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persephonesportal · 2 months

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Oh I am soo gonna need more of this!!

Life Lessons || CL16

Summary: After an embarrassing secret is shared Charles accepts some help to learn a few things about female pleasure.

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fem rec oral, sex ed

WC: 2.9k

Charles - The Lazy Lover - Leclerc. That was what the wag gossip pages all shared in their stories and Charles cheeks grew red with embarrassment as he read the latest caption. The supposed ‘inside source’ had recounted the disappointment his past girlfriends had found in Charles’ bedroom activities. They cited him as ‘vanilla’ and ‘a missionary man’, but none of those hurt more than the sentence that described his oral capabilities as ‘nonexistent’.

He didn’t think he was bad in bed, and he wouldn’t have called himself selfish, but he couldn’t help asking some of his exes for the truth. Each of them denied sharing the information to the gossip pages, but they all replied with the same consensus.

Charles chased his own pleasure and they didn’t feel comfortable telling him what they needed to reach their own high too. He felt guilty, wondering how many of the relationships would have ended differently or not ended at all if he had paid more attention - to their sex life as well as the rest. He certainly hadn’t been the most attentive in any aspect of his last relationship with Alexandra.

“Don’t laugh,” Pierre started the conversation seriously, something that immediately caused concern for Charles. “I know someone who knows someone that can help you. She’s a private tutor, of sorts.”

“Do you know how fucked I would be if news broke I went to a hooker?”

“She’s not a hooker,” Pierre assured him as he wrote an address down on a napkin and slid it across the table. “It's already taken care of, 8pm tomorrow.”

Charles looked at the address and sighed. “This is in Paris.”

“Of course, City of Love, my friend.” Pierre finished his coffee and rose from the table, pushing a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Charles mumbled, still uncertain about the whole idea of having a stranger teach him how to be a better lover. “I guess.”

Later that afternoon, Charles received an email with a rather detailed questionnaire about his experiences in the bedroom as well as a small dining and drinks menu to select from. He figured he couldn’t be any more embarrassed than he already was and took his time to honestly answer the questions.

—

Charles debated turning around at least three times as he climbed the stairs in a modern apartment building. He had caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower from the stairwell window and paused as the lights danced along the metal, wondering if he was in the right place. He was still in half a mind that Pierre had sent him to a brothel, but this didn’t fit the stereotype he had in his head of a Parisian whorehouse. He definitely imagined more Moulin Rouge lighting and seedy alleys.

He reached the 3rd floor and found only one door on the landing, his finger barely able to aim for the doorbell with its shaking. He didn’t know what to expect when the handle started to turn, but it certainly wasn’t a bright welcoming smile and the delicious smell of fresh baking.

“Hi, you must be Charles,” you greeted your newest client. “Come in, please.”

You could tell he was nervous as he hesitantly stepped inside and his eyes scanned your home, taking in the artwork on the walls and the candlelit table with two place settings. You tried to ease his mind with a quick introduction about who you were while you poured him a glass of wine.

“Help yourself,” you said as you took a seat and waved a hand to the fresh bread and cheeses he had selected from the menu. He took a breath and sat down opposite you, the candlelight catching the sharp jawline and angular features of his handsome face. “So, Charles, what is your goal? What do you want to get out of this?”

“I, uh, to be able to please a woman?”

“You don’t sound sure,” you teased as you watched him spread an olive tapenade over the fresh toasted bread.

“No, no, I am,” he said a little more forcefully before sighing. “I didn’t realise I was…bad…in bed, until recently.”

“Well, rest assured, we will change that. But first, tell me a bit more about yourself, there’s only so much I can learn from the questionnaire.”

—

Charles began to relax the more he shared. He knew he was protected by the NDA you had sent with the rest of the paperwork and the anonymity that came with baring his ugly truths to a stranger helped to ease the discomfort of what he was doing. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing but your encouraging smile kept his words flowing, like he was finally doing something right.

He hadn’t realised how quickly time had passed until the grandfather clock in the entrance chimed the hour and he saw he had eaten his fill of the meal he chose.

His overnight bag still waited on the hall table, the list of what to bring had been ticked off and double checked. His calendar had been cleared for the weekend and his phone turned off. Everything he needed to remember could be jotted down in the small journal that sat beside his used cutlery.

“So, um, what happens next?” he asked as his eyes darted to the bedroom door.

“Whatever you feel comfortable with, Charles. Come,” you rose from the table and grabbed his bag, taking it to your bedroom as he trailed behind. His feet rushed before slowing down as he caught his own eagerness and frowned to himself. It was common. There was a blurred line between of uncertainty on whether they were here to get laid or here to learn.

You placed his bag beside the large desk that covered one wall of your room and pointed to the computer chair where he took a seat. “Every woman is different and there isn’t a universal button to make us come. But, by understanding the physiological functions and anatomy, I will teach you the tools to find the right spots to make her fall apart.”

“A-anatomy?” he stammered.

You took a step back and unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor and bare your nakedness. His eyes widened and he swallowed deeply as he drank in your body. A soft breath fell from his parted lips when you climbed onto the desk and spread your legs either side of him. “I could show you a textbook, but I find this much more effective.”

His throat bobbed as he tried to keep eye contact and the act brought a little laugh from your chest, forcing him to look at your breasts bouncing with it. “You can look, in fact that is exactly what this first lesson is about. Look, Charles.”

His eyes closed but when they opened he was staring at your core, his chest inflating with his deep breath. “Do I just start?” he asked hesitantly, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Just look for now,” you said with a smile as you reached down your body. “Everyone has erogenous zones, places that feel good when stimulated, and these can be found all over your body, men and women. Thumbs, wrists, behind the knees, inner thighs, neck. Simply kissing and sucking these spots can feel just as good as foreplay.”

“Really?” he eyes widened in surprise and his eyes scanned all the places you had mentioned.

“Really, and I want you to find mine.” You bared your throat and relaxed back on your elbows. “You’ll watch for the physical reactions to confirm it. Deep breathing, moans, eyes closing, jaw slack, forehead pinched - they are some of the outward signs of pleasure.”

“Are you okay with this?” he asked as he found your bent knee the closest point to his lips and his tentative touch warmed your skin.

“I am, and I am pleased that you asked for consent.”

He smiled proudly at the praise before he lifted your leg and kissed the back of your knee, his eyes watching your face as he dragged his tongue along the tendon and crease. Your head fell back and he grinned. “There.”

“One,” you confirmed with a nod before he moved up to your thigh, trying the same thing with a kiss and a lap of his tongue. A giggle bubbled up and you squirmed away. “That’s just ticklish.”

“So not that one?” he double checked, and you shook your head. “Okay…”

The man was thorough and he made sure to find which ones were good for you and which ones weren’t. He paid attention to the signs and more than once he paused to jot down a note in the journal you had provided.

“You’re a good student,” you praised.

“I have a good teacher.”

You smiled at the compliment. “Would you like to explore lesson two tonight or rest? We have all weekend.”

His eyes gave away his answer before his lips did and you climbed off the desk. “Let’s start with the basics then. The first thing you want to do is make yourself comfortable. Craning your neck from where you lie between her legs isn’t comfortable and won’t encourage you to stay there if things take a little longer,” you explained as you moved into the bed and tossed him a pillow. “So, pop one of these under the small of her back.”

He looked at the pillow and shuffled forward. “Now?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, lifting your hips up so he could lay it in place. “Two things happen here, one, it lifts her hips higher for better access which your neck will be thankful for, and two, it tilts her pelvis down and makes it much easier to work her g spot.”

“I thought that was a myth.”

“Why don’t you find out?” you dared. “Did you clip your nails before you came?”

He looked at the short nails and wiggled his fingers with a nod. He had followed every instruction in the email.

“Good, the last thing you want is to accidentally cut a partner with a sharp nail. Now the technique most people find effective is palm up, one or two fingers, gently work your way inside - it’s all about timing, take it slow and build to begin. Once your fingers are inside, curl your fingers up and you’ll feel the tissue is softer, almost spongy. Massaging pressure over that stimulated the g-spot, and if you are good at multitasking you can then add pressure from the outside too. Just place a hand low on her abdomen, slightly above the pelvic bone - don’t press too hard though as it will push on her bladder. First though, you’d probably want to start with warming her up with some cunilingus, eating pussy.”

Charles hopped off the bed and grabbed the journal, quickly jotting down the instructions with quiet eagerness.

“You can practice if you feel comfortable,” you invited when he put the pen and page down.

“Uh, yeah, please,” he stammered as he knelt on the bed and shuffled closer.

You reached into the bedside drawer and grabbed a bottle of lube. “I don’t need this,” you said and he smirked as he saw the other outward sign you had explained - arousal - it already lubricated your slit with the thought of what Charles was going to do to you. “But you should always keep a bottle at home. All women are different, some are drier than others no matter how aroused they get. Or, it’s handy for other areas of play like anal, or even a sensual massage.”

You put the bottle back and settled among the pillows. “Use me, explore, feel the different textures and I’ll guide you if you need it. Remember to look and listen to the signs of pleasure.”

Charles nodded and settled between your legs, getting up close and personal with your pussy. His indecision held him frozen as he wondered where to begin so you offered some guidance. “Finding the clit is a good starting point and then exploring around it to find the sensitive spots. Lick, suck, kiss, try it all.”

Encouraged, he laid a tentative kiss on your slit, his eyes rolled up to watch for your reactions. Seeing nothing, he took aim and tried again, his lip brushing over your clit and a soft sigh reached his ears. More confident, his tongue flicked out and caught your clit making you jolt.

“Was that good or bad?” he asked with a frown.

“Both, that spot is very sensitive - think of the slit at the tip of your cock. When it’s primed and ready that feels amazing but straight off the bat it is a little shocking to the system. You’re in the right area though, so keep exploring.”

This time he circled his tongue around and your moan was louder. You could practically feel his smile on your skin.

“That feels good,” you hummed as warmth spread through your body and he reached up on his own initiative, massaging your breasts. “Oh, you’re a natural now.”

Inspired, he explored further, his tongue lashing along your slit, dipping into your cunt. Your back arched off the bed with a gasp so he delved deeper, fucking you with his tongue as a familiar tightening grew in your core.

“Now would be the perfect time to try to find the g-spot,” you murmured as you fought the urge to succumb to the pleasure, but the lesson wasn’t over.

His rhythm faltered with a fresh wave of nervousness and he pulled back with shiny swollen lips to drag his fingertips through the mess he had made. The slick digits started gently, dipping inside your cunt a little deeper each time until it met the resistance of his palm.

“Feel around for the different textures and then curl your fingers a little.”

He did as instructed and his lips parted in surprise as he felt the spot. “Oh, wow, I’ve never noticed that…”

Your laugh made your pussy clench and he chuckled as your walls tightened around his fingers. “I like that feeling,” he commented with a flirty smirk.

“I thought you would,” you said with a wink. “I also do lessons on male stimulation if you’re ever interested.”

“Like…gay?” he asked quietly, a frown starting to form on his brows yet it wasn’t a look of distaste.

You were intimately aware that he still had two fingers curled in your cunt but it was good that he felt comfortable enough to hold a conversation at the same time. “It’s about learning the male anatomy, like what we did here. Whether that knowledge is used for self pleasure or with a partner, male or female, that is up to them.”

He contemplated the idea for a moment before he remembered what he was doing and began to work his wrist, curling his fingers in sync so they dragged over that delicious spot. He watched your sordid reaction with fascination before he grew bolder, his tongue finding your puffy clit.

“Oh fuck, yes,” you moaned loudly as your pussy tightened in anticipation. He had read your body perfectly and flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit but this time you were primed and ready. Your orgasm began with a tingle through your hair, leading to a fine tremor that danced down your spine, it raced down your legs and curled your toes. “Oh, Charles!”

He moaned against your clit as his wrist snapped forwards and back, the wet sounds of your body filling the room as his fingers fucked you through the explosion. Your cunt clenched and spasmed around the digits and stars spotted your vision. Your head fell back into the pillows with a cry and liquid gushed over his fingers with the release.

