… from your friends point of view anyways. your mind was still plagued with thoughts of him.

your friend walks in before you so make sure to close the door behind you.

“so i guess we were wrong. looks like it is a chill night.” you friend says as she sees your friends dotted around the place, conversing. it looked very adult. weird for something lando was in charge of planning. you didn’t know he was capable of being anything except snide and rude. maybe he could be thoughtful and caring to the people he loved. the thought makes you frown but before you can linger on it for too long your friend grabs you both a drink and you take seats on his couch.

you notice you’re the last ones to arrive and try to find your friend that stormed off earlier. your eyes rake around the room until they land on her sitting with fin, the birthday boy. they looked cosy. ‘good for them’ you think as you take a sip of your drink. you notice lando sitting with his friend, max, on the couch next to you. you glance in his direction then redirect your eyes.

after maybe half an hour of socialising and drinking, fin announces (with your other friend hanging off his arm) that he wants to play a game of truth or dare. you thought it was a bit childish but everyone agreed so you did too. you all sit in a circle and decide to place a bottle in the middle.

“this is so high school.” you say to your friend, who just laughs in agreement. you had ended up sitting next to max on one side and your friend on the other. you quite liked max, he was nothing like lando, which helped you like him a lot more.

“since it’s my birthday, i’ll go first!” fin says as he spins the bottle. it lands on max. fin grins before asking the question you know you’re going to be tired of hearing after tonight.

after a couple of rounds a few of you disperse to get drinks and use the toilet. you were pretty sure some went for a smoke break. you didn’t even know anyone where smoked. lando was one of the people that had left, he went to the kitchen to get a drink for him and max. the good thing about not being able to let anyone know you were staring at lando was that you got good at lip reading and hearing things from a distance. you also got good at seeing things out of the corner of your eye. it was during your turn when lando asked max if he wanted another drink. you felt like you were keeping tabs on the boy, you were starting to feel a bit creepy as you answered your question.

the game continues as people (lando) leave. it was your friend turn but she was a bit more than drunk and would only accept a question from fin, the man she was clinging to all night.

you can all see the wheels turning in fin’s mind as he thinks up a question. “how good of a driver do you think lando actually is?” he finally asks.

everyone perks up at the question, wanting to see if your friend had any unpopular opinions on lando’s driving skills.

“he’s shit. like- that’s him just won his first race? after racing for like five years? that doesn’t really scream future world champion does it?” she criticised, words slurred. your face is screwed up in disagreement. you bite your tongue though, knowing she was drunk and probably just wanted to start something. you’re sure you heard someone gasp.

“you don’t really mean that?” another one of your friends asks in shock. your drunk friend only nods.

“i do. he’s bad. like he’s not logan sargent bad but he’s mid at best and i don’t understand the hype. i never have and i don’t think i ever will.” she smiles a little and that’s what gets you.

“i’m sorry are you being serious right now? firstly the audacity you have to sit there, shitfaced, bashing on the person who’s house you’re inside and who bought you the drinks in the first place is absurd,” you start, bring her down a peg. you hear footsteps behind you but you’re too pent up to acknowledge them right now.

“secondly, have you even watched a race? ever? or even recently? because if you had then you would know just how good he actually is. you’re sitting there talking about him like you know exactly how hard he worked to get to where he is and to achieve that win. millions of people - who actually watch the races, by the way - have said how difficult it is to end verstappen’s win streak and lando was the first person to do so this season.” you rant, enraged that she spoke about lando like that.

her mouth opens and closes a few times before she says, almost cockily. “carlos sainz won before lando did, in australia. you act like i don’t know shit about f1.”

“lando’s win means way more than carlos’ because max was still in the race in miami. he had the chance to actually win it, whereas in australia he dnf’d. so do you actually know what you’re talking about? i, along with like a million other people like lando and think he’s going to go very far the rest of the season.” you educate her. she should really know all of this seeing as you always told her every detail about the races on the mondays following.

“bitch.” she has nothing to retaliate with so she chooses to resort to name calling. you don’t even give her a reply and stand up to go outside to get some air. you stand up so quickly you don’t see the feet standing directly behind you or the hard chest you smash into. you could tell it was lando from the scent. was it weird? maybe but you didn’t care much. you’re embarrassed that he probably heard your rant defending him and that you just smashed right into his chest so you step backwards and head to lando’s balcony to sit outside with the smokers.

you rush outside and sit down in the far corner next to the railing. you watch the streets below for a few minutes, trying to forget what you had just done and who you had done it in front of. you feel lando looming over you a few minutes later.

“y’alright?” he asks as he takes a seat next to you. you feel uncomfortable a little, you’ve never been this close to him, even though that’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted for the past three years. and he’s being nice to you. lando have never been nice to you. ever. you’d seen him be nice to others, hundreds of times before so you knew what it was like, but you could only have dreamed of being on the receiving end of it.

“yeah.” you reply. you move your head from watching the cars pass on the road to rest your forehead on your tucked up knees.

“thank you for what you did… well said i guess. it was really nice of you.” lando starts, his hand sits awfully close to the edge of your shoe. it’s not touching but if you shuffled your foot a few times towards him, it would be.

“i know i don’t really deserve it. not from you anyways. you’ve always been so sweet to me and i’ve kinda been- well a dick.” you let out a breathy giggle at his choice of words.

“yeah. you have been a dick.” lando grins as you agree with him.

“what if i said i didn’t wanna be a dick to you anymore?” he said, you’re sure you heard a hint of shyness in his voice.

you move you’re head from it’s resting place to look at him in confusion. “you don’t? how do you want to treat me then?” you ask.

lando smiles. “like i should’ve been for the past god knows how long.” you give him your own smile back.

“for the record i like you too.” lando teases, his hand coming to clutch at your thigh. you groan.

“i hate you.” he laughs that laugh.

“no you don’t.” you rest your head on your shoulder and listen to the traffic. lando’s thumb rubs across your skin. his touch is soothing. this is the first nice memory you have with lando.

#lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris angst #ln4 one shot #ln4 x y/n #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x you #ln4 x reader #ln4 angst #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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leclsrc · 1 year ago

Text

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish.

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink.

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance.

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue.

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs.

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath.

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening.

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close. The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously.

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea.

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs.

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?”

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most.

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder.

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood.

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt.

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face.

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you.

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?”

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick.

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz one shot #f1 x reader

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justabigassnerd · 4 months ago

Text

A Different Man

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 5,241

Warnings - inaccurate hospital scenes, mentions of needles, drugs, medicines, angst, fluff

Summary - after an incident with Lucy, Tim wonders if it's time to be honest about his marital status

A/N - hey y'all I'm back with another anon request which I hope I did justice! we all know I love writing for my pookie Tim so I had a blast writing this. I won't ramble but as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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If it was up to Tim, he wouldn’t be at work right now. But the Vice President chose to visit Los Angeles meaning he had to go to work when he would rather be relaxing at home. Now, Tim was patrolling LA with his rookie Lucy Chen, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings as they drove around. Eventually, the duo are directed to a homeless encampment where Tim makes an announcement that all the people living there have to pack up and move so that the stretch of road they were living on was going to be used for the visit. As they all packed up their belongings, a fight broke out between two women and Lucy was quick to step in yet her best efforts still got her caught up in the tussle, when the women dragged each other, and Lucy, to the ground, Tim was quick to step in, handcuffing one woman while Lucy got up and handcuffed the other. As Lucy got to her feet, Tim glanced over at her, stopping when he noticed something.

“Chen. Stop. Don’t move.” He instructs, watching as she looks at him confused before following his gaze down to the used needle sticking out of her thigh. At that moment, it was like Lucy could focus on nothing but the needle and all the diseases it could bring if it had actually embedded in her leg. Noticing Lucy’s distant gaze, Tim instructs other officers to take both women away so he can focus on making sure Lucy is okay and gets taken to the hospital.

“I didn’t see it,” Lucy mutters, looking up at Tim with a terrified expression.

“I have to pull the needle out. Stay still.” Tim says, feeling bad upon seeing the expression on his rookie’s face but he knew he couldn’t show any signs of worry because that would only panic her further. Tim pulls on a pair of gloves and grabs a box to put the needle in and he crouches down alongside Lucy, carefully extracting the needle from her leg and trying not to react when he sees the small traces of blood on the tip of the needle from where it had clearly made contact with her leg.

“What’s the protocol for when an officer is exposed on duty?” Tim then asks, straightening up after putting the needle away. He already had a good idea of how worried and panicked Lucy was and he needed to keep her focused on her job to stop her from spiralling. When he clocked that Lucy wasn’t focused he calmly gained her attention and got her to tell him what it was they needed to take as next steps. Lucy wasn’t used to Tim being so calm and gentle towards her but she appreciated it nonetheless.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?” Tim asks after Lucy tells him what protocol is for an incident like this.

“Shaw Memorial,” Lucy replies, getting a nod in return from Tim before he turns to another officer, making sure they know to keep an officer posted in the area while he takes Lucy to the hospital. Tim drives Lucy to the hospital and when he’s parked the shop, he escorts her to the first nurse desk he can find, letting her approach the desk herself.

“I need to get my blood tested. I got stuck with a used hypodermic needle.” Lucy says, trying to keep her voice steady as the nurse begins to look around, apologising before he grabs a clipboard, holding out to her.

“Just fill this out for us and take a seat in the waiting room. A doctor will be with you shortly.” Gino says with a friendly smile.

“You must be new. She’s got a weapon, so what if someone tried to grab her weapon? The hospital protocol dictates that an armed officer be seen immediately. So set her up in a room right now and find a doctor.” Tim says, an authoritative tone to his voice as Gino straightens up, nodding nervously before leading Lucy and Tim to a private room so she can safely fill out her information and wait for a doctor while he goes to grab one. Gino heads straight to your office, knocking on the door and entering with permission.

“Gino, what can I do for you?” You ask with a sweet smile, removing your gaze from your computer to Gino.

“Doctor Bradford, there’s a police officer who’s been stabbed with a used needle and needs bloodwork done,” Gino explains, watching as you nod, shutting off your computer and getting up from your seat.

“I’ll go and get acquainted with my patient if you could get the equipment I need. And Gino? Please call me y/n, Doctor Bradford is too formal.” You say with a slight chuckle as you follow Gino to the door of your office.

“Sorry.” Gino apologises as you both step into the hallway.

“No harm done.” You say dismissively, waving your hand loosely, turning in the direction of the room Gino tells you your patient is in.

“Oh just a heads up, the police officer's partner is a really grumpy guy,” Gino warns, and at the warning, you had a feeling you knew who was going to be in that room.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Bradford.” You introduce yourself as you walk into the room, smiling sweetly at the woman sitting on the end of a bed, not missing how her eyes flicked between you and your husband who was standing across the room, his arms across his chest.

“B-Bradford?” Lucy asks, eyes widening slightly as Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes at Lucy’s miraculous mood switch.

“Yes. Tim’s my husband.” You say with a soft laugh as you pick up the completed form from alongside Lucy, eyes scanning it and inputting the information into a file for Lucy.

“Sorry, that was so rude of me. I’m Lucy Chen. I’m Officer Bradford’s rookie and I just didn’t know he was-”

“Chen,” Tim said simply, making Lucy stop talking, apologising as she relaxed slightly.

“Don’t apologise Lucy. In fact, excuse me one second.” You say, walking over to Tim, taking his hand, leading him to the corner and glaring at him.

“What?” Tim asks, looking at you, confused.

“Do you seriously talk to everyone like that? Even the rookie’s you’re teaching?” You scold, watching as Tim sighs lightly.

“I gotta be tough. That’s my way of teaching. It’s how I learnt in the Army and how I learnt when I joined the force.” Tim says, explaining himself.

“I get that Tim but in the hospital? The poor girl is probably terrified and thinking of all the worst-case scenarios possible. Just tone it down a little.” You ask, eyes flicking over to Lucy who was wringing her hands nervously, eyes flicking all over the room as she takes deep breaths. At your words, Tim lets out a soft sigh, nodding lightly.

“Okay. I’ll tone it down for now.” He agrees quietly, getting a nod in response from you and a soft squeeze of the hand before you drop it focusing back on Lucy just as Gino enters the room with all the stuff you need to draw blood.

“Thank you, Gino.” You chirp happily, taking the tray from him and beginning to prep yourself.

“You can go back out to the desk, I’ll page you when I need you to run this down to the labs.” You then say, glancing over your shoulder to smile at Gino who nods and exits the room.

“He’s new, isn’t he? He didn’t know the rules about what to do when an armed officer needs to see a doctor.” Tim says, sidling up alongside you as you pull on gloves, sitting on a stool in front of Lucy and rolling your eyes.

“Yes, he’s new. I take it you were the one who made sure he knew the protocol?” You say glancing over your shoulder at Tim before focusing back on the needle as you prep it.

“I think he would’ve found a room for me if Gino hadn’t corrected himself,” Lucy says with a soft laugh.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Tim’s always been one to find his own solutions to things.” You say, smiling fondly at the many memories you have of Tim fixing situations himself when he wasn’t satisfied with the options he had.

“You must have some great stories about Tim,” Lucy asks, making your eyebrow rise as you catch on to what she was hinting at.

“What kind of story would you like? I’ve got some good ones from when we first started dating.” You say, making sure the needle is in Lucy’s arm and drawing blood.

“Hey, no.” Tim attempts to cut in and you just hold a hand up, silencing him quickly which makes Lucy giggle at how quickly her training officer was silenced. At first, Tim pulled a slight face behind your back when you held your hand up, but when you looked over your shoulder and blew him a little kiss, Lucy saw how quickly Tim melted at the gesture. Even if he was trying to be his normal, tough self, she could see how he had a huge soft spot for you.

“Tim, could you go and get Gino for me? I’m almost done. Ooh and could you grab me a snack from the vending machine?” You say sweetly, smiling over your shoulder at Tim before you pop one of the last vials of blood into the holder.

“You better not start gossiping the moment I leave.” He says lightly in response, a small smile on his face as he crosses over to you to give you a quick kiss on the top of your head before exiting the room.

“I’ve never seen him act like that before,” Lucy says as you finish putting things away before focusing on cleaning Lucy’s arm and giving her a cotton ball to put on the puncture wound to stop any extra bleeding.

