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anathemaspeaks · 8 days

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come and get your love

character(s): gojo satoru synopsis: the one in which your best friend needs only one thing - you. or; the three times he's wanted you, and the one time he got you. word count: 4k warning(s): smut a/n: ALL DAY ALL NIGHT NO LUBE NO PROTECTION PLEASE requests are open (please request stuff😭) <3 likes, reblogs, and follows are appreciated!

you and gojo satoru were neighbors.

that was how you met in the first place. you were walking home from college, your new dior perfume (which cost a kidney and a half) in one hand, and dinner in the other. you were walking across the corridor-

crash!

a 6"3 blur of white just ran past you, bumping into you and yelling a "sorry!" and muttering something about cursing someone. perfume bottle now in pieces and on the floor, you were pissed - but he was long gone. asshole.

that was the blur you came to know as satoru. while you were eating dinner, satoru had showed up at your door with a bottle of the exact same perfume - not smushed this time. well, maybe he wasn't so bad.

that was the beginning of your friendship.

you invited in the handsome man to thank him, and asked if he wanted to eat anything. he was about to refuse - until he saw the untouched chocolate cake lying in your kitchen. who could say no to that?

that was the first and last time he wasn't a constant pain in your ass. now, he was your self-declared best friend. it's been almost a year since you both first met, and you enjoyed his company a lot more than you'd ever admit. in more ways than one.

the first time:

in this year you'd also discovered something. well, watched it unfold, really. some smartass decided to give gojo satoru an ipad for his birthday. safe to say, he was addicted to it within a day.

he was an actual ipad kid. everytime he came over he'd have his ipad out, playing games or watching something. why he couldn't just use a normal phone or laptop like a normal person was beyond you.

and he never went anywhere without it. he took it to college, and even got it to your house whenever you guys hung out. well, he did just get an ipad, so you could sort of understand it. but still. weirdo.

you both were both going out to a club tonight with all of your friends. you'd finished doing your hair, and you were almost done with your makeup. you still had to wear your dress. you'd decided to go with a sleeveless blue corset dress that reached mid-thigh.

you were done pre-gaming, if you drank anymore you weren't going to get through the night. you were applying your lip liner when you heard a knock on the door. knowing exactly who it was, you went to open it.

the second you opened the door, you slammed it shut. he looked good - he was wearing a white shirt rolled up to his forearms, with the top two buttons undone, and black pants. but that wasn't the problem.

he was wearing a bright blue backpack. a fucking backpack. and you knew exactly what was in it. you had to mentally prepare yourself before you talked him out of it.

"satoru, either you leave the bag or you're not coming."

"but-"

"no, you can't carry an ipad with you to a club."

"okay okay, i'll..." he paused, his eyes moving lower, followed by silence.

"well?" you asked, breaking the pause.

"...that dress looks really good on you" he managed, voice a bit breathier than normal.

"what?" you asked, face now tinged red.

then, he suddenly moved closer and leaned down right next to your ear, his voice a husky murmur that made you shiver. "i said, that dress looks incredible on you," his eyes lingering a beat too long on your curves.

"though, i think it would look even better on my bedroom floor"

your breath hitched in your throat. was he finally making a bolder move on you, one that isn't a really cheesy pick-up line, or a failed attempt at flirting? fuck.

"i think you've pre-gamed a little too hard, satoru," you whispered, the heat in your cheeks betraying you.

he pouted at that, and you almost gave in. his pretty blue eyes wide with hope, and his pouty lips practically begging you to kiss the frown away.

"i'm not drunk!" he protested.