Disoriented and overstimulated, you reached between your legs and placed your hand over his. “Please, too much,” you whispered with a hoarse voice and rough aftershocks snapping at your thighs. “That was so fucking good, Charles. I, I just need a minute.”

You threw an arm over your head, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you waited for your heart rate to calm again. A small laugh bounced from your chest as you came down from the high and you finally had the strength to prop yourself back up on your elbows.

“That was perfect, Charles, you are a very quick learner.”

He was busy staring at his hand, your release coating his palm and running down his wrist. “So that’s what an orgasm feels like?” His brows pinched as he realised he had never felt that before.

“It’s what this one felt like. They can be different based on what areas are stimulated, the intensity, intimacy, lots of factors.” You could see he was still disappointed in himself for his previous ignorance and you sat up slowly, crossing your legs as you faced him. “Just because a woman doesn’t orgasm it doesn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the experience. Does a blow job feel good before you cum?”

He shrugged, still a little unconvinced. “Yeah.”

“See, forgive yourself and move on, now you know what to do for next time.” You carefully climbed off the bed on unsteady legs and offered your hand. “Last lesson of the night, aftercare.”

He stood up and froze, looking down at his pants. “Sorry, I kind of, uh, um…”

“Why are you sorry?” you laughed, drawing his attention away from the damp patch on his trousers. “You are meant to enjoy pleasuring your partner. Never apologise for that, Charles.”

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persephonesportal · 2 months

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Thinking bout him hours 🤤🤤

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persephonesportal · 3 months

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Okay very odd request but I am DESPERATE! I’m trying to find a Charles Leclerc x Reader series I believe. She was friends with Tom Holland and in love with his brother. They all go to Monaco and she ends up meeting Charles.

I just know it’s here somewhere but I have no clue. Please someone help me ❤️

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #tom holland

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persephonesportal · 3 months

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I am soo excited that this has made a comeback !!

Stuck at the Navy Ball

So… I decided I wasn’t done playin’ with the boys.

As this is a continuation of the original Stuck in the Middle fic, I highly recommend that you read through that before diving into this. Could you dive headfirst into this? Yes. There might be a little confusion, though.

Inspired by a comment someone left on SitM over on AO3.

Pairing: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron “Slider” Kerner Summary: You, Ice, and Sli haven’t lost that loving feeling. So when the flyboys are reunited at the 1986 Navy Ball, it's only natural that they bring a bit of chaos with them. Word Count: 4200 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, under-negotiated situations (but everyone involved is fine), fingering Chapter: 1/4 Minors DNI

gif originally posted by neuromancer1888

Chapter 1: Under the Table

The invitation arrives early in September, printed on thick cardstock and addressed to your brother. But if Viper’s words are to be believed—and you’ve yet to hear of a situation in which they aren’t—Pete’s attendance isn’t exactly optional. So the summons finds its way from the trash onto the fridge, rough edges taped back together.

Please Join Us For the 211th Navy Ball. Monday, October 13th Washington D.C.

Cocktail Hour 1700 | Ceremony Begins 1800 Live Music. Food. Dancing.

The same invitation has Carole positively giddy. Born and raised in Virginia, she’s been looking for an excuse to fly east to visit her parents. And for a party? Isn’t that swell! Arrangements are made for Bradley to sleep at his grandparents on the night of the ball before Goose—whose PT-mandated wheelchair has landed him desk duty—is home from work.

Which is how, roughly one month later, you find yourself in Goose’s room at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill, sharing precious mirror space with Carole. Breathing in Aqua Net while putting the finishing touches on your looks.

The hotel calls the four of you a taxi, Goose’s wheelchair is stuffed into the trunk, and then you’re off to meet your date.

Singular.

There hadn’t been a question of if you’d attend or whose arm you’d decorate once Pete’s invite arrived. Officially, you’re at the ball with Ice. After Layton, Ice had made it a point to be seen with you while he was off-duty. Your relationship, which you’d tried to keep on the down-low, was worth showing off publicly after he and your brother had dropped their rivalry in favor of mutual respect. Friendship.

But the other half of your relationship was still very much under wraps.

That fact hadn’t stopped you from nodding eagerly when Ice pulled you close to ask you to attend the Navy Ball with him. Ice wants to climb the ladder, and earning stars is more than clambering into the cockpit every morning or disappearing on a carrier for the better part of a year at a time. It’s politics. It’s achieving perceived milestones on or ahead of schedule. And in October, for Lieutenant Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, naval aviator and promotion hopeful, it’s attending the Navy Ball with a woman on his arm.

Pete wrestles the wheelchair out of the trunk while Goose pays the cab driver. As you step into the crisp October evening, you marvel at the palatial, white-stone building that is to be the backdrop of your night. A steady flow of servicemen and women crossing beneath grand archways with their dates for the promise of a good night.

You aren’t left alone to gawk for long before you catch sight of them chatting with someone or another: decked in their whites, Slider leaning against the wrought iron rail and Ice to his side. Ice’s gaze flicks to you instantaneously, as if he’d felt your eyes land on him. The natural pout of his lips morphs into a grin as he excuses himself from the conversation and moves toward you against the flow of the crowd. Slider follows close behind, ultimately making his way to Goose, Carole, and your brother. But you catch the hesitation in his step. The course-correct.

Events like these will be challenging for the three of you—that had been a foregone conclusion—but this knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. It feels all sorts of wrong to have Slider keep himself at such a purposeful distance when you’re used to his proximity. Even at the O Club, he manages to stand close. Doesn’t shy away.

Before your mood can be irreparably embittered, Ice takes your hand in his and coaxes you into a slow spin. “You’re beautiful,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, and a delicate smile lights your lips.

The dress had been a surprise. Something you’d insisted on buying yourself despite Ice and Slider offering to pool their money for something truly extravagant. But after years spent in the foster system, even the thought of spending money on something so frivolous left a bad taste in your mouth. Instead, you’d taken Carole, your more comfortable budget, and found an old gala dress at a thrift shop. The sleek, black velvet gown up to your collarbones with the slightest sparkle as the fabric shifted beneath the store’s old lights ticked all your self-imposed boxes. A dress fit for an aspirational young officer’s date, even after Carole added a slit up the left side to show a little leg and “bring the dress into this decade.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, squeezing Ice’s arm as it’s offered to you. Typically, the change of season calls for blues, but the Navy Ball is an exception to the rule. You wonder whose wife you have to thank for that because although your boys look damn fine in both, you have a not-so-hidden preference. “And Kerner didn’t clean up so bad, either,” you shoot in Slider’s direction with a playful grin.

“Surprised?” Slider asks, brow raised. You shrug because, no, you’re not surprised, but you aren’t sure what to say that will fly under the radar. And that’s the name of the night’s game. That doesn’t stop Pete from rolling his eyes as he passes you with Goose and Carole on their way to the building’s ramp.

The closest you ever got to a ball before tonight was prom—not yours; you’d been on staff at the venue. Frankly, you’d half expected you and Pete to have been blacklisted, given your father’s ill-gotten reputation, but they let you in without issue. You wonder if Pete’s face appearing on the front page of every magazine in the English-speaking world has anything to do with it, but you keep that to yourself while Ice, ever the gentleman, escorts you further into the event.

If the outside of the building is beautiful, then the inside is magnificent: all barrel vaulted ceilings decorated with Romanesque gold leafing and warm mahogany. A vast hall that steadily fills as guests arrive for cocktail hour and to mingle before the evening officially kicks off.

Slider spots Carole’s shock of blonde hair by a table with easy access for Goose and herds Ice in her direction. They aren’t alone at the table. “Merlin,” Slider barks, bounding over to shake his fellow RIO’s hand. “I thought you were stationed over the Atlantic. What’re you doing here?”

“Turned out to be an exercise. Over and back in sixty-two days.”

“And just in time for the party,” the woman at his side chips in, and Merlin wraps an arm around her to pull her close.

“Oh! Tom Kazansky, Ron Kerner, my wife, Laura.” Ice takes the opportunity to introduce you in turn. The conversation is easy-going, Ice and Slider filling Merlin in on their time instructing at Miramar.

Slider gets in several quips about Ice having a list of officers whose asses he needs to kiss to speed up a promotion when Ice spies one of said officers. He gently tugs you in the right direction so you can play the part of the doting girlfriend. The officer—a captain—quickly introduces you to his wife before he and Ice talk shop.

You manage to pluck a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray, sipping daintily and nodding along with the captain’s wife. Considering most of your knowledge concerning the Navy revolves around the planes your brother flies and the stunts he’s pulled in them, the conversation goes in one ear and out the other.

Not that it matters. Your role tonight—thankfully—is just to follow Ice around and look pretty.

The captain’s wife finishes her champagne in record time, and though you’re hesitant at first, you aren’t too far behind her. It is at this point, glass empty, that Slider appears like your guardian angel. “Captain,” he nods. “Ice.”

“Captain Reid, have you met my RIO?” Ice asks, knowing full well that Slider has no interest in schmoozing. Much like your brother, Slider is there because it is expected of him. Unlike Pete, Ice doesn’t need his friend’s emotional support or commiseration to make it through such events, mandatory or otherwise. Every opportunity like this is one Ice can use to his advantage.

Slider offers the captain a firm handshake. “Lieutenant Ron Kerner, sir.”

“Your RIO? I thought you were stationed at Miramar?”

“The perks of winning the trophy, sir,” pride leaks through as Slider says it. He and Ice worked damn hard to finish at the top of their class. “We’ve been together since flight school. When Ice took a teaching position at TOPGUN, I followed.”

“And how does a man of your stature fit in the cockpit, lieutenant?” the captain’s wife asks from beneath heavily painted lashes.

The grin Slider offers her is loose. “It’s a bit of a squeeze, but no complaints so far.” The minute narrowing of Ice’s eyes says behave. You nearly avoid snorting, hiding the unladylike compulsion behind the rim of your empty flute, a reflection off the crystal drawing Slider’s eye.

“Actually,” Slider says, hand twitching as if he’s had to stop himself from resting it against your back, “I noticed your glass is empty.” Sli nods toward the bar, an invitation to refill your glass. You look up at him with a grin—a genuine one, not the soft smile that’s grown stale throughout Ice’s conversation—acceptance on your lips when–

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ice’s brow wrinkles, noticing for the first time that you’ve finished your drink.

”I didn’t want to interrupt,” is your bashful answer.

”Don’t be ridiculous,” Ice says. “I’ll come with you.”

”You don’t have to leave.” Slider will take care of me, you don’t say.

Ice picks up on the silent part but blatantly ignores it. His eyes take on that warm, charmed look, tongue peeking out before his lips curl into that honeyed smile you love so much. “You’re too good for me,” he says as if it’s a secret meant only for you. There’s no doubt he means it, but something about the way he’s playing the sentiment up for the brass makes it feel different in a way you’re not entirely comfortable with. No mistakes. “If you’ll excuse us, sir. Ma’am.”

Captain Reid is already turning to walk the room with his wife when Ice’s eyes narrow into what can only be described as a glare at Slider, his arm cementing itself around your waist in a way that probably looks far more relaxed than it feels.

”What?” Slider asks, shooting for casual, but now you’re not sure you’re buying it, either. “I’m just trying to do my part so you can talk to everyone on your list.” The subconscious flex of Ice’s jaw, as if he wishes he could chew out his frustration on the butt of a cig or some gum, doesn’t go unnoticed, but it does go unheeded. “Admiral Benjamin is on your list, right?” You perk up. As in Penny Benjamin? “I think I saw him by the corner with wife number three and Commander Johnson.”

“You know,” Ice says, his grin glacial, “it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you rubbed elbows at an event like this.”

Slider scoffs, though it’s affectionate. “Why bother? We both know my military career ends when you take a desk job. Besides, I think my time is much better spent keeping your date’s cup full.” You’ve all agreed to go to the bar, but no one is moving. The tension between Ice and Slider is palpable.

”Okay,” you interrupt. There’s something off about their banter tonight. You’ve seen Ice stare down many a handful of people since landing in Miramar, but never Slider. It’s enough to raise a sculpted brow. “What am I missing?”