“Seen him act like what? A big softie?” You ask jokingly, smiling at Lucy.

“Well I mean he was nicer than he usually is when the needle first pricked me but he’s like a whole different person with you. He actually listens to you for starters.” Lucy says, explaining herself while she thinks of the man who had put her through so many Tim Tests.

“This conversation doesn’t leave this room, okay? He’s a tough nut to crack but he’s strict because he knows you can handle yourself. He wants you to be the best police officer you can be. I’m not involved in the work aspect of Tim’s life. He likes to keep it that way and I just guess he feels he doesn’t have to put up a front when he’s with me.” You explain with a small shrug. You remembered what Tim had been like when you first met. He was closed off and it took you a while to even talk to him enough to form a friendship, and then it took another year and a half before you both had the courage to act on your romantic feelings for each other. Before Lucy could reply, Gino entered the room again to take the bloodwork to the labs to be run through tests to see if the needle infected Lucy with anything. After Gino left and there was still no sign of Tim, you continued to chat with Lucy.

“It’s nice to see him so relaxed with you. It’s like he’s a whole different person with you.” Lucy says, smiling softly.

“That’s the Tim I’m used to. I’m sure with time he’ll learn to be a little less military towards you.” You say softly, smiling at Lucy who nods lightly.

“I hope so. There’s only so many Tim Tests I can handle.” Lucy says with a gentle laugh.

“Oh, he’s told me all about them. I don’t think I would be able to handle them.” You say with a chuckle, and before either of you can say something else, the door opens and Tim enters the room.

“You took your time.” You tease lightly, swivelling around on the stool to face him.

“The nearest vending machine didn’t have your favourite so I just kept looking until I found one that did,” Tim explains, holding your favourite snack out towards you while you smile softly, taking it and standing.

“You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve been fine with anything.” You say softly, smiling up at Tim who smiles back.

“I wanted to,” Tim says, his voice matching yours in softness as he pulls you closer for a kiss.

“Aw, you two are so cute!” Lucy gushes as you pull away from the kiss, giggling lightly as Tim looks over at Lucy.

“Chen, this doesn’t leave this room,” Tim warns, pointing a finger at her as she frowns, caught out in her plans to tell Jackson and Nolan.

“Okay fine. But I need to go to the restroom.” Lucy says, standing and crossing to the door. You bid her a quiet goodbye before turning to Tim.

“I should probably go back on my rounds. You and Lucy are welcome to keep using this room until I get her results from the lab. I’ll come back when I have the results, promise.” You say to Tim, taking his hand and squeezing it softly while your other hand tucks the snack Tim had bought you into your pocket.

“Take care of yourself, won’t you?” Tim asks softly, trying to hide his worry. He knew some patients could get rough with doctors and he always worried about whether someone was going to hurt you.

“I’ll be okay. We have security and if I really need help, I do have my handsome, strong, police officer husband around.” You say softly, your smile widening slightly as Tim raises an eyebrow, hands drifting down to your waist.

“Handsome, huh?” Tim teases, moving to kiss you again as your hands move to his shoulders, one hand resting on his shoulder while your other moves around to the back of his neck, cupping it as you deepen the kiss before your brain kicks in and reminds you of what you’re supposed to be doing.

“As much as I’d love to stay here with you. I have to go. I love you.” You say after pulling away from the kiss. You wished you could stay with your husband but you knew you had a job to do.

“I love you too,” Tim says, giving you one last quick kiss before letting you leave the room so you could go on your rounds.

You visit the various patients that you need to check in on, checking their progress and giving out advice that they need to aid their recovery. You loved checking in with your patients. Sure, there were some who were permanently grumpy and barely acknowledged you or the work you and the nurses were doing for them, but the majority of your patients were sweet and made the job worth it. As you finish up with a patient who was in recovery from a surgery they had the day before, you exit into the hallway and see a few nurses gathered by a door as they cart a woman out on a gurney. You head towards the gathered group and just as you approach the room, Tim and Lucy step out of it.

“What happened? Are you both okay?” You ask worriedly, reaching to grab Tim’s shoulders, eyes scanning him worriedly, checking him over for any injuries.

“y/n, I’m fine. We’re both fine.” Tim says softly, reaching up to his shoulders to gently lift your hands off, holding them in his hands and squeezing softly.

“What happened?” You ask, eyes flicking between both Lucy and Tim waiting for an answer.

“I bumped into this woman in the restroom, she told me about her brother who had been involved in a car accident and after she left I noticed a bottle of bleach on the floor. She was going to inject her brother with it to kill him. She claimed he wouldn’t want to live like how he is now but I just couldn’t let her go through with it so I had no choice but to tase her.” Lucy explains, her voice was shaky as she recounts the events.

“Is everyone okay?” You ask, glancing behind Tim at the room.

“The patient is being checked over now but thanks to Officer Chen’s swift actions, the sister never pushed the plunger,” Tim says, smiling over at Lucy who smiles back weakly.

“I was just doing what needed to be done,” Lucy says with a shrug.

“Look, Grey’s called me back to the station,” Tim says, looking between you and Lucy.

“Do you need me to come with you?” Lucy asks, looking up at Tim who shakes his head.

“No, you stay here and wait for your results. I’ll come back when I’m done. If you need anything I’m sure y/n will help you.” Tim says as you nod.

“Of course. Lucy if you need anything at all while you’re waiting, just shoot me a text.” You say pulling your notebook out of your pocket and scribbling down your phone number to hand to Lucy who takes it with a nod.

“Thank you,” Lucy says gratefully, tucking the paper away in her pocket before you both look over at Tim.

“I’ve got to go. I love you.” Tim says, giving you a quick kiss and hug before turning to Lucy.

“Chen, take care of yourself.” He then says, patting her shoulder before excusing himself, heading down the hallway and disappearing around a corner.

“I said it to Tim earlier but you’re welcome to keep using the room Gino put you in until I have your results.” You say softly, reaching to rest a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before quietly excusing yourself so you could continue your rounds until the lab results came back.

As it pushes into the afternoon, you finish your rounds and take care of some appointments you had booked for the day and eventually you get paged by the lab and you head down, picking up Lucy’s blood test results and reading them over before heading back to the room Lucy had been using. However, when you entered the room it was empty, so you walked to the waiting room to see if she was there and you soon found her sitting alongside another police officer.

“Officer Chen.” You say softly, getting Lucy’s attention as she shoots out of the seat, the other officer following suit, resting a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“Yes?” Lucy says watching you as you smile softly.

“I have your results. Would you like to follow me to my-”

“No, sorry, can you just tell me now please?” Lucy asks, cutting in and watching carefully as you nod, eyes moving down to your clipboard to flip through the paperwork.

“So your initial tests came back negative for any viral infections like HIV or hepatitis. But your bloodwork indicated the presence of a staph infection.” You explain, seeing how Lucy relaxed at your first sentence before she grew worried again.

“What does that mean?” Lucy asks, her eyebrows furrowed as she worries about what it could mean for her future.

“It just means we need to get you started on some intravenous antibiotics right away. Some strains of staph infection are drug-resistant so we’ll monitor the wound for any abscesses or cellulitis.” You explain to Lucy, watching as she releases a big breath before turning to the police officer standing behind her.

“Go. I’ll call Tim. He’ll be here for you by the time you’re out.” He says softly before Lucy pulls him into a hug, thanking him quietly before she releases him and turns to you with a small smile and nod.

“If you just follow me.” You say, gesturing with your head for Lucy to follow you to your office which she does and while you settle in your office chair, Lucy eases herself down on the chair opposite your desk. You copy the bloodwork data onto Lucy’s file and print out a prescription, informing her of how to best care for her wound, when to take her medication and where she can pick it up from. After talking her through everything and checking Lucy’s wound over just to be sure it was okay for now, you stood in front of her with a small smile.

“I’ll walk you out, I’m sure Tim’s here now.” You say softly, leading Lucy back to the waiting room where Tim was waiting, rising from the seat he was sitting in when he noticed the two of you approaching.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Tim asks, looking down at Lucy who nods, finally able to relax for the first time since the incident.

“Everything’s good,” Lucy replies, smiling at Tim who nods lightly, a small smile of his own on his face.

“If you have any concerns about anything Lucy, you’re free to give me a call whenever.” You say, making sure Lucy knew that you’d help her no matter the time.

“Thank you for everything, Doctor Bradford.” Lucy thanks you gratefully.

“Please, call me y/n.” You say with a small laugh, not missing how the police officer stood behind Tim gasped lightly with widened eyes as he realised what Lucy said.

“Sorry, did you say-?”

“Yes, she said Bradford. Tim is my husband.” You say, moving to stand next to Tim, taking his hand in yours as you smile up at your husband.

“If I find out you and Officer Chen have been spreading this around later Officer West, I will put you both through the most intense Tim Tests I can think of and it’ll have you questioning whether you want to even continue in the LAPD,” Tim warns lowly.

“Jackson and I would never do that,” Lucy says quickly, standing up for her friend as you sigh lightly.

“Tim, surely you’re tired of dancing around everyone. I don’t mind if people know about me. In fact, I’d like to get to know your colleagues. They’re part of your life too.” You say softly, turning to face Tim as he mirrors your actions.

“Are you sure?” Tim asks quietly, watching you nod.

“I’m sure, Tim. I’d love to get to know the people you work with. I’m your wife and I would like to be more than just a secret.” You admit, watching as Tim’s eyes drop to the floor briefly before looking back up at you. You understood why he had been so hesitant to tell people about you, he was worried that he’d somehow get involved in a case involving a dangerous person which could put you at risk. But you were capable of making your own choices, and you knew that even if you were at risk, knowing Tim’s work friends would make you feel safer.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe.” Tim mutters softly, taking your hands in his.

“Don’t apologise. I know you wanted to keep me safe and I appreciate that. But you can’t hide me forever.” You say, squeezing hands softly and reaching up to press a kiss on his lips.

“Okay, I’ll stop trying to hide you,” Tim replies after you pull away from the kiss, his smile soft as you glance over to Jackson and Lucy.

“I think you two are safe.” You say with a laugh watching as they exchange a quick fist bump.

“I won’t give you any Tim Tests yet,” Tim says, releasing your hands and turning to face the two.

“You won’t give them any unless it’s part of training.” You say, nudging Tim in his side as he lets out a small grunt of pain at the jab.

“Does that mean we can tell Nolan?” Lucy asks, testing the waters and watching Tim’s reaction carefully. When you hear Tim let out a small huff of a sigh, you speak up.

“You can tell Nolan but only Nolan. Let Tim do the rest.” You say. You didn’t know who Nolan was but you could only guess he was the third rookie that had joined the LAPD alongside Jackson and Lucy.

“What she said. Anyone else knows before I tell them, you know what the punishment will be.” Tim says, raising an eyebrow as both Jackson and Lucy nod hurriedly, aware of what Tim Tests he could potentially put them through.

“I should probably get back to work.” You mutter, noticing the time on the clock behind the nurse’s desk.

“Yeah, I’ve got to take Lucy back to the station,” Tim says with a nod, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ll see you when I get home.” You whisper softly smiling up at your husband before watching him leave with Lucy following close behind while Jackson stays put.

“I know you have to get back to work but it’s honestly incredible how different Tim is with you,” Jackson speaks up quickly, catching your attention as you laugh softly.

“Funnily enough Lucy said a similar thing.” You say with a soft laugh as you shrug, making Jackson let out a gentle laugh of his own.

“I won’t keep you. I should probably find my TO.” Jackson says, nodding with a soft smile as you smile back.

“If your TO is Angela, tell her I say ‘hi’ will you?” You say, beginning to back away and shooting Jackson a quick wink when his jaw drops before turning around and making your way back to your office to continue with the rest of your shift.

By the time your shift came to an end, you were just about ready to drop. It had been a long day and when you got home you were greeted by Tim who pulled you into his arms almost the moment you walked through the door.

“Tim. I love you but I need a shower.” You giggle as you feel Tim press a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’ll get dinner sorted then.” He replies softly, releasing you from the embrace and letting you go off and shower and change into something comfier. By the time you had finished showering and changing, you could smell the dinner Tim was preparing.

“It smells good.” You say as you enter the kitchen, sidling up alongside Tim and winding your arms around his middle as he turns the stove off.

“I could’ve had a career as a chef.” Tim jokes lightly, welcoming your embrace. When you release Tim from your embrace so he can finish up the food, you begin to grab some plates and cutlery for when Tim is ready to plate up the food. Once the food is plated up, you sit at the table and eat your dinner, conversing the whole time. When you finish your meal, you both tidy away everything before retiring to the sofa, cuddling into each other while Tim finds a tv show to put on in the background.

“Are you really okay with telling people about us? I feel like I put you on the spot.” You mumble, resting your head on Tim’s chest and looking up at him.

“I’m more than okay with telling people about us. You’re right. You deserve to know my colleagues, and I don’t know how much longer I can go hiding you. You deserve to be shown off.” Tim replies, squeezing you tighter as a smile crosses your face.

A week later, you pulled up outside the Mid-Wilshire police station, parked your car, and stepped out. You headed into the building with a smile as you met Tim in the reception area.

“Hey.” He greets you with a smile, capturing your lips in his for a soft kiss as he pulls you into his arms.

“That’s a nice welcome.” You say with a smile as you pull away from the kiss.

“Only the best for you,” Tim mutters softly.

“You big softie.” You say with a laugh as Tim rolls his eyes.

“y/n!” You hear Lucy’s excited voice say as she rushes over to you, hugging you close as you reciprocate the embrace, smiling widely.

“Hey, Lucy. How have you been?” You ask. Since Tim had started telling people about you, you’d met various people from Mid-Wilshire station as you swung by the station every so often but Lucy had been the one you’d formed the closest friendship with.

“I’ve been doing well! But between you and me I think you need to stop by more. Tim’s always happier after you visit.” Lucy says, muttering her words lowly so Tim doesn’t hear her as you laugh lightly.

“Well, hopefully, these make everyone a little happier.” You say with a smile, holding up the bag of various cakes you had gotten from a bakery you and Tim frequented.

“Oh yes! I knew there was a reason you were my favourite Bradford!” You hear Jackson exclaim as he approaches you, making you laugh as you hand the bag to Nolan who also joins the group as you glance over at Tim who rolls his eyes and shrugs at Jackson’s comment.