"i know, 'toru, but we've gotta go, come on." it was probably just him being delirious, but you couldn't help the butterflies in your stomach.

but then, at the club, he didn't leave your side on the dance floor even once. he was so close you could feel his body heat, eyes locked in a silent, electrifying conversation. it sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

as he dropped you off, with his voice an octave deeper, he said, "you should wear blue more often." then, he straightened up and went into his house like it was nothing.

collapsing onto the couch, you buried your face in a pillow, the scent of his cologne still lingering on your dress, infiltrating your senses. sleep wouldn't come. all you could see were his stormy blue eyes, filled with unspoken desire - one you tried denying you felt for him, until today.

a muted scream found its way out of your mouth, muffled by the pillow, a delicious mix of frustration and something far more needy. damn him and those strong shoulders that seemed to stretch on forever beneath his thin white shirt, the poor fabric straining against his biceps with every movement.

and his face? his lips, so full and slightly parted, a sinful invitation for you to kiss them, the moonlight casting a sinful glow on the way his jaw clenched with unspoken desire while walking back to the car. you swore he was a walking sculpture come to life, every line and angle sculpted by the gods themselves.

satoru knew he wanted you since the day he met you, your angry pout, yet somehow gentle eyes captivating him. but this was different. his hands on your waist all night, lips only a few inches away from each other, that fucking dress that took his breath away - it felt so intoxicating.

things were going to change between the both of you for the better, he hoped.

the second time:

it had been a week since that night, and now you both were attending suguru's 21st birthday party. you were all going to stay at an expensive hotel in vegas for the whole weekend. god, you loved being friends with rich people.

it was three people per room, and you were all to be assigned your rooms by the birthday boy himself. you read the text he sent. you were paired up with shoko... and satoru. you could already tell this was going to be a long weekend.

the roar of the plane engines on the way there served as a backdrop for the girls' chatter - you included. every few seconds your gaze would flicker to him, seemingly engrossed in his ipad. but his scorching glances that lingered a beat too long told you it was a blatant lie.

he was watching you. watching with an intensity that took your breath away and made your heart rate spike. every laugh shared with the girls, every whispered secret, you knew he was looking. at you.

when the plane finally touched down in vegas, the desert heat slapped you in the face. a wave of relief washed over you when you finally reached the hotel lobby. this place was huge.

as you finished unpacking and settling into the room, shoko decided she wanted to leave and explore the hotel.

"you coming?" she asked both of you.

"be right there!" you replied. you still needed to fix up your outfit and makeup. now the only ones in the room were you and satoru, who claimed he had to freshen up.

as you applied your mascara, you felt his hand right above the waistband of your jeans, fingers barely brushing your hips. but then suddenly, he straightened up, the moment ending all too soon.

"sorry!" he said, batting his long eyelashes at you and acting oh-so-innocent. oh, he had started dangerous game.

the rest of the afternoon was a blur. you all unpacked, shared stories and spent the entire day lounging around. as the sun set, you went to change your clothes into something more fitting for the casino.

you picked a short, black dress this time, neckline dipping just a little bit too low, knowing he'd be looking at you. the dress clung to you like a second skin. you were a sight to see in that outfit - it was even better than your last one.

you ended up at the bar, the air thick with the mingled scent of expensive liquor and something far more intoxicating. just then, a rather handsome man approached you, his voice smooth and deep. he asked you if you would like a drink.

you decided to have a little fun and play along, enjoying the blatant display of interest - but you were very aware of satoru's gaze piercing into you. his jaw was clenched tight, eyes narrowed a fraction. his stare was so intense it sent chills down your spine.

you took a sip of your drink, eyes meeting satoru's across the room. a slow smile spread across your lips, he definitely wouldn't back down now. not when you looked that divine. not when you had that scum talking to you.

you continued sipping your drink and listening to the man's attempt at smooth talking you. you decided you'd had enough for now, so you excused myself and headed towards the ground floor balcony. you didn't have to look back to know satoru was following you.

the cool desert air on the balcony offered a welcome respite. the real thrill came in the form of satoru, appearing beside you. he looked amazing, navy blue suit doing nothing to hide his body. you were positive he wasn't real.

"need some fresh air?" he asked, clearly trying to act nonchalant.

"oh, something like that" you replied, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "maybe i just needed a moment to appreciate the view... besides the one inside, you know."

he grinned, tilting his head and leaning down so that he could look directly into your eyes from above his sunglasses, "don't think i haven't noticed what you're up to" he said, his voice a husky murmur.

a warmth flared through you, and a barely concealed smile of triumph found its way onto your face. mission accomplished.