Slider senses blood in the water. Sees the smoke in the air. The grin he gives you is far tighter than the one he gave the captain’s wife. He opens his mouth, but Ice beats him to the punch. “You said something about grabbing my date a drink.”

Slider’s jaw clicks shut, but his grin isn’t so easily wiped away. “More champagne?” When you nod, Slider picks his way toward the bar while Ice escorts you to the side of the room where there’s more room to breathe and a lesser likelihood that someone will overhear when he presses close. “Sli’s upset that you’re with me tonight.”

That’s it? You hadn’t thought the arrangement would bother Slider so much. The three of you had discussed it and mutually concluded that you should go with Ice. That you had to go with Ice. Was Slider having second thoughts?

“Well, not upset,” Ice concedes at the concern that drags your lips down. “But he was talking a big game.”

Color you curious. “What’d he say?”

“Well,” Ice pulls you closer so his breath tickles your ear and you can smell the mint on his breath, “he thinks he can get you off before we leave the building. Steal you away while you’re being my pretty little girlfriend for the brass.” You gulp. Where is Slider with that drink?

”Oh.”

Ice chuckles. “Yeah. Oh. But I’m not worried.” Two fingers find their way under your chin and lift until your eyes meet Ice’s. “I know you’ll be good for me.”

“What’s the winner get?”

”Bragging rights.”

”And?”

It’s impossible to miss the way Ice’s eyes flit to your lips and linger there because he can. Those are the perks of being your date out in the light of day. “Can’t that be it?”

“Could be,” you breathe and slowly wet your bottom lip with your tongue, delighting in the way gray-blue eyes track the movement, “but it isn’t.”

Ice double-checks that no one is eavesdropping on your conversation. “You remember what got delivered the other day?” Your breath hitches. Yeah. You remember the catalog order you’d put in for a remote-controlled toy. The excitement and disappointment that had come with unfortunate delivery schedules. “Single-night, exclusive access once we’re all home.”

”That’s quite a lot on the line.”

”It would be,” Ice concedes, one large hand spanning the small of your back, warming you and holding you close enough you can breathe in his cologne, “but you can be good for me, right, baby? I’ll make it worth your while.” You nod, a little dumb as you inhale teakwood, sage, and sea salt.

It’s sure to be a profoundly satisfying night as long as you can stick to the script.

“I’m not going to make it easy on you,” Slider promises, appearing by Ice’s shoulder.

”Wouldn’t be fun if you did.” Ice’s smirk is all cocky confidence, cracking only when he notices Slider has only fetched two flutes of champagne.

”Only got two hands, Tommy,” Slider says with a toothy grin, “but I’ll keep her company while you grab yourself a glass.” The crystal buzzes with the steady fizz of bubbles, your fingers brushing Sli’s ever so slightly before Ice pulls you back into the throng.

The room becomes more difficult to navigate with each new attendee, but Ice only seems more in his element as cocktail hour drags on. He introduces you to a flurry of officers and their wives whose jewel-tone dresses all start to blend together, brushing shoulders with the men who ultimately control his upward trajectory.

On his arm, you smile and nod, interjecting where appropriate because, despite the smattering of female officers present, the Navy remains very much a boy’s club.

Still, it’s nice to be shown off so publicly. To delight in the knowledge that Ice’s attention never strays far from you despite his planned schmoozing. You preen each time he introduces you to someone new with a tender look—there are many things tonight that may be manufactured, but that look isn’t one of them.

An ache blooms in the ball of your foot as Ice delivers on the same script over and over to increasingly dismal company. The throbbing is nothing compared to the pinpricks in your cheeks, though. Beauty pageant smiles are their own form of torture. But this is important.

It’s all for a good cause.

Tonight is important to Ice, so it’s important to you.

You’d do anything for your boys: ignore every sour expression at your last name, force a pleasant laugh along with each rear admiral’s wife, stifle a relieved sigh when everyone is invited to find their seats for dinner.

The flyboys have claimed three closely clustered tables during your absence, forcing others to walk around them as they spill into the spaces between each table, leaning close to make up for the distance forced by post-graduation reassignments. Viper is curiously absent, or perhaps Jester had pulled the short straw and been stuck with babysitting duties.

But there’s someone you don’t recognize at your table, sat between Merlin and Slider, a stranger in your midst. A smile splits Ice’s face when he spots him. “Cougar?” The man stands and pulls Ice into a quick embrace, Ice’s hand on the man’s—Cougar’s—shoulder. Ice makes quick work of introducing you to Bill Cortell and his wife, Maria. “Cougar and I were like brothers in flight school,” Ice beams. “We were supposed to meet up at TOPGUN, but–”

”It turned out for the best,” Cougar cuts Ice off goodnaturedly with a quick nod toward Pete. “Besides, desk life isn’t so bad.” Ice raises a brow at the assertion while Goose lets out a ‘bullshit!’ “Okay,” he cedes, “it’s pretty bad, but I wouldn’t give up being at home with Maria and the kids for the world.” Maria, who is heavily pregnant, rests her hand over her bundle of joy.

The lights choose that moment to dim, commanding stragglers to find their seats, but neither man moves. Slider stands up. “Here,” he offers Ice his seat on Cougar’s left because the two clearly have some catching up to do. Ice takes the seat while you slide over to stay seated next to him, and Slider takes your spot as the lights come up on the stage for the opening ceremony.

By the time everyone is seated and some speaker makes his way to center stage, Ice is only half paying attention to the night’s program. He and Cougar have a lot to catch up on in appropriately hushed whispers. You’re about to zone out when you’re yanked back to the present by a hand on your knee.

Above the table, for prying eyes, Slider doesn’t give anything away. Attention seemingly focused on the stage. Below the table’s skirt, however, you press your thighs together as Slider’s hand massages the skin exposed by the modified slit in your dress. Familiar callouses drawing senseless patterns above your knee. His hand stays there, occasionally giving you a comforting squeeze, like he knows you crave reassurance through gentle touches after being dragged so far out of your comfort zone. It’s nice. Before long, between the buzz of quiet conversation and each soothing caress, you relax back into your chair.

Polite applause fills the room as the admiral gives the podium to the next presenter. Pete and Carole chuckle at something Goose murmurs. Wolfman yawns. Someone coughs. A waiter comes around to top off champagne.

You wrap your fingers around the delicate stem of your flute, raising it to your lips in the same instant that Slider’s palm shifts so it’s wedged between your thighs. Your sharp breath is lost in the crowd as nimble fingers creep higher, never once pausing their massage.

The corner of Slider’s lip tugs the slightest bit up. Smug bastard. When you’re sure no one is paying attention, you give his wrist a tug, but instead of retreating, Slider brushes a finger against the flimsy fabric of your panties.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you become hyper-aware of how loud your breathing is, and your brain kicks into overdrive. Can anyone hear you over the clink of glasses? Your nails dig into the meat of Slider’s wrist in surprise, but you’re fairly confident that the rest of you looks normal—suddenly, you’re not sure what that means.

Is this the way a normal person’s mouth rests? The way a normal person sits in their chair? You need to leave, but you can’t. Being good for Ice, among other things, means not causing a scene. Not fleeing the room in the middle of a presentation. Not letting anyone know that while your boyfriend dutifully splits his time between the podium and his colleague, his RIO is pushing your underwear to the side for better access to your cunt. How you’re responding to his touch.

“Hey.” Pete’s giving you a strange look from across the table. “You okay?” From the way he’s pulled a face, you missed the bar for normal, and now Goose and Carole are also looking your way.

“I’m fine,” you hiss. “I-” need a distraction. You mentally stumble as Slider continues to stroke up and down your slit, his fingers spreading the wetness until they glide effortlessly through your lips.

The universe grants your wish when the crowd bursts into polite applause and the mic is turned over to the next speaker. “Isn’t that Admiral Benjamin?”

“As in Penny Benjamin?” Carole perks up, sitting tall in an attempt to get a better look at the stage while Pete bangs his head onto the table. Probably. You’re admittedly not paying attention.

Pleasure zings up your spine as thick fingers nudge your clit. A reward for redirecting the eyes on you. It’s everything you can do not to press your hips into the pressure or let your head loll back with a gasp. And with Penny’s father keeping attention off of you, Slider hooks an ankle around yours to encourage your legs further apart.

You shouldn’t, but Slider has always been convincing.

Ice won’t be particularly pleased with how promptly you gave into Slider’s suggestions, how readily your legs fall open, but that’s barely a blip on your radar as firm circles rub into your clit. The devil on your shoulder whispers that if Ice had really wanted to win, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be so easily distracted.

None of that matters nearly as much as it should when your heart pulses between your legs.

A hand lands on your velvet-covered thigh. Ice. “Sweetheart.” You whip your head around too quickly for the move to be anything but suspicious. Like you’ve been caught with your hand—or someone else’s—in the cookie jar. You try to focus on the cool, grounding pressure of his touch. It’s working, you think, but your leg is still trembling from the effort it takes to keep still. Keen eyes move from your face to your leg, trembling under his touch, to your lap, and then to Slider, where they narrow almost imperceptibly. “You alright?”

With a nod, you reach past your champagne for water to wet your dry throat. “Just taking it all in.”

A poor choice of words. Ever the opportunist, Slider presses a finger into your hole, the stretch delicious and unexpected enough that you almost choke. If anyone catches the color on your cheeks, you hope they’ll blame your earlier drinks.

“I was just saying I didn’t know Maverick had a sister,” Cougar says, this time loud enough for the table to hear him.

“He doesn’t talk about me much.”

“Yeah,” Pete scoffs, “because when people find out about you, this–” he gestures between you and Ice “–happens.”

“You got any other sisters, Mav?” Chipper’s question from the next table over prompts Pete to load a pomegranate seed onto this salad fork. He’s ready to launch, but a disapproving look from Jester dissuades him. Goose flips Chipper the bird in a show of solidarity.

“So when did this happen?” Cougar asks, eyes flitting from you to the blonde on your right.

Slider chuckles and leans into the conversation at the same time as he crooks his fingers. You bite the inside of your cheek. The circles Ice is rubbing into your knee aren’t as distracting as either of you wants them to be. “He hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of her since we made it to Miramar.”

Hypocrite. You clear your throat. “About five months?”

“Aw,” Maria sighs in that way so many in long-term relationships do. You try and fail to focus on that as a second finger prods at your opening before pushing in slowly. “You’re still in the honeymoon phase.” Thankfully, Ice steps in with a reply because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears when Slider rubs his fingers against your sweet spot, thumb applying steady pressure to your clit. Your nails dig crescent moons into Ice’s wrist in a last-ditch attempt to ground yourself because if Slider keeps this up, it’s going to take a miracle to keep you from causing a scene.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Viper’s unapologetic quip appears from seemingly nowhere. Your own personal savior. “I need to borrow Iceman and Slider, Maverick and Merlin, Hollywood and Wolfman.”

You shiver at the abrupt emptiness. Slider wipes his fingers, dripping with arousal, off on the tablecloth, eyes locked on Ice.

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persephonesportal · 5 months

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I SAID IT ONCE ILL SAY IT AGAIN! CHARLES YOU FKN BEAUTIFUL MAN, LESTAPPEN 1-2 LETS FKN GOOOOOO

#f1 #las vegas gp 2023 #goddesstakesonf1 #lestappen

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persephonesportal · 5 months

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My poor boy Logan has dropped positions so much it makes me wanna cry

#f1 #goddesstakesonf1 #las vegas gp 2023

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persephonesportal · 5 months

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YES CHARLES YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN KEEP GOING!!

#f1 #goddesstakesonf1 #las vegas gp 2023

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persephonesportal · 5 months

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What is this race honestly? First Lando out, now Max and George making contact??