“Everyone’s going to love that you’ve done this. You and Tim have been talking this bakery up for a week now.” Nolan says, opening the bag enough to peek in at the goodies inside.

“I just got things I thought everyone would like.” You say, watching as the three rookies take it in turns peeking inside the bag and trying to figure out what each thing is. As you watch them discussing their theories quietly, Tim walks up alongside you, wrapping an arm around your middle and tugging you into his side.

“I can’t believe I have to share you with all these guys now,” Tim mutters, and this time it is your turn to jokingly roll your eyes.

“Well, just remember, I married you. So you don’t need to worry about someone ‘stealing’ me away.” You joke, leaning into Tim’s side.

“It’s relieving to hear that.” Tim jokes in return, chuckling lightly.

“I hate to do this so soon after arriving but I need to head back to the hospital. I don’t want to see any of you guys in there as patients. Got it?” You say, pointing at Tim and the three rookies who all nod hurriedly before you turn to face Tim.

“Stay safe out there.” You whisper before giving him a soft kiss.

“Always,” Tim replies after you pull away, letting you say your goodbyes to the rookies before walking you out to your car and giving you one last kiss before watching as you get in your car and drive away to head back to work.

Since you had made friends with the people he worked with, Tim found himself more willing to be friendly with those around him at work. Most of the time he was still the tough training officer that everyone was used to, but you had taught him not to burn all his bridges too soon, and that it was okay to have friends at work.

And with you making the effort to know those he worked with, Tim was sure he fell in love with you all over again.

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x fem!reader

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moviecritc · 5 months ago

Text

✦ ˚ : · STARRY EYES ⋆ MAX VERSTAPPEN 🦢

pairing ☆ max verstappen x museum guide! reader

summary ☆ where max has been visiting van gogh's museum almost every week because he's crushing over a museum guide there

warnings ☆ jokes about going back to your country (reader is spanish)

masterlist | letterboxd

❛ these chemicals hit my like white wine❜

yourusername 🔒 just posted!

liked by bestie1, friend2 and 103 others

yourusername too many dumb blonds here

view all comments

bestie1 shut up tourist

yourusername shut me bestie1 omw 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

friend1 you're so annoying

friend2 go back to your country we don't want you here

y/nmom que fotos más bonitas!! papá dice que te hecha de menos y yo también 💓💓 (such beautiful photos!! dad says that he miss you and me too)

yourusername te echo muchísimo de menos, ma 💓💓💓 (i miss you so so much, mom)

friend3 too many dumb blonds for you to fuck and don't have aids*

yourusername OH SHUT UP

f1gossip just posted!

liked by user1, user2 and 9,491 others

f1gossip One follower informed us that Max Verstappen was seen the other day at the Van Gogh's museum in Amsterdam with a mysterious girl who probably works there. Sources say that it's the second or even third time he's around there.

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user3 does anyone know who this girl is?

user4 the downfall of max is starting and i'm here for it

user5 it's literally just a girl, go touch some grass user6 probably they aren't even dating

user7 someone find my a pic of her face and i find her in 5

user8 there's none sadly

user9 he probably just likes the museum and was asking for directions

user10 the first time! he's an usual now

bestie1 loool

yourusername just posted a story!

[caption 1: wish me luck little fuckers] [caption 2: chin chin] (spanish expression for cheers)

replies

bestie1 i can't believe you're on a date with THE max verstappen and that you didn't even know who he was

yourusername 🤷

maxverstappen1 just posted on his story!

replies

user11 IS THAT THE GIRL FROM THE MUSEUM??

user12 SOFT LAUNCHING WHOOOO

user13 STOP gatekeeping her from us

user14 show her face pleasee, show it to me rachel

maxverstappen1 just posted!

liked by redbullracing, yourusername and 134,923 others

maxverstappen1 P1 at Spielberg! What a lovely race 🦁

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user15 max + his fist = perfect combo

user16 simply lovely

user17 get that 4x wdc

yourusername amazingg 💥 liked by author

user18 is this the girl? user19 i believe so user20 she's supportive i like her

user18 🦁🧡

yourusername just posted a story!

[caption: 📍MoMa]

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bestie1 bro is casually in new york

friend2 GIRL WHAT don't you have work???

friend3 i see that dates with the f1 driver went well

yourusername just posted!

liked by maxverstappen1, bestie1 and 112 others

yourusername from ny to silverstone 📸

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maxverstappen1 my woman ❤️

bestie1 damn he's fast

bestie1 i'm so JEALOUSSS

friend1 y/n come back the kids miss you

friend2 tell max to buy me a boat

friend3 wait y/n when we told you to leave we were joking

yourusername too late bitches i'm out (i'll come back tomorrow i miss you pookie)

y/nmom Que guapos los dos!! Tu padre y yo nos morimos por conocerlo ❤️❤️ (how pretty both of you!! your father and i can't wait to meet him)

maxverstappen1 @/yourusername how do you say i can't wait to meet them too in spanish yourusername HSHSHAHA 'no puedo esperar a conocerlos también' maxverstappen1 @/ynmom no puedo esperar a conocerlos también! 😊

friend4 girl if i were you i opened my account and start monetizing him just saying

yourusername omg SHUT UP LMAO

☆ request by: anon

idk if it’s me projecting but it’d be cool tk have max’s bestie be a college student who studies classical music ;) and they’re both crushing idk if that’s too vague but it’s the only idea i have 😭

a/n: i didn't do it with classical music bc i don't know anything about it, and i'm more familiar with museums. i hope you enjoyed it aswell, (i know it took too long)

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vanteguccir · 9 months ago

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗'𝗦 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗡

　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N has a secret crush on Chris, not imagining that the feeling is reciprocated. But her best friend, Nick, has a plan to put them together.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Nick, stay still! I have to spread this mask very well. Otherwise, the pores won't absorb the vitamins." Y/N complained, slamming her clean hand against the blonde's covered shoulder before holding the region firmly, in an attempt to stop the boy's movements.

Nick gave her a dramatic deep breath as an answer, opening his eyes briefly.

The girl straightened her spine momentarily, feeling a slight pain from the position as Nick was sitting on the toilet lid and the girl was standing between his legs, curving her spine and spreading the face mask over his cheeks and forehead.

The bathroom counter in Nick's room was full of the skincare products that Y/N left there - since she didn't like the hassle of bringing the ones she had in her home every time she went there. Nick's hair was tied back with a pink cotton headband, preventing the strands from interrupting the girl's work.

The two were having a "girls night". Y/N and Nick were best friends, the two having met in Los Angeles after the triplets moved there.

She and the blonde quickly exchanged contact information after bumping into each other accidentally on Target, only then discovering that they were neighbors. Their connection grew almost automatically, being called the platonic soulmates by the Sturniolo's fandom.

"What's in this thing? Are you poisoning me?" The blonde frowned, feeling his skin itch. His expressions changed from second to second as he wrinkled his mouth and nose, trying to get the excess out of the places that burned.

"I hope this has some kind of poison in it and is poisoning you at this point, just because you keep stopping me from-"

The sound of the bathroom door opening abruptly cut Y/N mid-sentence, the girl jumping in place in fright as she quickly turned towards the source of the sound.

She had her right hand - the one full of face mask - raised so that she didn't spill the product on her pajamas. Her eyes were wide, and her heart racing.

"Hey, do you guys want McDonald's? Matt and I are going to order delivery." Chris asked, smiling in amusement after seeing their reactions to the loud sound he generated.

"Um, I... Yes, please... I'm kinda hungry." Y/N stuttered, clearing her throat and quickly turning back to Nick, trying to hide her stumble over her words. She felt her cheeks burn, and she was sure that a reddish color was taking over the area, closing her eyes tightly in embarrassment.

Nick frowned at her before looking at his brother, rolling his eyes, already used to his childish actions.

"Yes, you can order what I always get, but double." The blonde responded, raising his right hand and waving it in the air as if to say "you can leave now".

Chris raised his arms in surrender, sticking his tongue out at his brother before quickly shooting a glance at Y/N's back, finally closing the door again.

The girl shook her head, trying to shake off her embarrassment, returning her attention to Nick. She sighed while raising her right hand, bringing the contents close to his face again.

"He's a child, I swear." Nick rolled his eyes, frowning when he didn't receive a response or laugh from Y/N, as always happened.

His blue eyes ran over her face, noticing the reddish tone in her skin.

"Are you blushing? Because of-" He interrupted his own sentence, eyes widening in realization. "What, do you have a crush on Chris or something?" His tone was disgusted, wrinkling his nose.

"No?" Y/N responded slowly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth at Nick's reaction, stopping her hand in the air, knowing that he would stop her if she tried to apply the face mask on him at that moment.

"Oh my God, you do have a crush on Chris." Nick opened his mouth in surprise. "Ew."

"Shut up and stay still. Otherwise, I'll get real poison and throw it on you." Y/N fumed, finally going back to applying the product to the clean spaces on Nick's face.

"Ouch, you're going to rip my skin off like that."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Hello, good evening. Reservation in the name of Nicolas Sturniolo." Chris asked the assistant at the front of the restaurant, smiling kindly.

Nick apparently had spent the day at the mall shopping. At the end of the afternoon, he sent a text to Chris asking him to meet himself at an Italian restaurant that the triplets already knew very well.

Chris was surprised that the blonde had just asked for his presence without Matt, but he quickly dismissed any suspicion, imagining that Nick needed to vent about something since the two had become closer lately.

"Follow me, please." The woman smiled in greeting, turning and walking towards the designated table. Chris quickly accomplished, looking for the blonde figure over her shoulder.

The boy frowned as he saw the woman stop near a specific table and point at it silently, smiling one last time before walking away, returning to her post, leaving a very confused Chris behind.

In Nick's place sat a female figure.

Chris slowly approached, walking around the table until he had a full view of the girl, his eyes widening when he realized that it was Y/N.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" His tone was one of surprise, his blue eyes traveling across the table quickly before returning to her.

The girl looked up from her phone abruptly, her eyes widening equally as she saw Chris instead of Nick.

"Chris? I..." She shook her head, confusion settling into her thoughts. "I came to have dinner with Nick." Her eyes went behind Chris, as if she expected to see her best friend there. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to have dinner with Nick." The boy spoke slowly, his hands moving nervously inside the front pockets of his sweatpants.

"He asked me to meet him here. Oh my God, that must be so awkward." Y/N smiled apologetically, grabbing her purse from the chair on her right side, lightly pushing back the one she was sitting on, ready to stand up. "I'm sorry, I'll leave-"

"Wait, no." Chris quickly stopped her, raising his hands momentarily before lowering them, his eyes traveling across the room in sudden shyness. "Have dinner with me... As a date."

"As a date? What...?" Y/N sat down again, placing her purse on her lap and watching Chris's expression, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Y/N, look." He sighed, finally pulling out the chair facing her seat, sitting down quickly, pressing his lips into a thin line nervously. "I've had a crush, a huge one, on you for a long time. But I never had enough courage to talk to you about it and ask you out, out of fear." Chris explained, playing with his fingers above the table, his eyes fixed on the candle decorating the surface. "Maybe, I don't know... Maybe this thing that Nick did was a good thing."

"Oh, Chris." Y/N sighed, taking her purse to the free chair on her right side again, bending her torso slightly over the table. Her hands traveled to Chris's, wrapping her fingers around his, stopping his anxious movements.

Her heart was beating so fast that it seemed to vibrate her whole body, her chest burning with nervousness and excitement. She was sure that her cheeks and neck were red with embarrassment.

"I feel the same." She told him, her tone was gentle and calm, very different from the madness of emotions surrounding her.

Chris looked up quickly, his blue eyes meeting hers, and Y/N swore she could see when his pupils dilated.

"Really?" His tone was full of hope, his fingers squeezing Y/N's weakly, ignoring the trembling of his own.

"Really." Y/N nodded, smiling widely while watching his reactions.

Chris swallowed hard, returning the smile and finally intertwining his fingers with hers, lifting her hands and bringing them close to his face, sealing the soft skin, exhaling the aroma of the lotion that emanated from there.

"Let's have this date."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

From: Chris

To: Nick

"I owe you one"

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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notjustjavierpena · 9 months ago

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I have recently watched scenes from a marriage with oscar isaac and my mind which connects everything with hubby javi immediately went to this:

imagine wife’s and javi’s friends are going through a divorce, there’s cheating m, miscommunication etc and just a very hard time.

I feel like Javi and Wife would have a conversation about this due to the proximity of it happening to their friends. One about trust and if they’re happy. It’s not about insecurity or anything just them both communicating effectively and giving the other reassurance that this is not on the cards for them.

I just value their relationship so much.

Reassess

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hiya anon! I hope it’s okay that I tweaked your request slightly to fit my version of hubby and wife. Enjoy ❤️ Thanks so much for proofreading, @angelofsmalldeath-codeine !!!

Summary: You and Javier’s friends are going through a divorce, and it suddenly makes you wonder about your own marriage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, talk about divorce, talk about cheating, brief descriptions of piv sex with creampie, hurt/comfort, love!, mention of pregnancy and pregnant reader, cuddling, kisses, Javier is a great husband and you are anxious

Word count: 1.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54352768

Reassess

Jonathan and Mira are getting a divorce. The news had been announced to you by Javier when he entered the dimly lit living room on a Thursday night, looking paler than a ghost after what you had wrongly assumed to be a same-as-always phone conversation about football, work and going out for a beer in the near future.

“No!” You had instinctively covered your mouth with your hand to suppress an animated gasp. Apparently, Mira had come clean about seeing another man a few days earlier and it only took shy of two days for their whole marriage to crumble. The thought was and is terrifying.

It seems to dampen the mood between you and your husband significantly. There are more pregnant silences, longer stares, more hurried kisses, and worried faces in the middle of your daily routines that become opportunities for reflection when doing something mundane as folding laundry. However, the elephant in the room becomes most unbearable when Javier rolls off of you after making love to you a week after the news hit.

He stares up at the ceiling and pants as he tries coming down from his high, reaching up to run his fingers through his slightly sweaty hair. You shift on your side of the bed to turn your body towards him, and gently lay a hand on his chest, “That was really good.”