"that dress is making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think of anything else but you. makes me wanna forget this whole damn night and just..." he trails off, gaze flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

fuck it, he won. you leaned in closer, the distance between your lips shrinking with every passing second. this was it. you were so close, your lips inches away from-

"there you two are. everyone's looking for you, let's go dance."

your softly sighed in frustration. satoru straightened up, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before they returned to his normal wide grin.

"didn't know you were looking for us! let's go," he replied.

you grabbed shoko's arm and went to the dance floor, thoughts of satoru and how he was so close you almost had his lips on yours on you on your mind as you tried to dance the night away.

the rest of the weekend unfolded in a blur of flashing lights and pounding music. you were in a group, inseparable yet frustratingly apart. every stolen touch, every lingering look, felt like a secret whispered in a crowded room. but in the end, the chance for a private conversation never materialized again.

the third time:

two weeks after the party, you all met up at shoko's house. you left to go upstairs and find the bathroom. when you came back down, everyone had started a water fight in the backyard. you left them alone for two minutes.

you walked out, only to get drenched from head to toe almost instantly. you were going to kill suguru for soaking your new gray shirt, which was now see through.

you spotted satoru amidst everyone, his stare locked onto your chest. you were wearing sky blue lingerie. it was a blatant stare - raw, and hungry. it gave you goosebumps. it wasn't planned, but god, you were glad it happened. you set a mental reminder to thank geto.

before you could do anything, his eyes shifted back up, meeting yours. a flicker of apology danced in his gaze, quickly overshadowed by something much deeper.

suddenly remembering where you are, you sneakily grabbed the nearest water balloon, a mischievous glint in your eyes. you aimed square at his torso. the balloon hit satoru's chest with a loud slap!

if your shirt was soaked, it was only fair that his was too, right? now he was completely wet. bull's eye.

he sputtered, the shock quickly giving way to a wide, mischievous grin. water dripped down his face, tracing a path along the sharp line of his jaw and disappearing down his neck to his abs.

oh. his abs. the sight alone drenched you in a place where the water balloon didn't. he shook himself off with a laugh, raising his hands in surrender and unintentionally flexing his biceps. oh wow.

this time, though, his eyes remained fixed on yours with an intensity that almost had you gasping for air. you both continued to drown each other, competing to see who caused the most damage.

as the sun started to set, you all started leaving. you and satoru said your goodbyes to shoko and started walking towards the car, talking about how fun the day was.

you stole a glance at satoru. his drenched t-shirt clung to his broad frame, outlining the way his muscles flexed with every step. your cheeks burned at the memory of his stare, the way his gaze had lingered on your tits, making your face heat up.

"think you'll survive the drive home like that? i did do some damage, you know," he teasingly asked, amusement evident in his voice.

"oh i will, don't you worry, princess," you replied. "just more proof that i completely demolished your snow white ass." he laughed at that, smile making him glow even more in the golden hour lighting. you both continued bantering until you reached the basement and he parked the car.

you were walking towards your apartment. you tilted your head up, a playful shine in your eyes. "so," you started, "what do you say we call a truce until next time? and then winner takes it all."

a slow smile spread across his face. he leaned in ever so slightly, his lips hovering a tantalizing distance from yours. the scent of his cologne, somehow still present, invaded your senses completely.

"truce it is" he conceded, "but winner gets any prize of their choice," he said with a slight smirk.

"oh? and how do you propose we decide this prize?" you asked, indulging him.

he chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "let's just say," he leaned in again, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek again, "i have a few ideas in mind."

you slowly tilted your head upwards and batted your eyelashes, leaning into him before saying "mm, goodnight, 'toru." you let your gaze shift to his full lips before meeting his eyes.

but you pulled away before he could make a move. you relished in the look on his face - like a man starved, eyes filled with a desperate need. for you. you played off your own need for him with a teasing, innocent smile as you entered your apartment.

the fourth time:

satoru was a wreck. the usual carefree, playful glint in his eyes was replaced by sadness, his usual smile replaced by a deep pout. he was draped in a giant, fuzzy blanket, clutching a tub of ice cream like a lifeline. the culprit? a broken ipad.

how he managed to break it beyond repair was quite impressive, actually.