#f1 #goddesstakesonf1

0 notes

persephonesportal · 6 months

Text

I absolutely loved this!! 🥰🥰

Figlia Mia - Charles Leclerc

Words: 6,231 Summary: When she had met Charles Leclerc for the first time in 2017, she watched as her grandfather gave him the impossible task of restoring Ferrari’s greatness and her the task of making sure he does so. Note(s): This was a lot of fun to write. I got to do a lot of digging into Ferrari’s history in motorsports and F1, and make sure that the changes I made to the history of Ferrari made some sense. I also got to reignite my love for stats and things. I spent a lot of time looking at different circuit stats (which will be relevant in the second part of this fic) and just driver stats. Used a translator for the Italian but not google translate. Also, I shouldn’t have to say this but: How I write the drivers in these fics is not based on my feelings for them, it is just what I need them to be. So, please don’t send me hate because your favorite driver says or acts or is regarded in a certain way. Thanks! Hope you like this!

Taglist | Masterlist

Figlia mia - my daughter stella - star

2017

She eyes her grandfather wearily. He had called her home early from her classes and she had rushed home to Maranello.

“Nonno, what is the matter?” His gaze turns to her and he smiles, the solemn look on his face gone as he sees her. “My stella. You are back home.” His accent is thick as it wraps around the English words, always willing to indulge her. She sighs, leaning down to hug him. “You called me back. Did something happen?” He shakes his head, patting her hand when she straightens. “No, I have a meeting that I want you to attend with me.” She frowns. “It is late in the season for a meeting. Did Vettel or Räikkönen break contract?” “No. It’s for the team, but more of a future prospect.” Her frown deepens. “If it’s Hamilton, he won’t leave Mercedes and you shouldn’t entertain him, Nonno. You only have so much energy.” “I don’t want to take him from Mercedes. He wouldn’t be able to win with us anyways.” He groans as he thinks of how long it’s been since his team has won, and has achieved the greatness they are supposed to. “I just want your opinion, they should be here any minute.”

An uneasiness sits heavy in her stomach at how cryptic he’s being with her, something he never is, but she sits in the chair beside him. Taking his hand in both of hers and breathing a sigh of relief at the strongness still in his hands, no shakiness to be found. He was in good health, she reminded herself as they waited. He hadn’t even had a cold for three years, but still her mind worries.

“Mr. Enzo, Stella, your guests have arrived.” Anita’s voice says through the intercom. He presses the button to talk. “Please have Andrea get them and bring them back and tell him to stay as well.” “Andrea is here?” He hums, “I asked him to come. I have an idea.” She doesn’t say anything else to that and keeps quiet as she waits for whoever to arrive.

There’s a slight relief in it not being either Vettel or Räikkönen, she wasn’t keen to meet them for the first time right now, not when she had rushed home. She also didn’t want her grandfather meeting them now for the first time, so late in the year where he could catch an illness.

A knock sounds on the wooden door and she turns her head to look at it. Releasing her grandfather's hand from hers and moving to stand behind his chair. Her normal position in such meetings.

“Enter.” He calls and the door opens. “Signor.” Andrea greets, as he steps into the room, two, or rather one man and one boy following behind him with wide eyes. “I have your guests.” “Please sit, the three of you.” He tells them and they all quickly do.

Her eyes narrow as she recognises the familiar face of the man who is currently running the Ferrari Driver Academy and the just familiar face of the current F2 champion. The sight makes her want to lean down, to question why a F2 driver of all people is being allowed to meet her grandfather. A luxury he hasn’t afforded a single F1 driver since her father died other than Michael Schumacher. And even then he had won a championship first with them. But such a thing isn’t not her place, especially in front of guests, so she keeps quiet as her grandfather does as well, clearly waiting them out, letting the tension in the room build.

“Charles Leclerc.” Her grandfather says and the boy practically jumps. “You started winning in karting before you were even ten in 2005 and never stopped. A second place in Alps, then fourth in the European F3.” She watches as he winces at the reminder of what he clearly views as failures. “But you won your first year of GP3 and now have won F2. Truly impressive.” His eyes are still wide and they dart to the left before returning. “Thank you, Signor.” Her eyebrows raise at the way the Italian term leaves his mouth. He clearly had invested time in his Italian lessons. “Don’t thank me. You’ve done well for yourself. And now you have an F1 seat.” Her eyes darted to Andrea, “Nonno.” She hisses, stepping forward. “Andrea has signed the appropriate NDA’s and contracts, stella. There is no need for your worry.” This meeting seemed to be nothing but worrying for her. And suddenly the employment contract she had seen in her inbox for Andrea makes all the sense, especially since it had been sent to her directly, not cc'd.

“You will be joining Sauber this coming season. Are you ready?” “I hope and believe I am.” “And you have a team? A trainer, your own PR manager? A assistant?” Charles shakes his head, cheeks red. “I’m afraid not. I only signed the contract two days ago. I haven’t made arrangements.” “And your plans for the 2019 season? Still at Sauber?” “I only signed a one year contract with them. So I hope to stay with them if I can.” He hums and the tone if it tells her everything she needs to know and it takes everything in her to not show the horror she’s feeling. “There will be a spot open at Ferrari for the 2019 season. Show me you can handle an F1 car and perhaps it will be yours.” The three sitting opposite stare at him with wide eyes and Charles’ mouth is open, jaw dropped. “And Andrea will be your trainer. I have a good feeling about you Charles Leclerc, prove me right.” He then nods his head towards the door and the three scramble to stand and leave with rushed goodbyes.

She stands behind him for a moment before walking around the desk and flopping down in one of the seats.

“That boy is going to get destroyed.” “He is a boy to me. Barely a year younger than you, I believe.” She scoffs, “please, nonno. You have just put the biggest weight on his shoulders. Prove to me? And what if he speaks of this? Of getting to meet the great Enzo Ferrari when the man doesn’t leave his house and hasn’t met any drivers or even team principals in person since Schumacher.” “Then you will handle it, I suppose. And I will be proven wrong about the boy since he had to sign an NDA. Not a word of this meeting or this trip to Italy.” “And if people ask about Andrea? How they met? How he came to work with him?” “The academy put them in contact together. And no one will think anything of it. He is too distantly related to think that we have anything to do with it. Nor has he ever spoken of us.” His eyes soften as he really looks at her. “Everything will be fine, stella. I have a good feeling about this one.” She looks at him, worries still sitting heavy in her stomach, horror too, because god what if her grandfather had just sentenced him to forever chasing a dream he can’t have and faith in them that they are unable to deliver. She knows already that both Räikkönen and Vettel are feeling that way, their faith in Ferrari wavering if not gone. “I won’t be able to do anything to help him. Not for years.” “You will be able to help. Not as much as you will in a few years time, but you can still help. We still make decisions for the team and sign off on things.” “And if he leaves before then?” “He won’t.” His voice is quiet, but filled with unwavering faith. Faith she wants to feel herself. “He will be what our team needs to become champion and he won’t leave until he gets that.”

2018

“Vettel is not happy that he wasn’t told before about getting a rookie as a teammate.” She tells her grandfather, looking over the top of her laptop at him. “Sebastian will deal.” Enzo coughs. “And he won’t have a rookie as a teammate.” She makes a humming noise, looking at all of the articles about the announcement of Charles Leclerc joining the historic F1 team before opening her email again. “Should I cover Andrea’s costs again?” “Yes. As long as you aren’t in power with the team, I want Charles kept close.” “That won’t happen until the end of the 2023 season. You want us to pay for Andrea that long?” “Andrea is also family.” He reminds her, before lips twitch into a smile. “And there is a reason he doesn’t receive as large of a Christmas bonus as everyone else anymore.”

2020

“They want to sign Sainz for a two year deal.” He snorts, “and for what? Let me guess sponsors?” “They’re serious about this, nonno. His team has already approached us about a two year contract.” “And he can’t go to Aston because Vettel is going there for two years.” “And he’ll never go back to Red Bull. Mercedes won’t entertain the idea.” “But we are?” He groans, running a hand over his face. “God, what has happened to this team? He hasn’t gotten a single podium, a win! And he’ll hit a hundred races this year. That is who they want on the team?” “He was sixth in the driver standings last year.” “Could he handle it?” She frowns. “Maybe. We wouldn’t know until it happened. He’s older like Vettel, has more experience as well than Leclerc. But Leclerc already has wins under his belt, managed to get fourth in the standings in only his second year. He was teammates with Verstappen in his rookie year, so it’s possible he could handle it.” “A two year contract, huh?” “Two years.”

2022

“Sainz wants to be extended.” She rubs at her forehead, the email, moreso the wording was troubling. “And why should we?” “Because he finished ahead of Charles in the driver's standings last year.” “By less than ten points and due to our own team's failings. They way they embarrassed him in Monaco.” He shakes his head, the rage he felt that day watching it happen coming back. “Four podiums to one. And neither got a win.” “Who needs a seat?” “There’s rumors about Schumacher.” “No.” He shakes his head, fingers beginning to tap against his desk. “Maybe in a few seasons, but not now.” “Bottas, Guyuan, De Vries, Hulkenberg.” He scoffs at all the names. “A friend at McLaren said they’re looking to drop Ricciardo.” His fingers stop. “Ricciardo. He’d understand his role.” “And as long as we treat him better than Red Bull did or how McLaren are, we’d have him.” “Why do they want to drop him?” “Underperforming. Norris is doing better.” He looks at her disbelief. “Please tell me that’s a joke.” She shakes her head. “He gave that fucking fake British team their first win in a decade!” “He’s older and despite his knack for giving good development advice, they’re ignoring it for Norris’.” He rubs at his forehead. “Write him down. Maybe we can get a talk with him before another team manages to snatch him up. Who else?” “It’s all reserves and formers now. There’s Piastri who's serving as Alpine’s reserve this season, wouldn’t shock me if they’ve already signed a contract with him for the next year but haven’t announced it though. We or Haas really has Illot still under contract as a reserve.” He shakes his head. “Leave him in Indycar for a few seasons. Might try him in 2024 when we’re looking for another driver.” She nods, writing his name down with 2024 beside it. “And Piastri?” “No. Alpine probably has something signed with him already. They’d be stupid not to.” “That leaves Ricciardo and Sainz.” He frowns. “Reach out to Ricciardo. We nearly had him for 2021, we should’ve taken him.” “Understood.”

As she begins to type out her email to Ricciardo’s team and she wonders how Blake will react to seeing an email for Ferrari, Enzo speaks.

“How is Charles?” “Nonno.” “I can’t ask?” “You are fishing.” She replies, not looking away from her laptop. “But he is good. Ready for the season to start.” “Hmm. And will he be coming for dinner?” She pauses her typing, looking at him. “Are you asking him to come to dinner?” “I’d like to meet the boy that has made my granddaughter so happy.” “Oh, nonno. It is not a boy that is making me so happy. Just you. You have been in better spirits for the last year.” She laughs. “And isn't it interesting that it was only when you started seeing him that both of our spirits rose?” Her eyes narrow. “Don’t make me take the Leclerc name.” It’s a high insult to the Ferrari name, one that her grandfather has made sure that she knew better to even joke about, but he doesn’t react with his fiery temper, just smirks. “It’s serious enough for marriage but not for you to bring him to meet me?” Blood rushes to her cheeks. “You have met him.” “When he was a boy.” He counters. “One you had distaste for.” He reminds her not that she has ever forgotten.

She had told Charles on their third date about it, watching as his mouth gaped at her, unable to believe that the boy he was at the age could be distasteful. Now, he likes to tease her about it. About how she didn’t like him but as soon as he left the room and she was issued the challenge of making sure he got to Ferrari she did.

“I haven’t met him since. I haven’t met him as your partner. And we both know that you’ll be taking each other's names.” “It is too early to say that.” She tells him, voice quiet. “But I’ll message him. He’ll love to meet you.”