“Hm? What?” He replies, “Oh right, yeah.”

“Honey,” you furrow your brow, “I don’t think I particularly like having sex with you if you’re not here with me.”

“Lo siento (I’m sorry),” his eyes find yours, his voice is genuine, “I can’t stop thinking about Jon and Mira.”

Your eyes soften at that. It is nice to know that he is as shaken by this happening as you are, and in such close proximity to your own marriage too even if it technically has nothing to do with you. It suddenly hits why it has been so hard to start up a conversation about it.

“Me either,” you sigh and scratch his chest gently with your nails and lay your head on his shoulder. He takes hold of your wrist and rubs the back of your hand with his thumb in soothing circles, “I can’t believe they ended up like that, who would have thought?”

“And Ava?” Javier sounds devastated and turns his head toward yours so he can rest his lips in your hair.

“She must be so confused,” you mumble back, lost in thought. Ava is Mira and Jonathan’s daughter who sometimes has play dates with Inés, and to think that she has to deal with her parents not being able to work as a couple, especially since Mira apparently had to go sleep with someone else, is a scenario that you find nauseating when your brain automatically starts imagining your own children in the same scenario. You don’t think Lucas would ever forgive you if you caused that much hurt to his father, “I don’t know what Mira was thinking. Ava has to deal with her mom having hurt her dad. Why would she put her through that?”

“Jonathan said she’s in love with this new guy,” Javier argues.

“I suppose sometimes you just fall in love with someone else,” you say without any emotion in your voice except for maybe a hint of disgust.

“Are you happy? With me?” The question has been looming over the both of you since the news hit. It was only a matter of time before one of you would start reassessing your own marriage.

You lift your head up to look Javier straight in the eyes, and even if you knew it was coming, you still feel taken aback by how much it makes your guts turn to even be told to consider it. The answer is so clear, “What? I—“

“That’s not an immediate yes,” he furrows his brow in concern.

“Don’t be absurd,” you say back, “I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”

“But do you ever worry about us?” He continues.

“This is the part where you say you love me too,” you joke without much humor in your voice.

“Are you kidding? I’m nothing without you,” he lifts the hand you still have on his chest to kiss your palm, “Te amo tanto (I love you so much) but I need you to answer the question.”

“I don’t ever worry about us, no,” you answer truthfully and Javier visibly relaxes, “I know you. I trust you. It doesn’t even occur to me that I could have anything different in my life, you know? It feels like I would always have found you somewhere else if not here.”

“Perhaps they looked for something else when things became routine,” he suggests, resting your hand against his cheek.

“It’s never routine for me to tell you I love you,” you tell him with a little smile, “There’s no going back to the way things were before you.”

“The idea of having anything else but this,” he trails off for a second, weighing his words and reaching out for you with his free hand. He cups the back of your knee to pull your leg over his naked body, “It’s just not in the cards for me. I’ll never love anyone the way that I love you.”

“Is this code for you’re stuck with me?” You crawl closer to kiss him on the mouth and tighten the leg around him, “Hm?”

“Sí (yes), you’re stuck with me, baby,” he says against your lips.

“Do you promise that?” You whisper after pulling back a little, smiling softly as you look down at his mouth. He initiates another kiss after nodding.

You kiss for a while without rushing it, deeply until you share each breath in your intense embrace. Despite just having had sex with him fifteen minutes ago, you want him again in a way that has him as hard as when you first got together. He fucks you open slowly with you on your back, makes you come on his cock with an almost pained tone in your whimper. He is everywhere on you, soaking you in love. The way he gasps along with you as he comes inside of you has your heart pounding in your chest.

“No quiero a nadie más que a ti (I don’t want anyone else other than you),” he says when basking in the afterglow. However, you have already gotten out of bed to get cleaned up in the bathroom. In contrast to your husband, your afterglow is replaced by anxiety that you have just promised isn’t there.

“I don’t want to end up like that,” you say while peeing with the door open. Javier moves on the bed to be able to look at you.

“We won’t, te lo prometo (I promise you that),” he is quick to answer. You try to give him a smile but he notices the way you falter, “Anything you want to talk about? Anything on your mind?"

“They used to be so happy,” you sigh deeply and get up after finishing your business. You move to the sink and start washing your hands, your back suddenly towards him, “Makes me wonder if we're strong enough to weather anything.”

You hear the weight of him shift on the mattress and a second later, the soft pads of his feet across the tiled bathroom floor. He is behind you, looking at you in the mirror. You feel grateful for the sincerity in his eyes.

“Baby,” he tuts, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. One of his hands goes down to lay on your stomach right below your belly button. You have just started to show, and the both of you have already talked about how early it is that your belly has started protruding but none of you have any clue why yet as you haven’t had your first scan.

Javier kisses your bare shoulder, “This is my life, and I love it, and I would never hurt you… I trust you not to hurt me too.”

You silently turn off the tap to dry your hands but Javier doesn’t let you move. He lifts your chin so he can stare at you in the mirror, “I need you to trust me when I say that ten years with you have only made me want ten, twenty, thirty more. I love you. I choose you every day. Jonathan and Mira didn’t choose each other. We’re not them.”

“I love you too,” you shake your hands dry instead and then turn in your husband’s arms. You hug him close and he walks you out of the bathroom whilst still holding you tightly.

“Three kids so far,” he reminds you whilst guiding you back to bed, “A decade down the line. We must be doing something right.”

“But what if—“

“You worry too much, mi vida (my life),” he says and smacks your ass as you crawl back into your bed. You glare back at him but he just snickers while crawling in too, “Get comfortable and go to sleep.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you say truthfully.

“Of course, you can,” Javier joins you under the covers. He lays down close to you and without saying a word, reaches out to gently and repeatedly stroke his hand over your hair. The warmth of his palm soothes your worry, each caress easing away the weight in your chest.

You wonder if Mira left because Jonathan didn’t do this sort of thing anymore. Javier has done it for ten years. This fact makes sleep find you easily.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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philistiniphagottini · 3 months ago

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hiiii!! can i ask for Moze oneshot w/ fem reader, where moze is at Xianzhou Luofu and reader is at Yaoqing and have a phone sex at night bc they miss each other :3 thanku!! -🐉

Hey Anon. Thank you for the request. I'm not gonna lie, I had a loooot of fun with this. Keep feeding me delicious ideas ;)) I hope you enjoy it because I had a blast writing it.

cw. smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, female reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

wish you were here xoxo

“Are you alone?”

You hum softly in response to Moze’s question, pressing your phone closer to your ear until you can pick up on his wavering breaths. You start to nod, knowing that he couldn’t see you on the other end of the phone as your lips part around his name.

“Yes, I am alone.”

An unfortunate situation for the both of you. While he was away on the Xianzhou Luofu, you were comfortably at home on the Yaoqing, nestled between the sweet embrace of your shared bed. Both of you yearned for the touch of the other and though it could not compare to having him in your arms, you settled for the next best thing. A soft sigh breezed past your lips as you idly stroked your hand along your soft stomach, heat tickling the base of your spine and slowly pooling between your thick thighs as you rubbed them together restlessly. You stuffed your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing on the dry skin clinging to the corners of your mouth as you started to think. You hadn’t exactly planned ahead for this spur of the moment encounter and you were struggling to think, your pulse droning loudly in your ears as the piercing silence on the other end became deafening.

“I’m wearing your favourite” you mentioned. “The lacy one with the bows.”

“Oh?” You could hear Moze’s interest seep into the tone of his voice. “Tell me more.”

A small smile tilted your lips, long lashes fluttering over your cheeks as you nestled yourself more comfortably on the bed. Your fingers tightened around your phone as you pressed the microphone closer to your mouth, allowing Moze to hear every little moan weaving between your words.

“It’s…a little uncomfortable at the moment” you admitted.

“Hm? Why’s that?”

Your breath hitched as you dragged your fingers over the damp seat of your panties, tracing the outline of the wet seam of your cunt as the fabric clung to the puffy folds. A small whimper fell from your parted lips as your eyes threatened to slip close and for a brief moment, you imagined it was Moze’s hand teasing you instead of your own.

“They’re soaking wet.”

The sound of a zipper being undone barely registered in your mind as you continued to rub your fingers over the wet fabric of your panties, your hole fluttering and clenching around nothing as your fingers teased the hood of your clit through the thin material. Your hips canted forward into the soft touch of your hand, fingers trying to mimic the way Moze would tease you; just the way you liked it.

“You should take them off” Moze said, his words tapering off into a grunt.

You had no idea how quickly Moze had shoved his hand down his pants the second you told him how aroused you were, his thoughts filled with sordid images as you painted him a perfect picture. If he closed his eyes right now, he could imagine it and see you as clear as day. You listened to Moze’s words, fingers hooking into your panties as you dragged them down your sticky thighs and flung them to some random corner of the room. A soft hiss whistled through your teeth as the cool air brushed against your heated skin, the sensation of the cold nip curling against the sticky folds of your cunt caused every hair on the nape of your neck to stand up in anticipation. You lay back down between the silken bed sheets, slipping your hand between your thighs as your eyes slipped shut. It would be much easier to indulge in fantasies of him when you couldn’t see what was going on.

“Tell me how you feel” Moze spoke up, unable to stand just listening to the sounds of fabric rustling any longer. “Tell me everything.”

He needed you to describe in excruciating detail everything you were doing. He needed to hear the waver in your voice to satiate the ache in his painfully hard cock as he wrapped his hand around hardened warmth. He stifled his loud grunt, trying to silence himself just so he could hear your lovely moans from the other side. His mouth felt dry as he swallowed thickly, waiting with baited breath as his ears perked up to the sounds of your wavering breaths, your sweet moans trickling like warm honey.

“I’m so hot, Moze” you whimpered. “I need you, so, so bad.”

You choked on a hiccup of pleasure as your fingers touched the bare, wet heat of your cunt, the digits soaked with threads of sticky arousal as beads dripped down the insides of your soft thighs. You rubbed your fingers through your silky folds as the hot coil in the pit of your stomach knotted tighter, your hand shaking around the phone as you gripped it tighter. Moze softly hushed you with his sweet, dulcet tones, voice purring in your ear as he guided you.

“Easy girl, take it nice and slow. Savour the feeling. Put your fingers in that pretty pussy for me.”

Moze’s grip on his phone was hard enough to threaten to crack the screen. It was torture as he listened to the wet sound of your fingres gliding through the wet petals of your pussy, the heat of your sex opening up like a delicate flower in bloom as you pressed them to the tight, ring of muscles of your clenching hole. He stroked his cock harder, the wet sound of his fist gliding across his skin a dull echo that filled his mind like white noise as he listened intently. He could see you when he closed his eyes, imaging as you stuffed your fingers inside your chubby pussy. Saliva pooled into his mouth at the thought of three of your fingers jammed inside your drooling pussy and the thought of four made his mind spin in a tizzy. You would have to stuff as much as you could to even compare to him, when you struggled just to take two of his fingers.

“Nice and slow, just like you wanted” you sighed with bliss.

You could feel beads of sweat dotting your clammy skin as they rolled down your trembling breasts, the tips of your pert nipples brushing against the lacy fabric of your bra and peeking out over the top as the pillowy soft flesh tried to breach containment. Your pussy clenched around the intrusion of your fingers, hips bucking up into the pressure of your hand as you bumped the aching bud of your clit into the palm of your hand. The tightly packed bundle of nerves flushed to life as the base of your skull tingled, mind swirling with thoughts of Moze and previous blissful nights spent with him; the thick scent of summer sex clouding your thoughts as bodies were pressed and tangled as you revelled in the confusion of it all. It caused more slick to rush forth from your gushing pussy, the hot coil in your belly twisting unbearably tight as your breathing stuttered.

“Moze, I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

Moze grunted in affirmation as he matched your rhythm, grip around his thick, drooling cock almost painfully tight.

“Going to come for me, pretty girl?”

You mewled softly, toes curling into the soles of your feet as your pussy throbbed at the growl laced in his voice. Your fingers worked faster in your plump pussy, twisting and curling until your fingertips brushed against the soft spot that had your legs clamping around your wrist. Stars danced behind your closed eyelids as you writhed between the sweat soaked sheets, fireworks sparking in your stomach as your blood boiled in your veins. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Moze, Moze” you moaned. “I’m cumming.”

You whine loudly, voice bouncing off the walls of your bedroom as your pussy clenched and pulsed around your fingers. The coil in your stomach unfurled as you soaked the sheets beneath you with pools of slick, your arousal soaking the soft insides of your thighs as you pushed your fingers against the white hot nerve that made you thrash. Your mind went blissful blank for a few, brief seconds as you basked in the feeling, pleasure running rampant through your entire body as you were left quaking from the aftermath. Your hot breaths puffed against the screen of your phone and it took you a moment to remove your hand from between your thighs. Your eyes slipped open as you looked down with a soft huff.

“Ah, I made a mess” you lamented.

“Show me.”

Your shoulders jumped in surprise at the sound of Moze’s voice and you were a little embarrassed that you had briefly forgotten you were still on call as Moze desperately tried to get off after you. He wasn’t as sensitive as you were and he needed a little more than just his imagination, frustrated noises stirring in the back of his throat as he tried, and failed, to make himself cum after you. With shaky hands you opened the camera app on the phone, fighting to hold the tremble of your hands still as you snapped a picture of your dishevelled state. When you were satisfied, you sent him a message, listening intently for when he received it. You rubbed your thighs together, sending sparks of friction to lick at the base of your spine as your body thrummed from the anticipation.

Moze ripped his phone away from his face as soon as he felt his phone buzz with the notification, fingers slippery against the perspiring screen of his phone as he opened your message. It read:

Wish you were here xoxo

He opened the picture attached and damn near dropped his phone at the mouth watering sight. He held the screen close, his vision filled with your alluring, plump figure as he drank in the detail of every dip and curve of your sumptuous body. He grunted at the sight of your fat cunt spread out for him and dripping with your creamy essence, his cock throbbing harshly in his grip as he finally came undone. Without a single ounce of hesitation, Moze pressed his face to the screen of his phone, tongue darting out to lick the glass screen as it hovered over the still image of your weeping pussy. Thick ropes of his seed spilled over his fingers as he drooled over the screen of his phone, his sense of shame nowhere to be found as he licked it a second time.