'good riddance,' you thought, thinking about his avid screen addiction.

but the sight of him trudging around your apartment like a kicked puppy, a half-eaten tub of ice cream clutched in one hand and a giant blanket draped over his broad shoulders - you almost felt bad.

you turned on the tv, hoping to distract him, but the suggestion was met with a watery glare and a choked sob. "it's not the same," he moaned, his voice thick with despair, "nothing can make me forget about my broken heart," he sighed.

what a drama queen.

you stifled a smile, the jab dying on your tongue. this wasn't like satoru. this was a whole new level of gloominess. it was kind of adorable, actually. he slumped onto the couch, sitting next to you, the oversized blanket engulfing him like a cocoon of misery.

hesitantly, you reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. his skin was warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were clouded with a vulnerability you would never guess was caused by an ipad of all things.

"maybe you need a different kind of distraction," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

he turned towards you, gaze locking onto yours. you swore you saw a hint of something other than vulnerability - something that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. the air hung heavy with the weight of what you said.

neither of you moved, still maintaining eye contact.

"you sure about what you're asking for?" he asked softly, already leaning in towards you.

your gaze flickered from his perfect lips, full and inviting, to the hint of stubble darkening his jawline. every fiber of your being yearned to bridge the gap, to kiss him like you needed to.

"positive," you breathed, neediness evident in your tone.

the space between you vanished in a blink. he leaned in, breath warm against your lips as he filled up the space between you. one hand cupped your cheek, touch surprisingly gentle in contrast to the primal need in his eyes.

his lips met yours with a hunger that stole your breath away, the taste of him a delicious combination of cookie dough from the ice cream, and something else, something so... satoru.

his hand on your face deepened its hold, his thumb tracing a path down your jawline in a slow, deliberate caress. you mirrored the movement, fingers tangling themselves in the soft fabric of his t-shirt, desperate to feel the solid warmth of his body against yours.

the kiss deepened, a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. his hand moved lower, the thin fabric of your shirt allowing you to feel the searing heat of his palm on your back, his lips moving perfectly against yours

your breath hitched as his hand went under your shirt to grip your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. as much as you wanted to continue, the heat pooling in your lower stomach became harder and harder to ignore with every passing second.

you broke apart from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both.

"bedroom" you breathed, not wanting to spend another second without his lips on yours. you closed the gap between you both, desperate to taste him again. you felt both one arm hook under your thighs as he lifted you up, never once breaking the kiss, other hand remaining on your jaw, picking you up like it was nothing.

he pressed you up against every wall on the way to the room, lips practically devouring you. your nails dug into the muscles of his back, urging him closer, closer. you were definitely going to leave marks.

he chuckled in pride at the thought of that, a low rumble against your lips that made your skin tingle, before pulling back just enough to trail a searing kiss down your jawline. he nipped at your neck before biting it. hard. he continued until he was positive you would see them for the rest of the week.

you felt his cock growing under you. your breath hitched in excitement as his lips dipped lower, sending shivers dancing across the exposed skin of your shoulders. and finally, you reached your room.

you were a trembling mess, body aching in anticipation and need for him.

in the dim light of the moon filtering through the window, he looked like an angel - chest heaving, lips swollen from all the kissing, eyes almost black with desire - all for you.

he placed you onto the bed, getting up to take off his shirt. you let your eyes wander, drinking in the sight of him. he was heavenly. toned muscles glistening with a light sheen of sweat from the heat, hair disheveled from you running your hands through it and tugging at it.

you sat up to take your shirt off, but he interjected. "let me," he whispered, "been waiting for this for so long, fuck."

he stared at you, fully naked underneath him. hair spread out on your pillow, lips still wet from his hungry kisses, eyes focused only on him. you looked divine, he was convinced this moment wasn't real.

he took off his shorts and boxers, and-

oh fuck. he was huge. and just as pretty as the rest of him. veins ran up and down the length of his throbbing cock, tip flushed pink - almost red, and leaking pre-cum. because of you.

you had to taste him. as you reached out, he stopped you. "i'd love that, but not today," he choked out, voice deep and filled with desperation, "if i'm not inside you within the next minute, i might actually lose my mind," he groaned.

the last of your resolve crumbling, "then fuck me, 'toru, please" you whined, pulling him down into a searing kiss.

he lined up with your entrance, pushing in just the tip. you felt stretched out already. "'s too big" you cried out. "aw, you can take it pretty girl," he cooed. he was barely inside but it just felt so good. you needed more.

you bucked your hips up a little bit, a silent plea. taking the message, he bottomed out in a single thrust, causing you to moan his name. "shit baby. keep saying my name like that and i'm not gonna last long" he grunted, pulling almost fully out of you.

your mind was consumed with only him. satoru, satoru, satoru - fuck, you couldn't get enough. he was practically splitting you in half with his cock, but you took it like a good girl. his good girl.