2023

“This is ridiculous!” “I told you that this would happen! You put your hopes and dreams on a boy and look at what has happened!” “I did no such thing!” “You did! And I told you that you would ruin him. That he would lose faith just like the ones before and now look.” She waves a hand at the TV in front of them, playing the lowlights of the season. “He didn’t just go to that meeting with Red Bull and then shut it down like he has before, he entertained it.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “He should’ve left us for them when they first fucking offered.” “You do not mean that.” “Look at what our team has done to him! Look at what you have done! I have no power there and barely do you. I get to vote on what drivers we add to the team, but it is one vote, against six others. Same goes for the general direction of the car, which we both were out voted in. And that is it, that is my power! I don’t get to give him the Ferrari team he deserves, that we deserve, because you signed it away when my father died until I turn twenty-seven!” She turns away from Enzo, taking in a shaky breath, before turning back to him. “And you will not ever bring it up to Charles that he considered leaving us or if he does. Because I set up that meeting with Red Bull for him.” He looks at her resigned, saddened, but not surprised. “You would let him leave?” “I don’t let him do anything. I love you, nonno. I love this team. But it is not just Charles that they are disappointing and letting down. It is our fans, our people, our family, our legacy, me, you. Next month, I get to finally take back our families power in the sport and it is already too late for this season and nearly too late for the next. I can’t even guarantee a good first season with me in charge because of where the car is already developed too. And the upgrades.” She shakes her head. “None of it would matter with the team that is working there.”

“What do you want to do?” She looks at him, struggling not to cry, and she folds herself down in front of him, taking her hands in his. “A new structure and house. The voting can stay, but it has anonymity, we don’t talk about who is going to vote for what, only after the votes have been cast we talk, discuss, but with us having the power to veto if decisions are being made too much on outside factors like money and perceptions. Drivers who have multi-year contracts starting next season can be present for the votes, hear why we voted for what we did and even jump in on discussions if they feel inclined. We change. We have been stagnant for too long. We need new blood and beliefs.” He starts to shake his head and she squeezes his hands.

“Nonno, please just listen to me.” She pleads. “We need a complete overhaul of the team, you know it and have said it yourself. I can’t just hire Italian first, not when that has ended with us where we are now. I can offer everyone severance packages, pay for it all myself, but no more Italian first. We take who is best suited for the team and hope they are Italian. Maybe we baptize them if they aren’t.” His lips quirk into a smile. “The strategy team needs to go, PR, social media, the race engineers.” “Sainz likes his race engineer.” “Sainz also likes to say that he comes up with the strategy used in the races but as soon as they fail, he backtracks. He is a fair driver, but he needs to be retrained in PR.” “His family needs a gag order.” Her grandfather huffs. “Yes, but that is not something we can do. What we can do is get him retrained and get a new PR manager for him, same with social media. Charles will be getting the same. He needs an image refresh.” “This is what you want?” “Yes. I want to bring our team back to greatness. I already have the people I want for the team, I’m just waiting for your approval and for the next month to pass before I start sending out contracts.” He sighs, looking in pain. “Can they at least speak Italian?” She smiles, standing to press a kiss to his cheek. “They can learn and they will quickly.” Another sigh leaves him but he smiles, warm and gentle at her. “Mia figlia, la mia stella, fai quello che devi. Il mio supporto è tuo, sempre.” My daughter, my star, do what you must. My support is yours, always. “Thank you, papa.”

October 23rd, 2023

She stands facing the back wall of the room, listening as the door opens and people trudge in. She tries to count the pairs of feet she hears. She knows how many are supposed to come to this meeting, how many she asked to come, but it wouldn’t surprise her if someone let slip that the new boss, and the big boss at that, had arranged a meeting that a few people would try tagging along.

It’s the sound of the door shutting and then locking from the inside that has her turning around, giving a nod of thanks to her bodyguard, Roman, who inclines his head before retreating to the left front corner of the room.

“I see you all made it.” She says, her Italian accent barely noticeable around the English words and she can see a few faces turn confused at the English. Ferrari was Italian, they spoke Italian, had meetings in Italian. And more importantly, she was not just Ferrari, but a Ferrari. One that only three people in this room had ever met in person, and only two others had seen her face because of video calls. “Good, let's talk about the dumpster fire that was yesterday.” She can see a few faces balk at her words, but it’s Sainz’s that gets her attention. “You don’t agree?” “It was an unfortunate thing that happened to Charles, but I still ended up in P3.” “Due to a disqualification. Which is also what happened to your teammate. This also is the third time you’ve ended up on the podium due to such a thing. Let us also not forget to acknowledge that while the FIA didn’t check your car, like they should have after finding that two of four of the cars they checked had issues with their planks, doesn’t mean we didn’t.” He frowns and so does a good majority of the room. “I don’t understand.” “Your planks were just like Leclerc’s. Just barely under what they should be. But still enough for disqualification.” Eyes widen and she continues. “Not that it matters, because I won’t be alerting the FIA of such a thing. Not when the teams didn’t get enough time to set up the car because of the sprint format and I don’t think we need to give McLaren more of a jump on us.”

Walking around the room, she nearly pauses behind Charles' chair. Wants so badly to squeeze his hand, to offer him comfort or a way to get his frustrations out, but she continues until she is at the front of the room.

“The FIA won’t get rid of sprint races, but myself and a few other team representatives, will be going to them with a new sprint format for the next season hopefully or for at least starting the 2025 season. I expect both of you,” she looks at Sainz and Charles, “to voice your support. And I’m sure Red Bull, Williams, Mercedes, McLaren, Aston Martin, Alpine, and Haas, will be saying the same to their drivers as well.” “You want us to support a format that could be worse?” Charles asks, and she can see a few shakes of the head at him. “No, I want you to support one that is better. For Sprint weekends, you will have free practice one and the sprint shootout on Friday. On Saturday, there will be the sprint, followed by second free practice, then qualifying. Sundays of course will just be race day. Does that sound worse?” “No. You think the FIA will go for it?” “The FIA won’t have much of a choice. And besides next year allows each team to have more tyre’s allocated, they’ll want something extra to help burn through them to make it more interesting.”

“Now,” She lifts the lid of one of the two file boxes she has. “Leclerc, Sainz.” Both grimace at the use of their last names, but she catches a glimpse of amusement from Charles. “I have meetings with both of your management teams after this. Sainz, you’ll be getting a new PR manager, Ana. She or her assistant Val, will be with you for every event, interview, or anything else PR wise. Sometimes they both will.”

She turns her head to look at Charles. “Leclerc, you're getting an image refresh. I’m not letting a driver for this team have a vast majority of people thinking there’s nothing behind your apparently good looks.”

“Why isn’t Charles getting a babysitter?” She raises a brow at the tone and question. “Ana and Val aren’t babysitters, they work in PR. They will be retraining you. Because at the moment I could be breaking your contract right now with four races left in the season due to the public clause and if you have to ask why, you need more help than I thought.” He looks at her in shock and she can see a few people in the room shift uncomfortably. “Also concerning both of you, you both will have new race engineers in Mexico. Your previous engineers were lacking.” They both look uncomfortable with the decision but don’t say anything and she turns her attention to Fred.

“Fred.” “Ms. Ferrari.” She smiles at the title, though there’s nothing polite or happy about it. “This is your team is not?” She gestures to the drivers, the heads of different departments that all sit in the room with them. “Yes.” “Then, why am I doing your job for you and handling them?” With that she starts throwing out the severance packages onto the table. When she runs out of ones in the first box, she takes the lid off the second and just tips it over, letting them spill out.

“Severance packages.” She states, seeing some people's confused looks. “Some are effective immediately. Others will be given after the last race.” “Fabio’s name is here.” “So is Gualtieri and Cardile. They have been given generous severance packages.” She reassures. “You will meet their replacements either later today or in Mexico.” “They are heads of their departments!” “And they have failed at their jobs. As has everyone who has been issued one of these.”

—

“How did they take it?” “Safe to say I haven’t made any friends.” “So, it's going well.” She snorts, smiling at Charles as he enters her hotel suite. “I’m fairly certain they all would like to burn me at the stake.” Charles frowns. “Not Charles of course.” “Is he there?” “Just got here.” She confirms. “Do you want to talk to your grandson?” She teases and predictably Charles flushes. “Yes, yes. I want to make sure that he’s taking care of you, protecting you.” She rolls her eyes at the last part but passes the phone to Charles, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she does before stepping around him to her open laptop.

Leaning against the desk, she stares at the list in front of her. A list of drivers, currently on the grid, reserves, and not yet on the grid. Before the halfway point of the 2024 season she’d either have to sign contracts for one new driver or two for the 2025 season and now it just came down to who she wanted to reach out to.

A good amount of them are already on the bottom half of the page under the bolded words, not an option.

Verstappen was there, both Mercedes drivers, Bottas, Hulkenberg, Magnuessen, Alonso, Ocon, Stroll, Perez, Norris. She chooses not to look too closely at the fact that she doesn’t have Piastri there. She’d buy out a contract if need be and she knew Mark. If she proved that Ferrari could improve and be a winning team under her, he’d be willing to help her break a contract or two.

She jolts when a pair of lips presses themselves to her forehead, her phone being set down next to her laptop. “Your list is interesting. No Antonio?” “He’s a good development driver.” She says, typing his name out under not an option. Charles hums, sitting in the chair and then pulling her onto his lap, carefully pulling her legs to hangover the arm of the chair. “You have two Indycar drivers under possible.” She shrugs. “I’ll watch closely as the first few races go for them. They only have contracts for the 2024 season.” “Not that it would matter.” She grins, huffing out a laugh. “Not that it would matter.”

She watches as he peers at the list, his hands rubbing at her calf. “You have a lot of no’s.” His eyes narrow as he scans it again. “Mick, Ollie, and Vesti all under maybe?” “Vesti’s done well for himself, Mercedes is just going to waste him. Especially if he’s any good in an F1 car. Bearman’s had a strong first season in F2. Schumacher,” She hesitates. “I’m not keen on the idea. Especially with two seasons out of F1, but there is the opportunity to put him in Alfa Romeo.” “But Valterri and Zhou.” “Valterri knows he won’t be promoted back up. He’s doing good for being at Alfa Romeo, but he also has a lot of other ventures and pursuits. I’d like to keep him for another year or two after for development if I can.” He hums, “Alex and Schwartzman?” “Albon is sticking to Williams like glue. Which is understandable after Red Bull, but there’s hope.” She doesn’t mention that she’d think that he’d be a good teammate for Charles. “Schwartzman is already under contract with us. Just as a reserve and for testing, but who knows.”

He presses a kiss to her shoulder and he reads the top of the list, the possibles. He had only skimmed it before, but now he gives it his full attention.

“I’m on here.” “Yes.” “But,” “You don’t have an extension with us. You are only contracted with us for this next season. And as much as I’d like to keep you as would the fans and nonno, we haven’t proven that we deserve to have you here. I have to keep my options open that there will be two drivers I have to sign for 2025.” “I don’t like it.” He tells her, frowning. He didn’t like to think about not being at Ferrari, at the possibility of it, especially now with her at the helm and already making drastic changes. He didn’t know yet if those changes were good or not, but it felt like they were, he hoped that they were.

Piastri, Ricciardo, Drugovich, and he blinks as reads the last name, saying it outloud. “Sargeant. You have Sargeant under possible? Not a maybe but possible?” “Sargeant would sign a contract with us in a heartbeat, no contracts to break. 2024 will be a one year for him.” “Something has been signed?” She shrugs, “it’s common sense to keep him. Otherwise they’d just be dealing with a whole other rookie.” He sighs, jaw twitching. “I don’t like it. He has only scored a point because of my disqualification.” “I know.” “He has cost them much.” “I know.” Charles pouts, “he is American.” She lets out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That will be your issue with him? His Americanness?” “Yes.” “Well, it’s just a possibility.” She smiles, before leaning down to press their lips together in a quick kiss. “Now, tell me out of everyone in the maybes and possibles who you’d want as a teammate.” “And what? You’ll make it happen?” “If I can give you a good season next year, I’ll do everything I can.”

He eyes the list, taking in the names he mentioned before and the few he didn’t.

Pierre would end in a dumpster fire and he was selfish enough to say that he didn’t want him as a teammate so they could keep their friendship, one so close to his heart. Lawson was an interesting idea, he had performed well for having to suddenly jump into a car. Alex would be a good teammate as well and he knew that Alex would also love the development side of things like he did.