You pressed your phone back to your face once more, cradling it in your hands as you listened to Moze’s stuttering breaths start to even out. You weren’t faring any better as your body continued to twitch, a dull ache of yearning still lingering in the pit of your stomach even after all that. But it was enough to sate you for now. Neither of you spoke for a few minutes and it gave you enough time to gather your bearings once more. You pressed your lips together into a tight thin line as you took a deep breath and said the words that had been itching at the back of your mind for a while.

“I miss you, Moze” you softly spoke.

It took a moment for Moze to respond and your heart sang in relief when he did, his voice as soft as silk as it soothed you like a balm.

“I know.”

Another brief pause. Then…

“I’ll be home soon” Moze added. “I…miss your company.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. Just Moze’s awkward way of saying he loved you and missed you just as much.

#my writing #request #anon #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr moze #hsr moze x reader #moze x reader #x reader #fem!reader #x chubby reader #nsft

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typhros · 2 months ago

Text

fhr/los diablos dashboard simulator

👾moddeddubstep78 Follow

fuck my stupid baka life Marshal Steel just fucking crushed my car AGAIN

#thank god my insurance covers rangers related accidents

rangershqofficial-deactivated Follow

just a reminder to everyone that we don't give a fuck about your health insurance

#THEY GOT OP?????? #FUCK THAT'S WHERE I GOT ALL MY PICTURES OF CHARGE

💉 booooooooost Follow

just a reminder that people fearmongering about boosting are fundamentally antivaxxers!!!!

#not to mention classist as fuck #i will not be elaborating none of you motherfuckers can read #stop sending me anon hate

�� unmoddedunbothered Follow

tell me why i just saw someone claim that it's classist and an "antivaxx mentality" to spread actual information about the outcomes of the boost drug

#linking the study again #this is getting ridiculous at this point #and YES it is a valid study!!!! 8 people is literally a normal amount to have

❓ rangerspolls Follow

❓ rangerspolls

GUYS STOP ASKING ME WHERE CHARGE IS. THERE IS AN OVERSATURATION OF CHARGE I'M LITERALLY LEAVING CHARGE OUT OF ONE (1) THING

#ALSO WHO THE FUCK IS VOTING SIDESTEP #THEY LITERALLY WEAR A FULL BODY SUIT AND MASK. HOT BASED ON WHAT??

🚶‍♂️ mrnormalguy Follow

omw to work and i just watched that one guy from the rangers fall on top of the car behind me. only in los diablos fr

🕴 aspiringnonsuperhero Follow

about to stick a fork in my new mod

🕴 aspiringnonsuperhero

hopital

💞 circuitheartbeats Follow

By Your Electric Love (marchal charge x reader)

summary: you get injured in one of the new villain's rampages and marchal charge finds you trapped under some rubble. charge takes you home to tend your wounds and you learn....... the secret under the mask.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: dom!charge, pet names (babygirl), f!reader, swearing, unprotected... >w<

(a/n-- thank u all for 1k follows!!! ^u^)

(story under cut ->)

#los diablos rangers #charge #rangers x reader #charge x reader #charge x f!reader #guys this one was sooooooo hot i kept blushing while i tried to finish it #i hope you like it #1k

💥 dailyblast Follow

can you guys stop fucking tagging your rangers x reader fic with official rangers tags. every time i come on this goddamn website and see the tag is trending i try to check and see what happened and it's just that one guy who can't even spell charge's OLD (!!!!) title right

#it's marshal with an s #by the way a fucking gala was robbed

🩺 ethicalscientist Follow

does anyone think it's a little suspicious that the new villain targeted sidestep's exhibit of all people? like. with all due respect they're dead and were not that important while alive. does anyone think this person might be related to them in some way?

🧬 unethicalscientist Follow

my guy did you not catch that their villain name is anathema

🐸 bugboy2 Follow

stop saying boosts and mods are cool. they're literally tools of the government and a a drug that originated with fucking DIET CULTURE that kill more people than they save. why are we glamorizing this

🍆 bleepbloop78 Follow

stop saying boosts and mods are cool. my brother literally got super fart powers when he boosted himself and i had to move house. why are we glamorizing this

#fhr #fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero retribution #fake dash #guys this was so fun and stupid

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megalony · 1 day ago

Text

It's Me

This is a new Bobby Nash imagine, requested by a lovely anon. I hope you will all like this, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Bobby likes to keep his personal life private, therefore he doesn't tell the team his girlfriend works with them. But the truth comes to light when (Y/n) gets shot on shift and they have to call their Captain with the news.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Morning sweetheart," A grin settled on Bobby's face as he walked up behind (Y/n).

Both hands settled down on her waist and his chest pressed down into her back while he pecked the back of her head. His fingers skimmed up and down her waist while he closed his eyes, keeping his lips merged into her hair.

When a small hand curled around Bobby's sleeve and gave a little tug, he opened his eyes and leaned his head around to look at the toddler huddled up against (Y/n)'s chest.

"Morning buddy." He curved his left arm around (Y/n)'s lower waist and moved his right hand to cup the back of Jack's head.

The four year old leaned into the touch and smiled up at Bobby with that matching grin and vibrant, bright eyes that matched Bobby look for look. Jack didn't like to feel left out.

When he started to riggle in her arms and stretched his arms out, (Y/n) turned around so Bobby could take him instead. He curled up against Bobby's chest straight away with his arms bound tight around his neck and he stretched up to kiss his dad's cheek.

Bobby smiled brightly when his boy tucked up into the crook of his neck while he had (Y/n) curved into his left arm with her cheek on his shoulder. It was as if Jack thought he hadn't seen his dad in days when really, it had only been a day since Bobby got home last night after the four year old went to bed.

"Morning." (Y/n) wrapped her arms tightly around his torso and squeezed him into her chest. Her fingers danced across his belt and the top of his trousers just to watch him tilt his head down at her with one brow raised. She felt his hand squeeze her hip as if giving her a warning sign before he leaned down and stole a kiss.

It almost looked strange to see Bobby in his everyday clothes when both their shifts had lined up at the station and (Y/n) was used to seeing her partner in uniform.

(Y/n) was happy to steal a few moments with Bobby this morning before she went to work. She was on the morning shift and would finish before tea time tonight, whereas Bobby's shift started at lunch since he had been on the late shift yesterday. At least they both had a few days off together after this shift.

It was getting hard to be at work and play professional. (Y/n) didn't like walking past Bobby and not being able to wrap her arms around him or steal a kiss or brush up close against him. All she could do was give him a subtle wink or rest her hand on his arm just a bit too long when she walked past him.

(Y/n) hadn't long transferred to the 118 and although head office knew she and Bobby were in a relationship, the 118 staff didn't. They wanted to keep things professional and not have anyone make remarks or think Bobby was favouritising his girlfriend or giving (Y/n) preferrential treatment.

Bobby pecked her lips again before he looked down at Jack who was strangely quiet and it made him wonder if his little boy was still tired and possibly half asleep. But when he looked down at him, he noticed there was a distant look in Jack's eyes like he was drifting off in his own world.

"Are you spending the morning with me, hm?" He jostled his boy in his arm and moved to make him a drink when (Y/n) finally unravelled from his chest and finished making the mugs of coffee that had been forgotten on the counter.

"Mummy work?"

"Afraid so."

(Y/n) snook a glance over her shoulder but she grinned when she watched the way Jack looked up at Bobby with that beaming smile and kissed Bobby's cheek. It was more routine for Jack to spend the mornings with (Y/n) and see his dad go off to work. Bobby was the Captain, he had more demands to his job and a lot of the time he had to go in for office time rather than actually being on the station floor.

So it was nice for Jack to be able to spend the morning with Bobby and have some one to one time with him.

Once he'd made him a drink, Bobby held the beaker out to Jack and headed over to sit down at the kitchen table. He loved the way Jack snuggled down into his chest and squirmed to get comfy with him. His head slouched against Bobby's arm with his cheek pressed into his bicep and his beaker clasped between his hands.

Tilting his head down, Bobby pressed a kiss to the top of his boy's head. Sometimes, it still seemed unreal that Bobby was having this experience all over again. That he had a family, a loving partner and a little boy to look after.

After losing Marcy and the kids, he didn't think having anymore kids would ever be in his future. But Bobby didn't realise how much he missed and needed this until that first moment when Jack was placed into his arms. He would take all the sleepless nights, playdates and nursing Jack through sickness bugs, Bobby would take it all with a full heart and a smile.

He murmured a quiet "Thank you," when (Y/n) placed a coffee down on the table beside him and her hand gripped his shoulder so she could lean down and kiss his temple.

"What will you boys be doing this morning then?" (Y/n) sat down opposite them and reclined in her seat. She nursed a cup of coffee between her hands and stretched one leg out so she could brush her foot against the inside of Bobby's leg which made him grin in her direction.

"Baking?" Jack lifted his head to look up at his dad with those big round eyes that could get him anything he wanted.

"You wanna do some baking? What about a cake for mummy?"

A grin spread across (Y/n)'s face when Jack nodded and clapped around his beaker. She had a feeling he wouldn't be smiling this afternoon when Bobby had to tell him that he would be spending the rest of the day with Lola, the babysitter. As much as Jack got along with the elder lady, he wouldn't like Bobby leaving him. (Y/n) had a feeling Bobby would have a hard time getting to work on time and tearing himself away from their boy.

"What time are you coming in?" (Y/n) lifted her foot a bit higher until she could prop her ankle on his thigh next to Jack. And when she did the same with her other leg and reclined in her chair so she was effectively laying out across Bobby, he laughed.

He took a sip of coffee and looked down at his watch to see what time it was now.

"I'll be in around one, think you can stay out of trouble until I get there?"

"Hm, I'm not too sure about that."

Four hours unsupervised, that didn't sound great. (Y/n) knew the rest of the team didn't particularly like it when they had to be on shift without Bobby or when he was only at work for his audits and he didn't join them on calls. It was like marching into battle without a leader.

Whenever Bobby wasn't at the station, there was always someone appointed as shift lead to try and keep a sense of balance and command. But everyone secretly preferred Bobby to be there.

(Y/n) felt safer when he was around. Not that she didn't trust the team or that she didn't think them capable, it just always felt better with Bobby there in charge. His presence was calming and he seemed to give off a natural wave of authority.

Bobby tilted his head back and his eyes followed (Y/n) when she sighed and got up from her seat after a few moments. He watched her walk towards him and seat herself happily on his right thigh while he kept Jack tucked into his left side.

She pressed a kiss to Jack's temple to make him smile before she looped both arms loosely around Bobby's neck. She felt his firm hand pressing into her lower back and his head angled up in her direction, his lips curved into a smile that broadened when she pushed down into his chest.

"Four hours without you, I could get into a lot of trouble, you know." (Y/n) whispered the words against the shell of Bobby's ear before she pressed a tender, shallow kiss to the tip of his jaw.

"Try not to, please. Wouldn't want to reprimand you in front of the team." He began feathering his fingers up and down her back while he felt one of (Y/n)'s hands move to cup his face. He loved the feeling of her thumb tracing his cheek and the way she grinned down at him like he was the only person worth looking at.

The way she kissed him made him smile against her lips and groan at the thought of her leaving him in precisely ten minutes.

It was easier when their shifts lined up. It meant they got to see more of each other both at work and at home and it was easier for arranging child care for Jack. They didn't have to have one parent with him and then switch to another, they could just get Lola or (Y/n)'s parents to watch him after nursery or daycare until they finished shifts.

It also meant they didn't have to miss the other and say goodbye like this. Although, when they headed to work together, they tried to make sure it wasn't obvious they were arriving together. They both trusted the team, but it was easier, for now, not to tell anyone they were involved romantically.

"Oh no?" (Y/n) whispered into his mouth before she captured them completely in a searing kiss.

"Hm, no. That would have to wait until we got home." His hand travelled further south until his hand held her bum. While Jack cuddled up into his arm, oblivious as he faced the other direction to look out the window.

"I'll have to cause some mayhem then while I wait for you."

She felt Bobby tutting against her lips and shaking his head in her hand before he leaned up and captured another kiss. He dreaded to think what sort of mayhem would ensue while he spent the morning at home with their boy.

It didn't bear thinking about.

"Alright, let's get back so we can grab some lunch."

"You know you'll have to cook, right? Cap probably won't be in until later." (Y/n) moved her hands to her hips and tilted her head to one side as she looked up at Buck.

Her words weren't strictly true. She knew for definite that Bobby wouldn't be back at the station yet. She knew he would be coming in at around one o'clock which meant that he wouldn't be back at the station or there in time to cook them lunch, since he seemed to be the designated chef. But she couldn't go telling the team that unless she wanted them to ask how and why she knew Bobby's exact schedule.

It would be down to Buck to make lunch, as he was the next person besides Bobby who showed an interest in cooking.

Buck groaned and rolled his eyes in a teasing manner but he nodded, he was more than happy to cook. He just wanted to eat.

"So, what are you cooking for-" Eddie's teasing voice abruptly cut off when a horrid crack pelted through the air.

A gunshot.

For a second when the noise hit their ears, almost everyone closed their eyes and shuddered. None of them knew where it had come from, but they all found themselves cowering down and curling in on themselves in case they got hit.

But when Eddie opened his eyes, panic was all he could register as he looked across at (Y/n). She had been standing right across from him. Her body turned slightly to the side as if she were trying to look around and find out what was happening. It didn't look like she registered that it had been her who took the bullet. She didn't seem to be feeling any pain or shock or terror, just pure, unfiltered confusion flooded her eyes.

It made Eddie unsure whether he was just seeing things, whether he was imagining the blood that was starting to soak through her dark blue cotton shirt.

But then she stumbled.

Everything seemed to hit (Y/n) all at once. Her feet bent beneath her, her upper body tilted backwards and she seemed to lose her sense of balance. As soon as her back hit the floor, a steady trickle of blood flowed from the exit wound in her back and created a dark, sticky puddle beneath her on the concrete road.

Another shot rung out through the air and had all the team cowering down together, trying to get as small as possible so they too didn't receive a bullet.

Eddie felt Chimney's hands on his shoulders, pulling him towards the truck to keep him safe and hidden from any other shots. He could see Hen was crouched near the back of the truck, hands plastered to the metal and her head bent down near her knees.