"fuck, you're takin' me so well. god, look at you, my perfect girl" you reveled in the praise, mind almost numb from how well he was fucking you, cock drilling into your dripping cunt like a man deprived.

"y'know how long i've waited for this? to have you all spread out f'me? oh, you're such a damn tease, doll. you knew exactly what you were doin', hah? wearin' that damn blue dress, and blue lingerie f'me too? what a slut."

his words sent a heat flooding through you - warm, plush walls clamping down on him, moans and whines ripping from your throat, so cock drunk all you could say was his name.

"mm, y-you weren't so innocent either, y'know" you bit back, whines escaping your throat.

"shit, wanted you since i first met you, baby. you drive me fuckin' insane" he choked out, voice getting raspier. he was a vision. muscles flexing so deliciously with every thrust of his hips, teeth biting on his lip as he moaned out your name, eyes looking only at you.

god, he really was perfect. he leaned down to kiss you again, a hand finding its way to your tits. he caressed it, playing with your nipple while fucking you. you were so painfully close.

his balls slapping against your ass, cock pushing into you with a force only he could possess. you loved the feeling of how right he felt inside you, the squelching sound of your pussy fluttering around him as he relentlessly thrust into you driving you both to the edge.

"s'toru i'm- 'm gonna- hngh" you clenched down on him impossibly tighter as you came. he came after a few more thrusts, release mixing with yours and seeping down onto your now very stained sheets.

he collapsed down next to you, an arm around your waist, pulling you to face him. it was such a stark contrast - two minutes ago he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, and now here he was, looking at you with a dopey smile on his face and a shine in his bright blue irises.

you couldn't help but grin back. you stayed like that until you caught your breaths, heartbeats slowly returning back to normal.

"so, since the day you first met me, huh?" you asked, a playful smile finding its way onto your face. you were met with a blush of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks. only satoru could go from the epitome of a sex god to a flustered mess within two minutes.

"mhm, been obsessed with you since i first saw that look on your face when i broke your expensive perfume. that was hot. but then, i got to know you better, and you were so sweet and funny and so goddamn pretty and i- i just couldn't help but... you know." he admitted, eyes averting from yours.

you gripped his jaw, making him look at you again. and then you kissed him - a soft, tender one, pouring in all of your emotions. you wanted him to know you reciprocated his emotions.

"good, because i felt the same way 'toru" you smiled against his lips.

"well what took you so long then?"

"what took me so long? what about you?"

"you're the one who liked me," he replied, as if it was oh-so-obvious.

"well you liked me first satoru!" you sassed, trying to turn away from him.

he pulled you back and made you face him again, grip on your waist never faltering.

"so, round two?"

bonus points if you can guess where the title's from ;)

the ipad kid part is kinda random but i totally think he'd be one soo

this took me so long to write, i hope you guys liked it!

#anathema writes #jujutsu kaisen #gojo jjk #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader

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bellaxisworld · 3 months

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february 8, @jegulus-microfic prompt: headphones. word count: 634.

Regulus was sitting in the library, drawing on his iPad and listening to lofi when a very frantic James burst in, eyes wide and hands shaking. Regulus perked up, drawing forgotten and headphones tossed aside.

“Jamie,” Regulus waved him over, stamping down his panic at the sight of his frenzied boyfriend.

Mercifully, the library was mostly empty and there was nobody directly around to witness this little freak out.

James rushed over, and Regulus saw tears in his eyes.

“Baby, James, what—”

“Reg, Regu—fuck—I can’t–” James was stuttering, and shaking, and his voice trembled. He brought his hands up to press the heel of his palms to his eyes.