He didn’t know enough about Drugovich or either of the Indycar drivers really. They had performed fair in F2 and were doing well in Indycar, but it was unknown. He could see them both though at Alfa Romeo. Ollie was too young to step into such a huge seat, maybe for him also Alfa Romeo in 2025 and by 2028 he’d be ready to step in and then take over a seat.

Oscar and Sargeant are both interesting for completely different reasons. He wishes that she had gotten power in the beginning of 2022 and when the Alpine drama happened, snatched Oscar up.

But there’s one name that he keeps on looking at, that’s circling in his head.

“Daniel. If I could have anyone, I’d want Daniel.”

There’s a shared pained history there and Charles knows that he took what was going to be Daniel’s seat in 2019 before Ferrari really started gunning for him while Renault took a keen interest in Daniel.

Charles could still remember around the fifth race of the 2020 season when Daniel had cornered him, looking nervous to be around him for the first time since their accidentally shared Vegas trip that made them break the ice. Daniel seemed so much smaller as he asked Charles if he’d be okay with them being teammates next season, and had seemed shocked by the relieved and happy grin Charles had given him.

She hesitates, “I never said anything, but I tried getting Daniel for 2024 and even 2023 when the rumors about McLaren dropping him started up.” “But Carlos?” “He asked for an extension, but nonno and me wanted to present a different option. But by the time I reached out, Red Bull had managed to snatch him back up. He’s only with them though for 2024. He’s free after that.” “So, you are saying?” He hopes. “I’m saying that, I’ve already reached out as of yesterday. Red Bull isn't in any hurry to get him under contract for 2025 and Blake has made it clear that Daniel isn’t signing any contracts until May or June to them and us.” “Which is enough time to prove that the team is improving.” “Yes.”

He stares at her wide eyed speechless. “What does that mean?” “If we improve?” He nods. “We sign you and Daniel until 2027.” She pauses, hesitating, but she won’t lie to him now. “We let you two battle it out at the beginning of the 2025 season. If Daniel is scoring more points, higher on the podium than you by break, you defend. We’ll ask you to let him pass if both of you can get on the podium or he has better pace and can get on it. We let him become world champion first. And it would go the other way around as well.” He rolls the idea in his mind, lets it sit in his stomach. “Daniel Ricciardo the 2025 world champion and Charles Leclerc the 2026 world champion.”

He lets them sit in the air, the idea of practically another three seasons before it could happen. Could he wait that long? Watch as Daniel got it before him? Watch as his teammate got it before him? Could he let himself be sacrificed for his teammates gain again? He thinks it over, because it is not fair for her to ask, to say, but that is what driving in Formula One is. It is not fair, with unequal machinery and only twenty spots available. To have to worry not just about your race but also your teammates depending on where the point standings are at.

But she is offering him something that he wasn’t before and with clearness, transparency. Not something that will be dropped on him in the middle of the race or as he’s about to finish lap ten or fifty. She’s telling him now what to expect and how it will go. She’s letting him know that it doesn’t matter which one is in the lead for the championship, just that whichever one isn’t when they come back from break, will be defending and he thinks now of her emphasis on the word. Not sacrificing, but defending. She wouldn’t let either of them be compromised so badly that they drop either low in the points or out of the points completely, but she would ask that they defend the other.

“I want it. Even if I do have to wait an extra year. It’d be worth it.” “And if you won in 2025 and then Daniel in 2026?” “We could trade off years, but I want it, I want that.” She smiles and there’s something sweet and dangerous about it. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

@eleetalks @cixrosie @badbatch-simp24 @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @copper-boom @topguncultleader @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @benstormy @bibliosaurous

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persephonesportal · 8 months

Text

When I say I’m OBSESSED with @dilemmaontwolegs stuff 😍😩

Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark.

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents.

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you.

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more.

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger.

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk.

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest.

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

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persephonesportal · 1 year

Text

World Jumper

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

A/N: Also on AO3

Chapter: Pulse of Magic

Third POV:

In a city that has been the most kept secret for the last 5000 years to reside in the Night Court in the country of Prythian, lies an elegant house that reaches up towards the shining star filled night sky, with 10,000 steps leading to the very front door. A shift in the wind breezes under the door and throughout the house before it reaches the very room where the five most sacred fae of that very court are found, sipping on wine and sharing laughter at each others’ expense. Sat on one couch is the most intimidating male to be found, radiating pure power, with dark tanned skin, black hair but his eyes were his most prominent feature. His iris a deep purple, but at a closer glance contains constellations and stars that drew you into them. Lies in front of us is Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful High Lord to date and around him were the members of his most trusted allies, Amren his second and an other worldly being, Morrigan his cousin and third in command, Cassian the general of his armies and Lord of bloodshed and finally, Azriel, Rhysand’s spymaster, shadowsinger and wielder of Truth-Teller.

Being of the Night Court, Rhysand has earned himself a bad reputation, but that is merely a facade in front of other courts. Rhys has kept his people within Velaris, the city of starlight as safe as can be from being discovered and attacked by others. He has been High Lord since the death of his father after that fateful night in the Autumn Court, and lost his mother and sister because of the Autumn Court’s brutality and betrayal by one he called a friend.

In the midst of laughing at one of Cassian’s retellings, Rhysand shifts and goes silent before straightening up at the weird feeling. It felt as if someone had stuck their hand into his chest, wrapped it around his heart and slightly squeezed in pulses. Grappling onto him with some unknown magic. He looks around before catching Amren’s eyes, who looked the same as he did.

“Did you feel that?” Rhys questioned his second in command, but instead of Amren answering, she was interrupted.

“Feel what? What is going on?” Morrigan rises up from her slouched position, concern written on her face.

“Magic”, Amren responded, “Not from this world.” A sinking feeling in her chest at the familiar magical signature, but Amren doesn’t dwell on it, thinking it to be impossible.

“Magic? As in witchcraft?” Laughs Cassian, “Yeah right,” not knowing how wrong he is.

“It grappled onto me, as if asking to come find it” Rhys says after a moment of deliberation, “We will look tomorrow, someone could be in trouble’, Saying nothing more on the matter.

The group retire for the night, questions on everyone’s minds about the magic, but one seemed to linger on Amren’s. Could it possibly be Liana, after all these years, but how would she have gotten here. Amren couldn’t understand but falls asleep, dreaming of her star sister.

Meanwhile, Rhys stays awake a little longer, trying to grip onto the sensation, trying to send pulses back down the link only to receive nothing in return. Finally he sends an image of Ramiel and her three stars down the temporary bond before he drifts off to sleep, dreaming of beautiful dark eyes containing stars and a contagious laugh floods his ears.

The sun rose quicker than Rhys had anticipated but still welcomed the sight of the sun’s rays peeking over Ramiel’s point and shining upon the buildings of Velaris. Azriel and Cassian had already awoke and were in the midst of sparring when Rhysand winnowed to the roof of the house to train with his brothers.

The boys could tell Rhys was distracted with something as they went against each other. Sharing a look between two out of three brothers in agreement, they turn their attacks against the third. Az slips into the shadows behind Rhys as Cass ferociously charges from the front. Rhys predicting his brothers’ moves, dodges out of the way causing Cass to tumble straight into Azriel.

Rhysand heads towards the practice dummy while the boys pick themselves up from the ground.

“What’s wrong Rhys?” Cass asks, approaching the high lord, “don’t tell me last night is still on your mind.”

“A bit yeah, I had the weirdest dream after that pulse of magic” Rhys responds as he begins to wrap his hands.

“What kind of dream” Azriel asks, concerned for his oldest friend and high lord.

Rhys shakes his head, “ I dreamt of the most beautiful eyes, as if they contained millions of constellations and she had a beautiful laugh”, like it warmed my very soul Rhys thinks but doesn’t admit out loud in front of his brothers.

Cassian opens his mouth to question Rhys further but is cut off by a sharp glance courtesy of Azriel. Simply shutting his mouth, they leave Rhys alone to take his frustrations out on the practice dummy while Az and Cass continue to spar in the ring.

A whole hour goes by before the boys retire for the morning, heading to freshen up and head down to breakfast. Rhys strolls into the dining room to be greeted by Mor and Amren, wide awake at the table. He takes his place at the head of the table, his breakfast consisting of oatmeal and a coffee sits in front of him with a issue of the day’s Velaris’ paper rested beside it.

As soon as Rhys has had his first sip, he is bombarded by questions from Mor in regards to last nights’ events and what his plan might be.

“So, what is the plan Rhys?” Mor questions over the rim of her water chalice.

“Plan for what?”, Rhys knew what his cousin was asking about but still decided to torment her by pretending.

“You know what, the pulse of magic or whatever” Mor replies, in a slightly aggravated tone of voice but no malice in her words.

Azriel and Cassian choose that moment to stroll through the doorway, Cass plopping down next to Mor while Az sits at the opposite end of the table.

The four of them spend some time discussing what to do in regards to the being who grappled on to Rhys, Amren still sat at the table quietly. She was lost in thought, thinking over and over again about her memories with Liana and how she hoped it was her star sister that finally was in this world.

Once there was a lull in the conversation, Rhys looks over to his second. He slips into her mind, using a gentle talon to tap onto her mental shields. Amren grants him access, Rhys is then bombarded with all these moments of a gorgeous nymph with long black hair and the exact same eyes that haunted his dreams the night before.

seeing the questions and confusion on Rhys' face, Amren answers in a somewhat unexpected somber tone, "Her name is Liana, but don't get your hopes up it might not be her" .

"Who?" Cassian asks the question on everyone's mind.

"The one from my dreams" Rhys says, distracted by playing those moments over and over again. "Might be the one who we're dealing with"

"She was my star sister" Amren leaves the conversation at that, excusing herself from the table and walks away.

Breakfast continues on without the second in command, conversation flying around but Rhysand takes no notice. He decides that they will go looking in 2 days time. He will have Azriel scout ahead before they go wandering.

He has got to meet this woman, even if its the last thing he does.

#acotar #rhysand x oc #acotar fanfiction #crossover

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persephonesportal · 1 year

Photo

I'm honestly so in love with this 😍

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·. Coming Soon .·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Keep reading

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persephonesportal · 1 year

Note

👰🏻‍♀️❤️🤵🏻‍♂️🏝️💕

Definetly looking forward to this lovely!! ❤️ 💙

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persephonesportal · 1 year

Text

I've been simping over the bat boys recently, so when I say I'm in love with this! Definitely check out the first and second part

Wildest Dreams (III)

ACOTAR The Batboys x Plus size reader

Where the reader finds herself gaining the attention of the most notorious males in Prythian and it seems that even her wildest dreams couldn't prepare her for the night they would share.

Notes: This has Rhys, Cassian and Azriel with a plus-size reader since I literally couldn't decide who it should be and thought that the best fantasy in the world would be all three :) Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some bat-boy love too xo

Warning: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, smut and the bat boys being utterly infatuated with their thick, beautiful lady

Part I Part II

“This is where you live?” I muttered, my eyes scouring my surroundings in disbelief.

I lifted my eyes to the right, meeting Rhysand’s gaze, my brain forcing me to not focus on his hand trailing aimlessly at the nape of my back. He smiled, shrugging modestly as he nodded as if this wasn’t the most extravagant yet cosy home I’d ever seen.

“It’s beautiful,” I said softly, turning back to the ornate red-carpet and wood-panelled walls. The males remained silent behind me, allowing me to take in the room and I glanced back, trying not to overwhelm myself as realisation set in.

The realisation that I was here alone with these three males.

Rhysand had winnowed us all here after I had accepted their invitations, using his Daemati skills to tell Sadie where I was going- I could still see the shit-eating grin she gave me from across the floor as we left.

I had felt exhilarated after saying yes, exhilarated and needy as my words seemed to ignite a fire within them too, as if they envisioned the night ahead we’d share. And yet, now that I stood here, alone, unprepared, uncertain with them before me, that confidence dwindled into ashes.

They seemed to notice it too, their body language easy and unthreatening as they stood before me.

Rhysand stood tall, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, eyes soft and patient upon me. My gaze travelled to Cassian who sat on the arm of the sofa, a warm smile playing on his lips at my stare. And then finally my eyes moved to the left, where Azriel stood, arms folded, back leaned against the wall, watching me as keenly as I watched them.

I tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ears as the silence lingered on and I couldn’t help the way my fingers fiddled and pulled, knowing that this was not the kind of interaction they were used to.

We all stood too far away and wore way too much clothing.

Rhysand huffed a breathy laugh and my eyes drew from their haze as I looked at him, my cheeks heating at the knowing smile he wore, amusement and interest dancing in the shine of his purple eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Azriel suddenly asked, his voice quiet. I paused, not expecting the question but I nodded slowly, smiling timidly in acknowledgement of my nerves.

“Yes, I would, if it’s not an issue,” I said, trying to even out the shaking in my voice as I spoke. Azriel nodded, pushing off the wall and began moving towards me, to the room in the back.

“Why don’t we all go? I could do with a drink and getting to know Y/N darling better” Rhysand spoke, and I felt a rush of relief flow over me at the words. My eyes met his, and from the small nod and quirked smile, I knew he was doing this for my benefit.

“My Lady” Cassian smirked, walking toward me and hooking out an elbow for me to take. I giggled, slipping my arm through the loop, and nestling myself up against the hard, strong muscles and warm skin.

“Well, thank you, Lord Cassian” I winked and he chuckled, his head throwing back, momentarily revealing the strong column of his throat. I tried to not make my stare obvious as he began leading me through the adjoining doors into a room with a large oak table.

Azriel had brought out a bottle of red wine and began setting down four glasses, filling them all up swiftly. I observed him as he moved, so graceful with his shadows dancing around him, and he somehow managed to look beautiful even while doing a task as menial as pouring drinks.

Noticing our entrance, he smiled and began to walk over, his feet ever silent as he stopped, handing me a glass. I took it, whispering a thank you and as my fingers passed him I felt the scars and roughness brush against my own.

I paused, brows furrowing as I looked down at his hand, still outstretched.

I had heard rumours of the Shadowsinger’s burns and yet from the severe scarring it seemed that whatever he had endured was far more horrific than any gossip had detailed.

Azriel didn’t move as I stared at his hands and I didn’t allow myself to appear disgusted or pitiful or anything of the sort. Instead, I reached out my shaky hand and traced a soft line of my fingers over the back of his hand and down his fingers, following the jagged and red scarring.

He shivered, so small it was almost imperceptible but I felt it, and as I raised my eyes and locked them with his I felt a small whoosh of air escape his lungs as if he had been holding it in this entire time.

There was little to be said, nothing that could ease that wound so I smiled, a smile that was genuine enough that I knew he could see the words unspoken in it, see it in my eyes as I watched him. He didn’t reply, merely nodding his head, a small tint now staining his structured cheeks and a smile tilting at the corner of his mouth.

We pulled away from one another, and as Azriel turned back towards the table, I noticed that Cassian and Rhysand had already taken their seats. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his body leaned back and thighs outstretched with Cassian before him on his right and Azriel taking a seat on the left.

I inhaled deeply, gripping the glass tightly in my hand, conscious not to shatter it from the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I walked silently, intending to sit at the chair beside either Cassian or Azriel but as I moved past Rhysand, his hand gripped mine, his fingers curling gently around my wrist.

I turned, surprised and I chuckled lightly at the smirk that lined his lips.

“Yes, Rhysand?” I asked, quirking my brow up at him and he smirked fiendishly, tugging my hand to pull me toward him.

“I fear I cannot bear to part with you darling” He muttered, purple eyes shining with mischief and teasing as he dragged me over to him.

I rolled my eyes, as I got closer to him, my thighs brushing his “I’m sure you’ll manage-“

I gasped out in shock as he pulled me onto him, his hands swiftly snaking around my hips to settle me on his thigh. I gawked as my hand instinctively flew to his shoulder and it was a miracle that my wine didn’t go flying over him.

“Much better,” He said simply, grinning as I stared at him in bewilderment before taking a casual sip of the wine in his hand.

I heard the amused snickers of both Cassian and Azriel and as my eyes moved to them they flashed wolfish smiles at me, eyes raking over how I sat on Rhysand’s right thigh, my arms clutching onto him for support and my thighs clamped shut.

I was as rigid as a board and I’m sure I looked ridiculous.

I glanced down nervously at Rhysand’s thigh, my body tense against the powerful, thick muscles contorted under me. He didn’t appear to be struggling under my weight and barely seemed to acknowledge me at all.

Rhysand merely sat there, smirking, sipping from the glass in his left hand while the right was wrapped around my waist, his long fingers drawing faint circles against the material just under my breast.

I shivered at the touch, so casual and smooth and yet, it ignited a fire and need within me.

“Are you-“ I breathed, turning my head to fully look at Rhysand, who raised a brow at me “Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”

I started snapping my head back at Cassian laughing, loud and bellowing and my heart plummeted into my stomach like a stone in the sea. I grimaced, my face burning with embarrassment and suddenly I wanted the ground to swallow me up and spit me out somewhere that wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry” Cassian snickered, clutching his chest and I tried to hide the burning in my eyes “Rhys may be smaller than me, but even I can tell that he’s held swords heavier than you.” I paused at his words, my breath stalling as confusion filled me and I looked up quickly at the general.

“Honestly angel,” Cassian said, his face softening “Surely, you don’t think that Rhysand’s that weak?”

The words were quipped jokingly and I felt Rhys shake under me, laughing lightly, Azriel’s lips shifting too. I almost did laugh, but I shook my head, solemn as I looked down at the glass in my hands suddenly finding the liquor more interesting.

“The males I’ve been with…” I paused, a small bitter scoff escaping me and I knew I didn’t need to continue. There was a silence after my words, a silence strong enough that I could hear my heartbeat in my chest.

Why did I say that?

I heard a glass clink against the table, and then a hand was at my chin gently tilting my head up to meet with a familiar sky of purple. I saw the sincerity and resolve in Rhysand’s face as he watched me, that hand now caressing against my cheek soothingly.

“Those males were assholes” He started simply, and my brows rose at how gravelled his tone was. “For any man to see you, to have the honour of being with you and not treating you with the respect and reverence you deserve, he is no real male.”

My breath stuttered as I stared, so captivated by his words, by his eyes and I could not stop how my body seemed to melt against him, seemed to fall into his comfort and warmth.

“Y/N you are many things, intelligent, funny, loyal, kind,” He said, listing off all the things that he had gathered in the last few hours since we had met, and those words lit my heart. “But you’re also utterly beautiful, and perhaps few have said it, perhaps they’ve said otherwise.”

His eyes sparked, dark and dangerous as he saw my expression drop, and saw exactly what males had said to me before. I would have felt embarrassed, and humiliated by that truth if not for how adamantly his eyes sparked in denial.

“But I can speak for myself, and my brothers when I say that we appreciate every inch of you, we desire every inch of you and even if you cannot understand it, it doesn’t cease to be true.” His words became almost as soft as a whisper, and when his eyes lowered to my lips, lowered and flashed with want, I knew exactly what I wanted too.

And I would not hesitate to take it.

I moved with surety, simply placing the glass of wine on the table before turning, my head shifting forward and to the side as I brushed a sweet and needy kiss against Rhysand’s lips. He sighed, a content exhale as his hand cupped my cheek and his lips moved against mine with more resolve.

It was gentle yet consuming, the kind of kiss that made my head spin and my body utterly numb. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips against mine, his tongue sweeping teasingly and his hands caressing me, holding me like a lifeline.

I could faintly taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue and I moaned quietly, my body shivering at the deep groan that reverberated in Rhysand’s chest in response. My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt tighter as his tongue fans over mine, and his hand digs possessively into my waist, trapping me against his chest.

My brain was beginning to fog over, and my body igniting with need and pleasure as Rhysand slowly pulled away, his teeth dragging across my bottom lip as he did so, eliciting a gasping mewl from my lips.

I fluttered my eyes open, flustered and breathless as I met Rhysand’s gaze and I felt a deep unrelenting shiver rush over me at the thrill I saw in his eyes.

I bit my lip, the realisation that Cassian and Azriel watched us drawing me back to reality and I felt guilt riddle me that I wasn’t being fair with my attention. I drew back slightly, shifting to maybe move to Cassian or Azriel but Rhysand’s arm tightened like an iron grip around me.

“Your brothers are going to think you’re being greedy, High Lord” I purred as I looked back over my shoulder and Rhysand’s deep, low laugh in reply made me feel dizzy.

“I don’t know, they seem like they’re enjoying themselves” Rhysand shrugged and instinctively my head turned forward, eyes shifting to the two silent, immovable males before me. They sat, eyes dark, smirks feral and I could smell the arousal and desire in the air as they kept their gazes locked upon me.

“In fact” Rhysand continued and I could hear the smile in his voice, “I think they might even have some pointers.”

I blinked, my brows furrowing in confusion but I slowly understand what he meant as I felt Rhysand begin kissing against my neck, wet and sucking against the skin there. I huffed a breath, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he closed his lips and flattened his tongue against a soft spot.

“Keep your eyes on us sweetheart” Azriel muttered, his voice clouded and the authority behind it made me quickly bat them open again, a blush tinting my cheeks at the approving smirk he gave in response.

Rhysand continued kissing his way down the curve of my neck and as he settled my back against his chest I sighed, my chest rising and falling heavily at the feeling of his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

His hands began to wander, playful, careless glides of his finger over my sides, up and down my thigh kneading the flesh there, between and under my breasts, everywhere but the places I needed him.

“Rhysand” I groaned, sneering in annoyance as yet against his fingers trailed over my breast skimming the sensitive and pebbled nipple, but he didn’t stay there for long.

He laughed, kissing my collarbone and my back arched as his hands trailed high up to the apex of my thighs.

And stopped.

I groaned, growling low in my throat as my annoyed scowl flickered to the smirking, arrogant High Lord under me. He blinked, raising his brow in a challenge and I couldn’t help how my thighs clenched in response.

“Rhysand’s being very mean,” Cassian tsked, chuckling and as my eyes flicked to his he grinned, licking his lips as he leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Give our angel what she wants.”

“And what’s that?” Rhysand asked, his voice dripping with faux innocence, his nose brushing the length of my throat. I bit my lip, holding back my gasp even as my cheeks began to heat with embarrassment.

“She wants you to touch her,” Azriel said quietly, hypnotically “She wants you to really touch her.”

My breaths began to stutter as Rhysand’s right hand grazed under my breast and he began tracing one long-ringed finger over my breast and across my nipple, visible through my dress.

I exhaled harshly, watching as he traced circles around the sensitive bud, his touch going from barely there to firmer. The room was silent as his hand moved up and he cupped my breast in his large hand, his fingers pinching my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A moan slipped from my lips as he tugged, a content smile gracing his face as my body began to shiver slightly under the ministrations of his hands at my breast.

“Is that better, angel?” Cassian cooed, his hand coming up to rub at his face, his eyes unable to leave the hand that cupped me. I breathed out as Rhysand’s fingers played with my other nipple, rolling the bud in deft circles.

“No,” Azriel said, a knowing glint in his eyes as he cocked his head “It’s not enough, is it sweetheart?”

I swallowed once, my eyes captivated by his gaze and despite how hot my face felt, I shook my head in agreement, revelling in the smirk Azriel gave me.

“No?” Rhysand asked, his voice whispered against my ear.

I bit my lip in anticipation as his hand left my chest and slowly, so tauntingly slow, began descending my stomach. He drew casual and lazy circles against the flesh of my stomach as he glided lower, and I wasn’t sure if I was more breathless at the fact he was touching my stomach or that he was getting closer to where I needed him most.

He paused at the slit at the side of my dress, revealing the skin at my thigh and if moved, the underwear I wore beneath.

“Here?” He breathed, biting the lobe of my ear gently when I didn’t respond. I watched his hand, watched with desperation as it stroked near the seam of that slit and rested there.

“More” I pleaded, not caring how desperate I sounded.

“Tsk” Azriel shook his head, enjoying my pleas “Such a needy girl.”