And poor Buck was being pinned to the floor by the Captain of the other team that had been here on the scene with them.

No one was with (Y/n).

She was on her own, bleeding out right before their eyes and there was very little her team could do for her.

"Shots fired! Repeat, we're being shot at! Firefighter down, back up needed now. Send help!" Eddie screamed into the radio clipped to his shoulder while he hunkered down closer to Chimney. He repeated his words again and shouted their location down the radio, waiting impatiently for some sort of response to let him know someone had heard them.

All of their eyes kept going back to (Y/n). They couldn't just leave her there in the middle of the road. If she took another bullet that would be it, she would be a gonner. And laid out, struck down and unmoving like that made (Y/n) a lot easier of a target to hit again if the shooter fancied aiming for her.

She was the newest one on the team, she had been with them a few short months. They couldn't lose her so suddenly and quickly when she had gelled with them and become part of their team. They couldn't have their newest friend be shot down and lost on the job like this.

"I- I'll get her!" Buck army crawled beneath the truck, scraping his chin against the floor to stop from bashing his head up against the metal.

"(Y/n)! Hey, I got you." He poked his head out from under the engine and took a quick look round for the shooter but he couldn't see anything. His vision was blurred and hazy and his eyes were moving too rapidly to take anything in. All he could see was (Y/n).

Blood was forming a river beneath her chest and her dark blue shirt was turning black from the rouge blood dribbling down it. She had been shot in the chest, but she was still conscious. Her head slowly lolled to the right to look at Buck and he saw the manic fear and the pain dwelling in her eyes as a meek 'help' bubbled past her lips.

"It's okay."

He didn't know where to grab her or how to reel her back but he had to be quick. His fingers dug into her shirt just near the collar and his right hand pressed into the floor to steady himself when he started to pull.

A violent scream tore from (Y/n)'s lips when her chest ignited like knives were ripping through her skin. Tears blurred down (Y/n)'s face and her wet lips parted to let out another tepid, meek cry when the tarmac scraped against her back that felt like it was on fire.

When (Y/n) was under the truck with him, Buck took a split second to try and breathe and think how they were going to get her down to the hospital from here. His arm was shaking and the muscles were tightening from dragging her with one arm, but he couldn't stop now. He had to keep moving, they had to get her in the truck and down to the hospital before she bled out here on the road.

It was a relief when Buck felt Eddie leaning under the truck with him and he grabbed onto (Y/n) so the pair of them could hastily drag her back to safety with them.

"Everyone in the truck!" Chimney pointed his thumb behind him and swung the back door open.

If they were doing this they had to move now, (Y/n) needed their help and they were going to lose her at this rate.

Trembling took over (Y/n)'s body and she could feel her head spinning around in large circles. She could barely register Buck's voice in her ear telling her to keep her eyes on him and Hen hurrying over, reassuring her that they would look after her. She just wanted the pain to stop.

A burning scream pounded through the air when Eddie leaned over her and lifted her up. He looped one of her arms around the back of his neck, gripped her thigh tight and heaved her up onto his shoulder and chest.

The moment her chest pressed into his shoulder, (Y/n) scratched her nails down his back and screamed, spitting and dribbling onto his shirt as tears poured from her eyes. Her fist weakly bashed into Eddie's back and he groaned as he turned and grabbed the door to help get himself up.

He wasn't sure what (Y/n) was trying to say, her words were muffled and blubbering into his back and she scratched him deeper as he climbed up the steps into the back of the truck. While Buck got in the driver's seat and both Hen and Chimney followed Eddie into the back. The three of them were medics, they would look after (Y/n) as best as they could.

"Sorry (Y/n)." He mumbled as he lowered (Y/n) down onto the row of seats and moved to kneel in the footwell.

Her body writhed and jolted up and down like she was starting to have a seizure and her eyes rolled to the back of her head when it became harder to get a deep breath. All she wanted was to rewind time. She wanted to go back home; go back to this morning and be with her boys where she was safe and the agony was non-existent.

Relief overtook Chimney when he noticed the medic bag was still sat on the backseat, unused and ready for action.

They left the truck door swinging open as Buck got the truck into gear took a sharp turn and jolted the truck to life, juttering down the street to get away from the scene.

"Let's take a look," Chimney sounded awfully calm, too calm for this kind of situation, but (Y/n) could barely hear him. She couldn't even look at him properly when he opened up the medic bag and grab the scissors. He cut a long strip up (Y/n)'s shirt and tossed each loose tendril of fabric over her shoulders to expose her injury.

The black bra (Y/n) wore was starting to soak through with blood and all three of them tried to force calm expressions on their faces. This wouldn't be nice for (Y/n), having her team see her partially undressed, but they had to help her.

The gunshot wound was two inches below her bra on the left side and it was pouring blood like a tap. Blood coated all her chest, trickled down her abdomen and started to pool beneath her on the seats. It was lathered all over Eddie's shoulder and chest too and made him feel sick.

A horrid grunt left (Y/n)'s lips when Chimney pressed a handful of gauze against the wound so deeply it was like he was trying to give her CPR. Her chest shuddered and pushed up from the seats like she was being revived by a defibrilator. When Hen held her hand out, (Y/n) weakly flapped her hand out and took it, gripping as tightly as she could which didn't seem to be very tight at all with how low her energy levels were becoming.

Spit bubbled past her lips and her blurring eyes locked on Hen who leaned over her and tried to smile to keep her calm.

"You're okay, we're taking you to hospital now."

"I sh- I'll be in t-trouble," The words coughed past (Y/n)'s lips so quietly all three of them had trouble figuring out what she was trying to say. And her words confused them. They shared worried looks before determining that it was the confusion and bloodloss making her say that.

(Y/n) told Bobby she would cause mayhem while he was at home, but this isn't what she meant. This isn't what she had in mind.

Bobby was going to be so upset when he found out. (Y/n) was going to be in a Hell of a lot of trouble when her partner next saw her. He told her not to cause trouble and to be good while he wasn't there to supervise and look what had happened now. She had gotten shot. She hadn't been aware of the situation and didn't move in time and now she had been injured, possibly fatally.

"I c- ca…" (Y/n)'s fingers pulled at Hen's hand and her eyes closed when she tilted her head back into the leather seat and pushed her chest out. Her breaths turned to struggling gasps and her body started to convulse up and down, unable to take a proper breath.

"Lung's collapsing, she's breathing into her chest cavity."

Eddie leaned forward, pushing in between Hen and Chimney so he was level with (Y/n)'s torso. He rummaged around in the medical bag until he found a puncture needle and tried to steady himself. He never did this in the back of the ambulance, let alone in the fire truck that was swerving side to side and shaking like they were driving over an earthquake.

His fingers pressed down on two of (Y/n)'s ribs and with a deep breath, Eddie imbedded the needle in the space between her ribs just a few inches to the right of the gunshot wound. He saw the moment he had pushed it deep enough because (Y/n)'s chest inflated up and her lung popped back up to maximum capacity again.

Hen pressed her free hand to (Y/n)'s neck to try and check her pulse which was thready and faint, but at least she was back to breathing now.

All of them winced when they watched (Y/n)'s chest convulse and a cough spluttered past her lips. But it was the blood dribbling down her chin and tainting her lips that made them all feel sick to their stomachs. They could lose her. They could lose the newest member of their team because some stranger decided to take a shot at them in broad daylight.

When (Y/n)'s eyes started to roll up and her head lolled to the side, Hen patted her cheek and tilted her head back.

"(Y/n)? Hey, you stay with us alright? Talk to us."

"Think of your boy, come on, tell me about him. What's his name?" Eddie grabbed some more gauze and packed it against her wound which caused (Y/n)'s chest to slam back down into the chest and start to jutter.

He knew she had a son, she had mentioned him once or twice, considering how private (Y/n) seemed to keep her life. Eddie gathered her boy was a few years younger than Chris and he had seen the lockscreen on her phone which was of her kid.

They had to keep her awake somehow and talking about her family and thinking of them might be enough to push (Y/n) through this and keep her awake and talking to them.

"Jack," (Y/n) gulped and murmured his name again, but tears started to trickle down her face and mingle in with the blood coating her lips and chin.

Was this morning the last time she would ever get to see her baby boy? What had been the last thing she said to him? Was this morning the last time she got to see Bobby too? Was she going to die here, with her team, without her partner beside her? If she was dying, (Y/n) wanted Bobby to be here to hold her hand and see her through this.

She didn't want to die.

"I wan- I want… my…" The words wouldn't pass her lips. All (Y/n) could do was splutter more and more blood while her head felt like it was going to explode from the pressure building up inside of her.

She wanted Bobby. She wanted someone to ring him and get him to her, she wanted him to be the one holding her hand and his face to be the last one she gazed at if this was going to be her last moments.

"We'll call your family for you, don't you worry." Chimney patted her thigh and handed Eddie some more gauze. If (Y/n) wanted her folks at the hospital they could arrange that. They would find out her emergency contacts and get her family to be waiting at the hospital for when she was out of surgery.

"We're here!" Buck jumped down from the truck and slammed his hands against the side of the truck before he pulled the door wider and waved them all down.

Chimney hopped down from the truck and held the door wide open for Eddie and Hen to get (Y/n) out.

Eddie slid his arms beneath (Y/n)'s frame while Hen held her neck and pressed down on the wound to try and prevent anymore blood loss. They carefully climbed down from the truck just as a stretcher and three doctors ran out to meet them. They got the call to be on standby, and they were ready.

He carefully doubled over and settled (Y/n) down as one of the doctors applied pressure back to the wound and another got her head stuck in a neck brace.

"Gunshot wound to the chest, her lung collapsed on-route and she began breathing into her chest cavity. She's lost roughly two pints of blood already."

The team hurried inside after the stretcher but they all faltered when (Y/n) was wheeled through the no-admittance doors. She would be taken straight to surgery. They couldn't go with her, they couldn't reassure her or tell her she would be okay. All they could do was sit and wait around like useless ornaments.

They all seemed to share panicked looks while Buck knotted his hands together behind his head and Chimney stood to one side, hands on his hips and panic in his eyes.

Hen looked between the three men as a thought suddenly dawned on her. "Does anyone know her partner?"

Blank faces stared back at her and the men all shook their heads. (Y/n) never mentioned a boyfriend or a husband. She said she was in a relationship, but she never mentioned a name or a job or a contact number. None of them were close enough to (Y/n) to know that information. They didn't even know how old her son was.

"Who do we contact?"

"I- I'll call Bobby, he'll be on shift soon. He should know her emergency contacts, right?" When the team nodded back at him, Eddie fished his phone out his pocket and took a few steps to the side to be out the way of reception.

Bobby would have (Y/n)'s emergency contact details on file if he too didn't know who her partner was. They could leave it down to him to give the bad news and bring her family down here.

"Cap? We have a problem… we need your help."

"A problem, why what's happened?"

Bobby tilted his head back on the sofa and leaned his elbow on the back of the cushion. While his right arm gently dragged up and down Jack's back to try and keep his boy calm and asleep. He was having a power nap since they had finished baking.

At the moment, Jack was curled up like a little bunny, his arms coiled into his chest with one hand scrunched up in Bobby's shirt. His face was burrowed down into Bobby's chest and he had a pacifier in his mouth as he breathed softly, now sound asleep which was the way Bobby wanted to keep him.

What kind of problem were they having? Bobby had exactly twenty minutes before the babysitter would be here and he would have to say goodbye to Jack and meet the team on shift. Couldn't they wait half an hour for him to get there?

"We were on a call, some crazed idiot nearby had a sniper, he started firing at us. We're down at the hospital, (Y/n) got shot, but none of us know her family or who to call. Can you find out her emergency contacts?"

"(Y/n)?" Her name drolled past Bobby's lips so quietly he wasn't sure he even heard himself, let alone if Eddie did or not.

That couldn't be possible. She couldn't be hurt. Not (Y/n), not Bobby's girl. Not while he wasn't there to protect her.

***

Bobby's frantic eyes scanned around the waiting area while his hands twitched and curled into fists at his sides. He could barely contain the anger and panic surging through him in large waves as he tried to find his team. He was two seconds away from rushing over to reception and slamming his hands down on the desk until his eyes landed on the familiar sight of his team.

They were sitting in the otherwise empty waiting area, right over in the corner.

"Where is she?" The words tumbled past his lips with such a dangerous tone that all four members of the team jumped, unsure who was talking to them for a minute.

Buck slouched back in his seat and started to run his hands up and down his thighs to rid himself of the excess energy rattling through him in great waves. He wasn't the best at sitting still and doing nothing and at the moment, all they could do was sit and wait.

"They took her straight to surgery, we haven't heard anything yet."

They had a long wait ahead of them and none of them were going to hear anything until after surgery was complete and the doctors knew whether (Y/n) was stable or not. The longer the surgery took, the better (Y/n)'s chances. If a doctor came out now, they knew the only news they would receive would be devastating.

"What happened?" Bobby looked across at Chimney who had his hands entwined together behind his head like he had done for the last hour.

Someone had to tell him what on Earth they had been doing for one of their own to get shot.

Being shot at on the job was never something that they feared. Only if they went into a hostage situation with a shooter or someone was armed in a robbery. And they rarely got dispatched to those kind of scenes. This just wasn't normal for them.

"We were about to leave the scene, just a routine call… we were outside and shots got fired."

"We couldn't even see which building they were shooting from. We couldn't do anything," None of them had even seen anyone in a building or noticed someone close by with a gun. They couldn't see anything until (Y/n) collapsed and more bullets bounced off the truck. It was like they had been ambushed but they didn't have any knowledge why.

"(Y/n) got hit… bullet tore through her left lung, clean through. She went straight to surgery, they'll come get us when it's over." Eddie could barely believe it. This could have been him. Or Buck. They had been closest to (Y/n). It could have been either one of them who got that bullet, but fate seemed to decide (Y/n) would take the hit.

Bobby felt like he was going to pass out.

He should have been there. He should have gone in early. He should have been on the scene, maybe if he was, (Y/n) would have been standing somewhere different. She could have been standing beside him rather than in the line of fire. She could have gotten hit, but Bobby being there would have made some sort of difference.