“James, breathe,” Regulus insisted, pulling his hands away from his eyes to look at him. “Look at me, breathe with me. Big breath in, out. In, out, just like that. It’s okay.” He squeezed his hands.

They breathed together, and James was still shaky, but he could speak now.

“Reg, I can’t—think, and there’s too much, and I can feel it all, and the fuck-fucking sounds are so loud and—”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Regulus tried to be as soothing as James needed. “Let’s go back to my dorm, okay? It’ll be quiet, and it’ll be a little better.”

James nodded, and he waited for Regulus to pack his bag.

And then Regulus had an idea.

“Jamie, can I give you my headphones? They’re noise canceling, and we don’t need to put music on, it’ll just make things quieter. Is that okay?”

He nodded again, and Regulus reached forward to brush his hair out of his eyes and set the headphones over his ears. James let out a relieved sigh immediately, shoulders slumping and knocking his forehead against Regulus’. A wave of relief crashed over Regulus, so thankful he could help him even a little bit, and he kissed James’ nose. He grabbed his hand and led him back to the dorms. James held tightly onto Regulus’ arm, like he was afraid to let go of the buoy holding him afloat. Regulus was warmed by the thought—that he was keeping James up, that James needed him.

Back at the dorm, James was fidgeting and still looked a bit uncomfortable. “I’m feeling too many things,” he said, and Regulus wasn’t certain if that was emotional or physical, truthfully. But James shifted the neckline of his sweater and winced, so Regulus thought it was a physical thing.

“How about you take off some clothes and you can lie in bed? Less things touching you.”

James nodded, so that’s what they did. James lay in Regulus’ bed, his head in Regulus’ lap, headphones still blocking out the world, with as little clothing as possible bothering him. He finally looked at peace, lying there. Regulus wiped away stray tears and combed gentle fingers through his hair, breathing easy now that James was.

A while later—forever or hours or minutes later—James opened his eyes and smiled up at Regulus. Regulus mirrored it, fingers still moving through his hair.

“Reg,” James said, voice crackly.

“My Jamie,” Regulus whispered. “Feeling okay?”

He nodded, eyes clipping closed again, breaths deep and steady.

“Got overwhelmed. Came to find you.”

And Regulus was warm, overfilling with it, because James came to him when he needed help. He would always be there for him, every time he needed him.

“Thank you, Reg,” James said, grasping his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“‘Course, baby. It’s okay to get overwhelmed. We need a bit of time away sometimes.”

James nodded, burrowing closer to Regulus.

And the next time James got overwhelmed, he took a step back and closed his eyes to breathe, knowing he had Regulus to support him, that he could slip away from his responsibilities for a little bit, guilt free. He breathed easy.

also found on ao3(multi-chapter microfic WIP): february, i'm yours

#marauders #jegulus #jegulus microfic #microfic #regulus black #james potter #ao3 #marauders era #starchaser #sunseeker #the marauders #archive of our own #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus ao3 #james potter and regulus black #bellaxis microfic #bella writes

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clearlydiamondz · 8 months

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Can you do Erik with a bratty gf glasses wearing girl ????

Rule #1: Refer to me as only daddy or sir

Rule #2: No panties

Rule #3: No cumming unless given you permission

Rule #3: No touching unless given permission

Rule #4: Always be honest

Rule #5: Don't be a Brat, Punishment will meet actions

(Y/N) sadly looked at Erik as he got ready for work. She knew that he was going to be busy all day for his 12 hour shift, probably not being able to see her for the rest of the day but that didn't matter. She needed him. She was mad at herself for being tired when she came over. Her classes had her stuck in her laptop and books, so as she soon as she saw his bed she was out like a light.

Erik didn't mind though, he knew that (Y/N) was working hard to become a RN, and he also knew that she needed her rest. Matter of fact, he needed her to have all her rest for Spring Break that was ahead. He was determined to use her to his content, (obviously with her consent) and he needed her to have all her rest. He took off the entire week just to spend time with her. This was the last day.

"Don't look at me like that." he told her. Her pouting, and her eyes enhanced by the glasses made him want to just call out and fuck her senseless now.