“She is a needy girl” Rhysand agreed, his fingers slipping under the dress for a second before stroking back out again. I sighed, screwing my eyes shut in a mixture of pleasure and frustration, my body wound so tight, I could barely think.

“Come on, look at her” Cassian sighed, impatience lining his handsome face. “Give her what she wants… what she needs Rhys.”

Rhysand cocked his head and I glanced at him, nearly pouting at the taunting smirk he threw at me. But my body settled, melting as his hand slipped completely under the dress and cupped right against my clothed cunt.

“Fuck” He growled, slipping into an uncontained sort of provocation as the palm of his hand pressed against me. I moaned quietly, and his body trembled under me “So fucking wet.”

I didn’t hesitate to shift my position as Rhysand’s other hand guided me to spread my thighs, so that one lay sprawled over his thigh, exposing my simple black thong to Cassian and Azriel. Nerves bubbled in my stomach at the vulnerability but as they stared, infatuated and as Rhysand ran his fingers over the slit, my mind went blissfully blank.

It seemed that no one had the patience for mocking anymore, not as Rhysand’s hand lifted and traced over the band of my underwear.

“May I?” He asked quietly, nuzzling into the curve of my neck affectionately.

“Please” I whispered.

He groaned low in his throat as he slipped those deft fingers passed the material and into my thong.

I inhaled as he ran a finger over me, the rough callouses of his battle-trained hands rubbing against my most sensitive part eliciting breathy moans from my lips. Rhys exhaled deeply, his eyes blazing as he ran two fingers down, collecting the wetness there.

“Rhys” I sighed and I felt pure male satisfaction from him as he messily rubbed my wetness up against my aching clit.

“Fuck” I heard Cassian groan, his voice husky with appreciation and I blinked my heavy eyes open, my body lighting as the two males intently watched me, their eyes glued to the spot between my legs and Rhysand’s hand slowly circling within.

“Faster” Azriel commanded, his face hard and eyes unmoving I arched my back and screwed my eyes as Rhysand followed his words, two fingers rubbing swift circles against my clit.

I writhed, unable to keep my eyes open as pleasure rocked through me, my hips grinding back and forth as I ride Rhysand’s fingers, his lips at my neck encouraging and indulgent. His pace is firm and steady, rubbing against a spot that has my thighs clenching from how good it feels.

“Cauldron, Rhys I can’t-“ I whimper, my head now back against his shoulder, one hand gripping the material of my dress while the other dug my nails into Rhysand’s forearm.

“That’s it” He praised gruffly, his other hand coming up tugging at my sensitive nipples.

“I think she’s close Rhysand” Cassian mused and I could hear the pleased grin on his lips.

“Are you darling?” He asked, his fingers never stopping, his body pressing me unbelievably close to him as he muttered hoarsely against my ear. “Are you close?”

My legs began to tremble as that familiar chord within me tightened and my breathing began stuttering out as I shook my head, my lips parting to say yes but my brain was too fogged over for any words to leave my mouth.

My lips gaped open again and I felt that chord within me snap as Rhysand’s fingers shifted a little to the left. I gasped, moaning and writhing, my hips bucking as pleasure and release coursed through me like a tidal wave. Rhys hummed in approval, his fingers continuing their punishing pace against me.

“Look at how good she looks, moaning while she comes all over your hand brother,” Azriel said, and the dirty words had my back arching and hands fisting as I rode through the pleasure sparking through me.

I exhaled and inhaled sharply, my chest rising and falling as Rhysand’s fingers slowed, guiding me through my high before eventually stopping. I tried to even out my breathing, focusing on the smooth feel of Rhysand’s wet fingers now on the skin of my thigh and I slowly blinked my eyes open, lifting my groggy head from his shoulder as I did so.

My face was flushed and my body still trembled from the aftermath of Rhysand’s touch as my eyes locked with a grinning Cassian, a more subdued but satisfied Azriel and then back to Rhysand, who lifted his lips in a gratified lazy smirk.

“You look pretty worn out darling” Rhysand noted, smug and smirking and I rolled my eyes at his male satisfaction, even if he was in fact right.

“Sure you can handle two more Illyrian males tonight?” He cocked his head and images appeared inside my mind again.

Cassian, his hands gripping my waist as he wrapped his lips around my nipples, teeth tugging against the hard flesh. And then of Azriel, on his knees before me, head between my thighs, scarred hands holding down my flailing hips.

I shivered as the promised images dissolved and reality came flooding back, Rhysand’s filthy and seductive grin rippling over me like electricity.

I smiled softly, turning my gaze to Cassian and Azriel, both of whom looked on the edge of their seats, bursting with restraint and appetite.

“It’ll take more than that to burn me out,” I shrugged, raising my brow at them in a challenge.

And I felt my toes curl in anticipation as both their eyes lit with fire and they smirked.

_____________________________________

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persephonesportal · 1 year

Text

More Hearts Part 13

In which you and Jake have your bachelor party.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hangman x afab!reader

Word Count:1.6k

A/N: This was half assed at best and very loosely edited but I wanted to get it over with so I can start on the wedding lol

You take one last look in the mirror to make sure you look okay and feel strong arms wrap around you. You turn around to smile at Jake and his eyes rake over your figure.

"Good lord, look at you." He whistles while giving you a twirl and you laugh loudly. "Looking like someone's wife."

You peer up at him with a bright grin and shake your head at his antics. "I could say the same thing, Cowboy. You look handsome in your cowboy hat and the boots I got you."

Jake tips his head dramatically while holding the brim of the hat and leans down to give you a kiss. "You ready to go? They're going to be here any minute." He says and you nod while grabbing your bag.

"Yup, ready as ever. Who's the DD?" You ask and Jake leads you down to the front porch.

"Bob, he doesn't drink remember?" He answers and your mouth falls open slightly.

"Oh right. He should have a busy night trying to keep us all wrangled and alive." You laugh and Jake joins you.

You step out into the warm Texas air and wait for the group to pull up. It's the weekend before the wedding and everybody took the week off to fly down ahead of time. You're going out to some line dancing bars that Jake used to frequent and you're excited.

The two of you decided to have a co-bachelor party seeing as you share all the same friends. Standing here under the stars now, you're glad. Jake is your best friend and neither of you saw a reason to celebrate your impending nuptials separately.

You wave as Bob pulls up in a van and you climb into the back with Phoenix, Rooster, Coyote, and Mav. All the siblings are in a different car, already on their way to the first location. You squeal when you see Phoenix's shirt that matches yours. She ordered them for all the girls and you can't wait to see them all together.

You finally pull up to the bar and everyone climbs out, a certain buzz of excitement surrounding everyone. You all make your way inside and within seconds, Phoenix is pulling you over to the bar.

"We have to do shots!" She yells over the music and you laugh while nodding in agreement. The bartender pours your drinks and you clink the glasses together before tapping them on the bartop and throwing them back. You grimace as the liquid burns your throat and shake your head.

Jake comes up behind you and kisses your cheek with a bright smile. "Starting without me?" He asks and Phoenix makes a motion for another round.

"Don't worry, there's plenty of time!" She assures him and the three of you repeat the motions of downing your drinks. Less than five minutes in you've already downed two shots and you're sure tonight is going to get out of control rather quickly.

The rest of the group finds you and catches up before ordering their beers and cocktails to sip on. The alcohol seems to be doing its job as everyone loosens up and it's not long before you're all on the dance floor.

Everyone laughs loudly as they try and fail to keep up with the line dance, but no one cares. The squad rarely gets a chance to really let go, and everyone intends on taking full of advantage of the opportunity.

After another round of shots and getting your blood flowing, Bradley and Mav are making up their own dance and Phoenix is telling everyone who will listen that her best friends are getting married.

Somehow, you find yourself tipped over the bar backward as the bartender pours liquor straight into your mouth and Jake helps you up before pulling you into a kiss. You're both flushed and stumbling, slowly succumbing to the liquor in your bloodstream.

A love song comes on and Jake presses his body to yours as you lean your head on his chest and the two of you start swaying back and forth. You hear a chorus of awes from your friends along with a dramatic gag from Bradley and laugh into Jake's neck.

Unfortunately not much longer after that, you all get kicked out thanks to Bradley climbing on the bar. You try to go somewhere else but no place will let your large group of shit-faced friends in. You all decide to just head back to the ranch and continue the party there around a bonfire.

Everybody manages to get into the van and Bob starts towards Jake's childhood home. He takes a detour to get fast food at the request of everyone in the backseat and wants to die of embarrassment as you all shout your orders from the back window.

He apologizes to the teenager when he pays before returning to his original route. He pulls into the long driveway and you hear Phoenix gasp before slapping Jake on the back of the head.

"Holy shit, Bagman. You've been holding out on us!" She slurs and you laugh loudly.

Getting out of the car is a whole new challenge and you watch as Bradley clings to the half-open door from the passenger seat.

"Let go, dumbass." Jake instructs and you didn't expect him to take it so literally. You watch as the man releases his grip and tumbles out, just barely managing to catch himself before he hits his face on the pavement. Everyone watches with concern until he bursts into laughter, and soon everyone is doubled over with tears rolling down their faces.

"Come on," Jake starts. "Let's go around back."

Everyone follows him while talking amongst themselves and you work on getting a fire started while Jake goes to get the bottles of alcohol.

The group passes a bottle around and by the end of the night, everyone is borderline blackout. You look at your watch and see it's almost two am before suggesting you put the fire out and head inside. Catherine was nice enough to let everyone crash for the night seeing as transporting them isn't much of an option.

Mav moves to stand but loses his balance and flips over the back of the chair, Jake helps him up once he manages to get his laughter under control and you all stumble your way inside. The second Bradley's foot crosses the threshold he collapses in a heap on the floor talking about how the cold tile felt nice.

No one pays him any mind, instead wandering off to find their own place to sleep.

The next morning your eyes flutter open with a loud groan and you try to get your bearings. You sit up slowly and look around, noticing that you're underneath a table alone. You finally notice Jake passed out a few feet away, grasping a bottle of tequila like a teddy bear.

You crawl on all fours to the kitchen and see Bob is already up. He looks down at you with raised eyebrows, trying not to laugh at your disheveled state. Your hair is sticking up all over the place, your mascara is smeared like a raccoon, and you're fairly certain there's dry drool on your chin.

You look up at him with blurry eyes and squint, trying to adjust to the bright sun rays beaming in through the window.

"Water." You try to say, but it comes out as more of a croak, your voice hoarse and scratchy.

He shakes his head and moves to fill a glass before handing it to you. You take it and immediately start gulping, water pouring down your front. You can't be bothered to care, too focused on the cool liquid that tastes like nectar of the Gods.

You plop back down onto your front with a loud sigh, trying to gather the strength to stand up. You find it after a few minutes and peel yourself off the floor to go locate everyone else. Your feet drag as you clamber around the house, trying to make sure everyone is still alive.

Bradley is still where you left him, Phoenix is halfway on the couch, and Mav apparently found sleeping sprawled out upside down on the stairs comfy. Your glad the siblings decided to call it a night after the bar because this is already enough of a disaster as is.

You drag yourself into the shower and by the time you're done, everyone else is awake. You feel much better and chuckle to yourself at the way everyone looks like zombies. You weren't any better yourself thirty minutes ago.

You plop down next to Jake and wince when your body throbs. You frown and look around, trying to figure out why you're sore.

"What the hell happened last night? Why does it feel like I fell off a building?" You whine and Phoenix giggles.

"You kind of did." She says and your eyes widen.

"What?" You ask shocked and she nods.

"Well, not a building but Rooster took you on a joyride with a golf cart. You wanted to hang off of it and you did for a second, right before you toppled to the ground." She explains and you groan.

Of course you did.

"Hey Jake," You hear Bradley's voice and turn to him. "What's the best hangover place here?"

"Waffle House." He responds and everyone gets ready to leave.

After getting some food in their stomachs, everybody looks and feels human again. You spend a while eating and laughing before deciding it's time to go.

As you're walking to the van, Jake wraps his arm around you and leans in. "If you think this was bad, wait until the wedding." He chuckles and you sigh loudly. "Trust me, I know."

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