He would of helped her, looked after her, brought her here himself. He would have taken the bullet instead of (Y/n) if he could. Why did it have to be her who got hurt?

"Bobby, did you manage to get hold of her partner? We didn't know who to call for her." Hen rung her hands out together in front of her as she took a step closer to their Captain who seemed to be drifting into his own world.

He was looking at the far wall like it was a movie screen he was so interested in. Both his hands were balled up into fists at his sides and his chest was rising and falling so deeply his lungs might be at risk of bursting.

"Yeah."

"Is he coming down? Hey, who's gonna be with her kid?" A depressed look flooded Buck's face as he straightened up in his seat. Who would be looking after (Y/n)'s little boy if her partner came down here? Who would tell her son that she had been hurt?

"It's me."

Bobby didn't bother to look at any of them while his quiet yet gritty voice filled the air.

What was the point in hiding it now?

Formality had been tossed out the window the moment (Y/n) got shot. Bobby couldn't hide this from the rest of the team any longer. He was (Y/n)'s emergency contact. He was her boyfriend, the father of her child. He was the one who needed to be here and had to speak to the doctors once they knew what was happening.

Bobby was the person who had to deal with this, the one who needed to hold (Y/n)'s hand when she woke up from this mess and who would be looking after her.

He wouldn't be able to hide his worry or his love for (Y/n) from the team if they were waiting with him for news. They would find out sooner or later and it seemed like it had to be now.

"What is?"

"I'm her partner."

Panic flooded each and every one of their faces when they looked up at their Captain. His eyes were hollow. His jaw was set firm, his upper lip was curled and his arms and shoulders were now trembling.

He was (Y/n)'s partner? Why on Earth hadn't he said anything? She had been with the team just over three months now. Why had neither of them told the team this news?

"You?" An edge of hurt layered into Buck's voice as his brows furrowed and his jaw dropped. "Wh- why didn't you tell us?"

"I'm the Captain. It might look like favouritism that I'm dating someone in my own firehouse." His response was snappy and he didn't look over at Buck as he spoke. He thought it was pretty obvious why he and (Y/n) hadn't said anything until now. They didn't want the drama of anyone trying to accuse Bobby of favouritising (Y/n) or picking on her because of her relationship.

But when Buck looked over at Eddie, something seemed to dawn on them, like they had both had the same sudden thought. Their eyes cast down to their attire and Eddie took a deep breath while Buck gulped and grimaced.

They were both drenched in (Y/n)'s blood.

Bobby craned his head to the right when he noticed Eddie take a step away from him. He thought for a moment Eddie was irritated at not being told this news, but Bobby suddenly realised why Eddie was stepping back. Both Eddie's hands scratched at his left shoulder and fisted around his shirt as he looked from his shirt back up to Bobby with panic written across his face.

Once Bobby's eyes locked on Eddie's shirt, his throat tightened and his stomach clenched, threatening to spill his guts all across the floor. That was (Y/n)'s blood. His girlfriend's blood was drenched into Eddie's shoulder, down his chest and lathered over his hands that were cracking with dried blood. And he was dismayed to see the same dark rouge colour lathered on Buck's shirt and caked on the back of his hands too.

Bobby's hand moved to cover his mouth and he scratched his nails into his cheek, dragging his hand down his face while his other hand curled tightly around his hip and he turned away from them.

"So, her little boy… he's yours?" Chimney knitted his hands together in front of him as he took a step closer to Bobby. He wanted to reach out for him and try and comfort him or calm him down, but he didn't know quite what to do.

Bobby nodded and closed his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts, but it wasn't working so well.

"I took Jack to her parents."

After Eddie's phone call, things had been a bit scattered. Bobby gathered Jack's things and called the babysitter on route to tell her she didn't have to come down after all. He had no idea how long he was going to be here at the hospital, but Bobby suspected it would be all night.

He took Jack to his in-laws who had tearfully took him in when Bobby explained the situation and promised to ring them when he had any news about (Y/n)'s condition. They were prepared to look after Jack all night until Bobby could come and get him in the morning and take him to nursery.

He had called the Chief on the way down here to explain the situation and find cover for the rest of the shift and for the next week so Bobby could be here with (Y/n).

But he had no idea if he would be here at the hospital or not. Bobby had no idea how badly (Y/n) was hurt or if she was going to make it through this.

He couldn't lose another partner. He couldn't raise Jack on his own.

Bobby couldn't manage that.

***

It was usually one of Bobby's skills and traits to remain calm and under control in tense situations. It was part of the job of being in charge of a fire house and running a team on his own. He had to be level-headed and always think clearly under pressure.

Not today.

Today, Bobby couldn't sit still. He had gone from sitting next to Hen in the waiting room, to pacing around the length of the ward to then sitting in the corner with his rosary beads wrapped around his wrist and the cross clutched between his fingers.

He had spent a good hour or so praying that everything would be okay. He asked God not to do this to him again. He would do anything, Bobby would give anything for (Y/n) to be okay. God couldn't take her from him and render Jack motherless at the age of four. That was unholy and beyond cruel. Bobby had lost enough people, he couldn't face losing another.

He had gone back to pacing the waiting room with his rosary beads clasped tightly in his hand to try and keep himself grounded and calm.

He would have to ring (Y/n)'s parents soon and check on Jack and tell them he was still waiting for news.

For the last hour, Chimney and Hen had been sat nursing cups of coffee and speaking in hushed tones to pass the time. And Buck and Eddie were sat worriedly with one another. The pair of them had rushed to the toilets and spent almost twenty minutes scrubbing (Y/n)'s blood from their skin before they dared to face Bobby again.

"Family of (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?"

Bobby wasn't so sure he wanted to know this outcome, especially if this was going to be bad news.

But the moment (Y/n)'s name flooded his ears, something tore at his heart and he pelted towards the doctor while the rest of the team straightened up and leaned forward in their seats. They didn't want to eavesdrop, but they too were tired of waiting.

"How is she? Please tell me she's okay."

"A vein burst during the repair and she haemorrhaged a lot, but we managed to stop the bleed. The shot went through her lung which we've managed to repair, it was a clean shot between the ribs. No nerve or bone damage and surgery went well, she's in the ICU for recovery."

He could feel his knees quivering, desperate to cave in beneath him and let him flop to the floor in relief and prayer all at once.

She was in recovery. They hadn't lost her during surgery. There were no lasting complications they needed to worry about. She could get on the road to recovery now and then Bobby could bring Jack and her parents down to see her.

Tears started to flush Bobby's face again, although he felt like he had cried enough to flood the Atlantic ocean by now. But the relief he felt came with such an adrenaline burst that he wondered if he was about to pass out.

"Can I see her now, please?" Bobby jingled his wrist to loosen the rosary beads which felt like they were constricting his blood flow. And he tucked them back into his pocket. They had served their purpose now, his prayers had been listened to and answered, for once.

The doctor looked up at Bobby before leaning around him and peering into the waiting room where the rest of the team were anxiously watching. "Only immediate family, two at a time for now please."

With a glance over his shoulder, Bobby locked eyes with the team as a silent exchange passed over them. They would wait out here for a few minutes then poke their heads round (Y/n)'s door to get a glance of her and see for themselves that she was alright. None of them ever left a friend in need without seeing for themselves that they were okay. Once the doctor was gone, everyone would check on (Y/n) and then try and get sorted out.

They could all see from Bobby's expression that it was good news and he was sure that Buck was straining hard enough to hear a few words of the conversation.

Bobby followed the doctor down the hall, through the double doors on the right and into the intensive care unit.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been down in this unit, or who it had been for. He hadn't been here for a family member in such a long time, it was usually when something happened to one of the team and he stuck around to make sure they were okay.

(Y/n) had never been in the intensive care unit before. She had never needed surgery before. The only time she had been in hospital was when she gave birth to Jack, and that had been in the maternity unit.

Bobby quietly thanked the doctor when he showed him the right room and opened the door. He was glad the doctor left him alone, he didn't want someone hovering in the background as he checked on his girlfriend and sat with her.

He took his time dancing his eyes all over her frame while he dragged the blue chair closer to the bed and sat down.

(Y/n) had an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, an IV taped to the back of her right hand and monitors stuck just beneath her collar bone. And he could see there was a needle taped into the crease of her right elbow where she was receiving another blood transfusion. He didn't dare imagine what her chest would look like beneath the hospital gown. And he didn't need to look to know that there would be blue and white stickers stuck to her chest in case of a cardiac emergency.

Reaching over, Bobby gently took (Y/n)'s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the back of her knuckles and brought her hand up against his cheek, unable to fight off another fit of tears.

"Hi sweetheart, are you with me?" Bobby rolled his lips together and reached his right hand out to glide his fingertips along (Y/n)'s cheek when he noticed her eyes starting to flicker.

His thumb continued to stroke her skin encouragingly and he managed a teary smile when (Y/n)'s drowsy eyes finally landed on him. Her hands squeezed his and she dug her nails into the back of his hand as a croaky noise vibrated past her lips. But when her nose scrunched, Bobby could tell she realised she had a mask over her mouth. She wouldn't like that.

He carefully moved his hand from her face and reached out for her other hand, pushing it back down at her side before she could take off the oxygen mask. She had been through trauma which had damaged one of her lungs, she needed as much oxygen as she could get along with the blood transfusion she was on which would all boost her system and make her recover better.

"You need that on for a while, sweetheart. It's okay."

(Y/n)'s head slowly flopped to the left and she tightened her hand in Bobby's while she tried desperately to open her eyes and look at him.

Shivers tore down (Y/n)'s spine and made her arms jerk at her sides when she thought about where she was and why she felt so groggy. Her right hand tremored as she tried to ghost her fingertips across her chest but she pulled back before she could touch the sore patch beneath where her bra should have been.

"Got… got shot." Her voice was quiet and very croaky as if her throat was as dry as the desert and it made Bobby frown. He hated the panic mingling with pain that he could see across her face and it made him squeeze her hand.

He reached his free hand out to card his fingers slowly through her hair which seemed to help relax her a little. And he loosened his left hand in hers so he could slide his fingers in between hers and hold her hand better. It felt good to feel (Y/n)'s fingers pressing down between the grooves of his hand and have her fingertips tapping against his knuckles.

"I know baby, you got hurt, but you're gonna be just fine. I can't leave you alone for a few hours, can I?"

(Y/n) leaned her head into Bobby's hand and nudged her nose against his wrist as she tried again to blink and clear her vision so she could look at him. His eyes were watering, but his lips were curved into a lopsided smile while he turned his head to kiss the back of her hand.

"Am I i-in trouble?"

Bobby wasn't sure if she was joking with him or not until he saw the tears beginning to trickle down her face and how she bit down on her lower lip behind the mask to stop herself from crying out.

He pushed up from the chair so he could sit down on the side of the bed, leaning against her hip. He moved their entwined hands to press against his chest while his other hand cupped her cheek near the mask and he leaned down to attach his lips to her temple. He breathed softly against her skin and took a few moments to listen to her breathing, reassuring himself that she was here and she was going to be okay.

"No, sweetheart, you're not in trouble. You didn't do anything wrong, whoever hurt you is the one who needs to be afraid." Bobby couldn't believe she thought he or anyone else would be upset with her.

She hadn't been bunking off shift or messing around or doing anything wrong to warrant this. (Y/n) did everything she was supposed to on shift, she just happened to be stood in the wrong place at the exact wrong time to end up getting hurt. Whoever decided to shoot at her was the one who needed to be afraid because when Bobby found them, they would have Hell to pay.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you." It seemed awful timing that this happened while Bobby was supposed to be on the afternoon shift. If only he had gone in with her this morning, then he would have been there for her.

(Y/n) leaned into his touch, relishing in the feeling of his lips against her burning temple and his hand periodically squeezing hers. the sight of Bobby was enough to calm (Y/n) down. She thought she might just die without having him by her side and she had wracked her brain to try and remember how he and Jack looked when she last saw them.

Seeing him now calmed down her raging thoughts because if anything else happened, at least she had Bobby by her side, holding her hand.

"Jack?" It was hard to form proper words when her chest kept tightening and tensing and talking made her lungs hurt. But she wanted to know what was going on. If Bobby was here, then where was their boy?

"I took him to your parent's, he's fine sweetheart. If you're feeling better tomorrow I'll bring him down for a visit. Besides, the team want to meet him."

(Y/n)'s heart jumped and she wheezed as she looked up at Bobby with big, round eyes.

"You t-told them?"

"Yeah," His fingers tangled in her hair again as he leaned in to kiss her temple once more. "They wanted to call your partner, I had to tell them he was already here waiting for you."

#911 imagine #imagine #bobby nash x reader #bobby nash imagine #bobby x reader #bobby nash #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson

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bruhnze · 3 months ago

Text

Quiero un beso,

But there's an ocean of distance between us.

ONA BATLLE x LUCY BRONZE

For the Brasil anon! i love these songs, great idea. This is soft, but maybe not exactly what you meant.. hope u still like it.

Below are my favourite lines from both of the songs :)

"Beso" by Rosalia: Estar lejos de ti e' el Infierno (Being away from you is hell) Tar cerca de ti e' mi paz (Being close to you is my peace)

"Ocean" by Karol G: Y aunque lo intentara no podría sin ti (And even if I tried I couldn't without you) Toda mi felicidad es gracias a ti (All my happiness is thanks to you)

Warnings: bit of angst, bit of fluff, idk i was in my feels, teeny tiny bit suggetive things so still 18+ only pls. Hurt/comfort.

Wordcount: 3k

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Ona last kissed her girlfriend. She realized this as she scrolled through her calendar app on her iPhone. Another stretch of days where they hadn't touched, laughed face-to-face, or shared the simplest of intimacies.

Tonight, like every night, they’d see each other on FaceTime again, an anchor in the storm of their long-distance relationship. They had already spoken twice today. First thing in the morning and again this afternoon. Ona chuckled to herself, recalling how this morning’s call had begun. They’d fallen asleep on the phone. Her alarm had woken Lucy, eventhough Lucy had another hour before she had to get up.

Lucy hadn’t minded, but Ona had kept apologizing until Lucy, with a cheeky grin, had suggested she’d ‘make it up’ with a front-row view of her shower.