"I just miss you. I haven't had you in what.. two weeks?" she complained. He closed his eyes sighing. The way this girl was so persuasive didn't help his need for her. He grabbed her by his cheeks making her look at him. "Please daddy, I just want to put my mouth on it. Two minutes, please?" she pouted again. His squeeze tightened as her glasses moved on her face, being crooked. She fixed her glasses by pushing them with her middle finger in the middle.

"Be a good girl, okay? Daddy will take care of you when he gets home if your good okay? We will go to one of your favorite restaurants, I promise." he told her grabbing his coat and his lunch. He was dreading going into his 12-hour shift at the hospital as a neuro-surgeon.

The two of them met at a medical convention in L.A almost a year ago. Her school decided to do a field trip for all medical students to be able to have a chance of networking. He was a speaker at the convention, and immediately she caught his eye. She was in the front row, taking notes with her iPad with her red zee-loo framed glasses. She asked the most questions, and was the most entuned in the conversation. Obviously, a lot of the girl students were asking questions about him personally because of how good looking he was. (Y/N) was different, she wanted to get all of the details on the health field.

Now, here they are almost a year later, and Erik has have her heart and he has hers. Helping her with her studies, letting have a place to lay her head when she didn't want to be with her roommates.

Her pouting face was now angry, Erik automatically realized it. "Fix your face." he gave her a kiss on the lips as she rolled her eyes. Luckily, he didn't see it as he turned around walking to the door. "Break a rule and your ass is mine! Daddy loves you!" he yelled and he was out the door. She turned around looking at his empty apartment.

12 fucking hours.

She was on hour 8 and she did everything she could think off. She turned in some last minutes assignments, did the laundry, clean out his refrigerator, and cleaned up the entire apartment. She still had time to herself, so she decided to have a little fun. She'll start of small.

Recently just getting out the show, she sat in front of his wide body mirror taking pictures of herself. Some were innocent, some were not so innocent.

Erik sat down exhausted from the five hour surgery of a a traumatic car crash. Grabbing his phone, he saw that their was a few text messages from his dear (Y/N) grabbing it. Opening the text, he immediately put it back to his chest as he saw glimpses of what she was doing.

He turned around to make sure that there was no one staring from behind, before lowering his brightness and looking at the photos. "My God..." he whispered to himself.

There she took an innocent looking picture on the bed with nothing on. He could even see in the picture how she sat where her thighs and ass making her thickness more provident. The only piece of clothing (more like accessory) was those same red framed glasses that made him fall in love even more. The things he wanted to make her do was dangerous.

The next photo was her sitting on the floor, leaned against the bed with her spreading her pussy wide enough for him to see but not enough to see everything. The hints of red on her toes, on her fingers, and her glasses was something that was sending him on edge, especially with her dark skin.

Erik : Did I not tell you to touch yourself.. you tryna get that ass spanked I see.

(Y/N): Daddy I haven't touched myself, I just sent you pictures.

(Y/N): But it's so hard, can I play with one of your pillows daddy?

(Y/N): Technically I wouldn't be touching myself...

Erik : No little girl, what the fuck did I tell you

It was a minute before he received a response. He assumed she was upset with him for denying her a rightfully and much needed orgasm but he didn't care.

He was sadly mistaken.

There in their text thread, was a video of her riding one of his pillows, nipples hard, and clitoris grinding against the pillow. She was definitely in need of a orgasm with the way her clit was swollen and moving against the pillow.

Her eyes was to the back as she continued winding her hips, gripping onto the pillow with one hand and playing with her titties on the other hand.

With his eye twitching, his dick damn near pulsating, he knew he couldn't finish the rest of the shift.

#erik kilmonger x reader #erik stevens #erik stevens smut #erik stevens x reader #killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger smut #erik stevens ua

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tswaney17 · 1 month

Text

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 44

This part fought me at every corner, but I said screw it. Let's post and move on. 😅 It's crazy to think there are only 5 more parts left and an epilogue. The end of an era is arriving soon. I'm excited though, to have this one finished because I've got a lot of other goodies in the works right now. Stay tuned!