Ona had laughed. Lately, Lucy had become more and more...needy. Not that Ona minded, in fact, she found it cute that Lucy missed every part of her. Lucy had even asked for a risqué picture the other day, a first since moving back to England two months ago. It was endearing how Lucy missed her in that way, but for Ona, it wasn’t just about that. It was the physical closeness she missed, the warmth.

She missed waking up beside Lucy. Every morning she woke up cuddling the pillow that was still holding the faintest trace of Lucy’s scent. During the day she’d randomly pull Coco onto her lap just for some form of comfort. But her dog wasn’t quite the same as her girlfriend. Sometimes in the shower, Ona would close her eyes, letting the warmth of the water surround her, but it could never replace the feeling of Lucy’s touch.

Suddenly, the familiar tone of an incoming FaceTime call broke her thoughts.

"Hi babyyyyy!" Lucy’s voice chimed through, full of energy and excitement the moment Ona’s face appeared on screen.

Ona chuckled softly, amused by Lucy’s bubbly tone. "Hey, babe."

"I love you," Lucy said with a beaming smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "One more week and two days, and we’ll have a few days together again." She was counting down, as she did on every call.

Ona nodded, her throat tightening as the familiar wave of longing washed over her. "I miss you," she whispered, her voice more fragile than she intended.

Lucy’s bright expression shifted. Concern filled her eyes as she leaned closer to the screen, sensing the sadness in Ona’s voice. Normally, they tried to keep things light, both agreeing that these two years apart would pass quicker if they kept their focus forward, holding their chins up.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked softly, trying to filter the worry out of her tone but failing.

"No," Ona admitted, her pout deepening. "I haven’t kissed you in so long, I don’t even remember what you taste like."

She fell back onto the couch, the iPad slipping slightly as she disappeared out of the frame.

"Ona?" Lucy’s voice was gentle.

Ona whimpered softly. "Your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore," she said, almost accusingly, as if it was somehow Lucy’s fault that her scent had faded.

"Baby," Lucy whispered, biting her lip, her eyes filled with sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to pull Ona into her arms and hold her tight. "Can you show me your face again?"

Ona wiped at her teary eyes and sat up, facing the screen once more.

Lucy gave her a sad, knowing smile, taking in the sight of Ona’s messy hair and red, puffy eyes. "What did you have for dinner?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood, knowing full well that no amount of casual conversation could replace what they both needed.

"I’m not playing tomorrow," Ona blurted out, ignoring Lucy’s question. "I’m going to book a flight."

Lucy’s heart twisted. She knew that feeling all to well herself, the urge to throw everything aside and run to the one she loved. But Ona couldn’t abandon her commitments, not like this. It would affect her career, Lucy couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much she wanted to be with her.

"I’ll come,"

A flicker of hope flashed in Ona’s eyes, but it faded just as quickly. "You can’t, Luce," Ona replied, her gaze drifting to Coco, who was busy tearing apart a tennis ball. "You’ve got a game too."

"I’ll come," Lucy repeated, her voice more determined now. She’d play her morning match and then fly straight to Ona, no matter what. Her knee could hurt, her body could ache - it didn’t matter. For Ona, she’d do it.

"You’ve got a game," Ona insisted, "and I have a game in the evening. We won’t even have time to call."

"I’ll play," Lucy said, more firmly this time. "Then I’ll come home and wait for you."

Ona let out a small laugh, though tears were still brimming in her eyes. "And recovery?"

"I’ll wear those stupid tights under my jeans," Lucy replied, rolling her eyes with a smile.

That got a genuine chuckle out of Ona. "You know that’s not the same as a proper recovery, right?"

"I know," Lucy said softly. "But I want to see you. I think you need a hug."

"I need a kiss," Ona corrected, her voice trembling as tears began to well up again. "And bring me one of your pillows. You can take mine."

Lucy chuckled. "Okay, I’ll do that baby. Anything else?"

"Tell me about your day," Ona murmured, laying back down on the couch and pulling the iPad onto her chest.

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. "I already told you everything this afternoon, and nothing’s happened since. I was just at home, walking Narla, cooking food, you know, laid in bed for a bit."

"In bed? Why? Are you getting sick?" Ona asked, suddenly concerned. Lucy rarely stayed in bed, especially without Ona there beside her.

"No," Lucy chuckled. "I was... I was missing you. I just looked at some photos of you."

Ona’s brow lifted in amusement, finally catching on to what Lucy meant. "Ohhh, I see.’’ She shook her head, ‘’We really are so different," she teased, laughing lightly. "You do that every day, don’t you?"

Lucy blushed. "Yeah... I just miss you so much."

"Sí, but for me, it’s different," Ona admitted. "I haven’t... well, you know."

"Really?" Lucy asked, genuinely surprised. "Nothing?"

Ona chuckled, shaking her head again. "No, not really. I’m just not in the mood. I miss you too much."

Lucy’s voice softened, a bit seductive. "What if I’m there tomorrow?"

Ona’s smiled. "Then I want kisses and cuddles. Muchos besos."

Lucy smirked. "Mhm, you’ll get all the kisses and cuddles you want."

"And maybe more," Ona teased, her voice dropping just a little.

Lucy chuckled, trying to sound casual. "We’ll see."

Ona playfully rolled her eyes. "Now you’re acting like you’re not dying for it."

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Lucy replied.

Ona let out a dramatic sigh. "Sometimes you’re so sweet that it actually annoys me."

Lucy’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"It’s like a form of cuteness aggression," Ona explained like she was giving a lecture. "But like, sweetness agitation."

Lucy burst into laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "You are something else."

"Is that why you love me?" Ona asked smiling mischievously, she loved asking Lucy this question because she always got an answer.

Lucy chuckled, her voice full of affection. "Mhm, I love you because of how your brain works, I love everything about you."

Ona hurried off the field, skipping the post-match rituals entirely. She tossed everything into her bag in a rush, taking just enough time to swap her boots for her regular shoes. Jogging to her car and driving off.

Her parking job was more crooked than usual, but she couldn’t have cared less. It was all worth it as she spotted Lucy’s shoes when she opened the front door.

Kicking her own shoes off hastily, Ona dropped her bag in the hallway and darted inside. The moment she saw Lucy lounging casually on the couch, the flood of emotion overwhelmed her. Sobbing, she threw herself into Lucy’s arms.

"Heyy," Lucy murmured softly, immediately wrapping her arms around Ona’s trembling frame. "It’s okay, bub. I’m right here."

Ona’s small body shook as she buried her tear-streaked face into the crook of Lucy’s neck. Her tears soaked Lucy’s skin, but Lucy didn’t mind. She gently rubbed Ona’s back, whispering comfort.

"Shh... it’s okay, honey. We’re together now."

Ona took a few deep breaths, inhaling the familiar scent she had missed so deeply. Her lips pressed a soft, tearful kiss to Lucy’s neck, lingering there for a moment. Lucy’s hold tightened around her, cradling her closer as she carefully sat them both up.

"You’re home early," Lucy chuckled lightly, pulling a few damp strands of hair from Ona’s flushed face. "Didn’t even shower at the club?"

Ona shook her head, not lifting her face from Lucy’s neck. She shifted, wrapping her legs around Lucy and clinging even tighter, as if afraid to let go. Lucy’s brow furrowed slightly in concern, this was different. She hadn’t seen Ona like this before. Ona had always been the positive one, encouraging Lucy, insisting she take the opportunity with Chelsea while she still could.

Lucy’s voice softened as she slipped her hands beneath Ona’s game-worn, sweat-soaked shirt. "I love you," she whispered, her touch gentle and reassuring. "How about we go for a shower, huh?"

Ona shook her head again, pressing herself further into Lucy’s embrace.

"I can join you," Lucy offered with a small, playful smile, hoping to lift Ona’s mood.

But Ona shook her head once more, her silent refusal a testament to how overwhelmed she was. Lucy’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in her usually strong, cheerful girlfriend.

"Can you even still talk?" Lucy teased softly, poking at Ona’s sides in an attempt to draw out even the smallest response.

"No," came a small, muffled voice, barely audible against Lucy’s skin.

Lucy turned her head slightly, pressing gentle kisses to the side of Ona’s head. One kiss, then another, until finally Ona lifted her tearful face to look at Lucy.

Lucy smiled tenderly, brushing her thumb across Ona’s cheek, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know, baby," Lucy whispered.

Ona sighed deeply, her hands finding their way to Lucy’s face. She traced her thumb along Lucy’s lips, as if memorizing the touch she had missed so much. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips softly capturing Lucy’s in a kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, filled with the longing of weeks apart, savoring the taste of the person she had craved for so long.

Lucy responded to the kiss with the same gentle, measured pace as Ona, their lips moving softly, carefully, like they were discovering each other all over again. It was almost like a first kiss. Though their actual first kiss had been anything but slow and delicate.

But this moment wasn’t about passion. It was about something deeper, something more intimate. Right now, Ona needed this. Maybe they both did. It was a chance to reconnect, to ground themselves in each other’s presence, to imprint the familiar taste and feel of one another into their minds, knowing it had to last until the next time they could be together again.

Lucy’s hand moved to cradle the back of Ona’s head, her thumb lightly tracing the curve of her neck. She kissed her as though this moment could mend all the days and nights they’d spent apart, hoping that somehow, it could.

As their lips parted, Ona rested her forehead against Lucy’s. Her breath a little uneven. The tension slowly ebbing away. Lucy kept her arms around her, brushing a stray tear from Ona’s cheek.

"You feel a little better now?" Lucy asked softly.

Ona nodded. "A little," she whispered.

Lucy kissed her forehead gently, then shifted slightly beneath her. "I think we both need a shower, though," she said with a small chuckle, the warmth of her touch still lingering on Ona’s skin.

Ona groaned, her head dropping onto Lucy’s shoulder as if just the thought of moving was already too much. "Nooo," she mumbled, her voice muffled against Lucy’s neck. "Don’t wanna move."

"Come on, baby," Lucy chuckled, her tone light and teasing. "You skipped your shower after the game and I’ve been traveling. We’re both a bit… stinky." She said, secretly more so revering to Ona.

Ona pouted, finally lifting her head to meet Lucy’s gaze. "But I just got you back."

Lucy smiled lovingly and brushed her fingers through Ona’s hair. "I’m not going anywhere, promise. We can shower together, okay?"

Ona hesitated, then reluctantly loosened her grip around Lucy. "Okay," she muttered, her lips forming into a reluctant smile.

Lucy kissed her again, brief but tender, before gently pulling her thighter against her so she could go stand. "Let’s go wash you off then, you dirty girl" she teased, holding Ona as she walked her towards the bathroom.

As they entered the bathroom, Lucy stood her girldfriend back on the ground. She reached into the shower and turned on the water, letting it heat up. Ona clung to Lucy’s side, still not ready to let go. Lucy smiled at her girlfriend’s neediness.

"Come here," Lucy said softly, pulling Ona into her arms. She kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "Let’s get you cleaned up, baby."

Ona let out a soft hum, her fingers lazily tracing circles on Lucy’s back. She felt safe here, in Lucy’s arms.

Slowly, Lucy reached for the hem of Ona’s shirt, gently tugging it upwards. She didn’t rush, didn’t push. Just a quiet, unspoken understanding between them as Ona let her pull the sweat-soaked fabric over her head before tossing it aside.

Ona sighed, her body relaxing as Lucy’s hands moved over her bare skin, the cool air of the bathroom a contrast to the warmth that lingered between them.

"Better?" Lucy asked, her voice low and soothing, as she kissed Ona’s shoulder, her fingers brushing the waistband of her shorts.

Ona nodded, leaning into the touch. Her hands found Lucy’s shirt, and with the same quiet reverence, she helped Lucy lift it over her head, revealing the toned muscles that had become so familiar to her. Lucy shivered slightly as Ona’s fingers brushed her skin, her lips curving into a smile.

"Your turn," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes flicking up to meet Lucy’s.

Lucy grinned, helping Ona take off the sportsbra. She knew Ona always dreaded to take the tight fabric off of her, especially when it was drained with sweat and annoyingly stuck to her skin.

As each layer of clothing fell away, Ona got more and more peacefull. An unspoken barrier breaking down with every touch, every glance they shared.

When they were both down to nothing but skin, Lucy took Ona’s hand and gently guided her into the shower, the hot water cascading over them. The warmth surounded them both, and Lucy smiled as Ona stepped back into her arms.

"You good?" Lucy asked, her voice soft as she kissed the top of Ona’s head.

"Mhm," Ona hummed, her body finally relaxing into Lucy’s. ''Better''.

They stood there for a while, letting the water wash away the sweat, the tears and the time spent apart. There was no rush.

Lucy moved slowly, tenderly, as she had taken some soap on her hands, her fingers tracing over Ona’s skin with even more care then she usually already had.

"Missed this," Ona murmured, her eyes closing as Lucy’s hands moved across her back.

"Me too," Lucy whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

For a while, they said nothing, the only sounds filling the room were the steady stream of water and their quiet breaths. Lucy gently washed Ona’s body, her hands moving slowly, deliberately, like she wanted to memorize every inch of her all over again.

When it was Ona’s turn, she took just as much care, her fingers trailing softly over Lucy’s arms, her shoulders, her chest. There was something sacred about this moment. Like they were rebuilding something that distance had tried to take away.

After what felt like an eternity standing together beneath the stream of warm water, their bodies still entwined, Lucy leaned down, her lips brushing against Ona’s forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

Her movements were unhurried as she let her lips linger before trailing down to place a small peck on the tip of Ona’s nose. Ona smiled at the gentle touch, her eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the intimacy. Lucy continued her slow, affectionate journey, planting soft kisses around Ona’s face.

Finally, Lucy’s lips hovered millimeters away from Ona’s, the space between them so small it felt electric. She paused, her breath mixing with Ona’s as she whispered, "I love you."

Then, softly, she closed the gap, capturing Ona’s lips in a kiss.

"You feel better now?" Lucy asked breaking away from their kiss after a few moments, brushing a strand of wet hair out of Ona’s face.

"Yeah," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, but smiling genuinly. "Much better."

---

Thanks to @pinkygirl28 :) she helped me with the ending

#Did i write this while i should be doing uni work #yes #but ok i guess #lucy bronze smut #woso smut #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x ona batlle #woso #woso imagine #ona batlle smut #ona batlle

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