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 5,852

It had been a month since the car accident and their family found out about the pregnancy. The first week after the wreck had been rough, always worrying over whether she would eventually start bleeding as a late-term consequence of the crash. Azriel, her blessed husband, was doing everything in his power to keep her calm.

But she didn’t. Not a speck of blood.

Elain thanked every god for the safety of her babies knowing she wouldn’t have survived losing them.

She and Az hadn’t discussed any further on his retaliation tactics, hoping that he would drop the whole issue. Escalating right now when they were about halfway through her pregnancy didn’t seem like the best idea.

Elain did trust Azriel’s decisions, even if she didn’t necessarily agree with them.

A sigh escaped her lips and she rubbed her palm over her more prominent belly. She was beginning to round out now, rather than just looking like an oversized, carb-based pudge. Her scrubs were starting to get tight and it was only a matter of time before she had to invest in a larger size. At least in the top. The bottoms still had some stretch available.

“Doctor Archeron,” her boss called and she whirled around to face him. “We have an incoming pediatric patient who needs a surgical consult. Are you up to being my second?”

Pediatric surgeries didn’t come often, so when they did, he always made sure she had the opportunity to assist—especially since she was the Attending and would be taking these cases on with the team of residents here soon.

She was already moving to his side. “I’m in.” With her nausea and dizzy spells, Elain had to cut back on some of her surgical procedures, unable to give her best results to the patient. She was sure it was the combination of the stress and the constant standing that always had her head feeling woozy. So, she took what she could, and then made rounds for surgical consults in the pit. Having built a strong bond with the residents, they were always eager and willing to grab her a snack or craving when she needed it, even when she profusely told them they did not need to do so. But Elain had to admit, it was nice when they did, and she made sure to reward them with her knowledge and expertise when handling difficult cases.

They slid open the glass door where the young patient was held and she stopped in her tracks. The little boy couldn’t have been more than four years old, with dark hair that brushed over the tops of his ears, and golden-brown skin. His eyes flashed when they entered revealing a green and golden gaze.

Elain recognized his heritage immediately.

He was Illyrian. Like Azriel.

She also read the fear plastered on his face, in his movements as he cradled his broken arm to his chest. Large tears littered along his lower lash line; something inside of her cracked at that desperate look.

“Hello, Kaden,” Thesan said in a kind voice, lowering the iPad to his side and looking directly at the boy. “We’re going to help take care of that arm for you.” He took a step forward and Kaden flinched, crying out softly as the movement tugged on his injury.

Her boss stopped his approach; a level of uncertainty crept into his gaze as he glanced at her for assistance.

Elain cleared her throat, capturing the boy’s attention. She moved the rolling stool closer to his bedside and slowly sat down on it, making sure he watched her every move. “Hi, Kaden,” she spoke in a soft voice. “My name is Elain.” She shuffled slightly closer, relieved when he didn’t balk at her approach. In fact, it almost seemed like his eyes flicked down to her swollen stomach before returning to her face. “I see that your arm is hurt. Would you mind if I took a closer look?” Elain held out her hand, letting it lie on his bed palm up in a calm, welcoming gesture.

When he hesitated, she added, “You’re safe here, sweetheart. We won’t hurt you.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, but something in her gut told her that it wasn’t just strangers he was afraid of. It was people altogether. And that concerned her, more so than just from a physician’s standpoint.

Finally, he moved his arm over to her, those tears falling down his cheeks as he whimpered in pain.

“I know, baby. I know. You’re doing so well,” she cooed, gently examining the injury between her fingers. From the disfiguration, it was obvious that it was a transverse complete fracture, the radius and the ulna having stacked on top of each other, and somehow not penetrating through his skin.

Elain sat wondering how the hell this child had such a severe injury, and it was then she noticed the scar on his other arm from a different, extensive wound. She frowned, glancing up at Thesan through her lashes. “Without a proper x-ray, I can’t be definitive on how extensive the damage is, but I’m certain he’ll need this surgically repaired.

The other doctor crossed his arms.

Kaden flinched.

Her mouth parted. Because that wasn’t just a flinch of fear. It was a flinch of abuse. Elain had no doubt in her mind about his home life. A lump swelled in her throat at the thought of it, and she watched as Thesan slowly lowered his arms to appear less intimidating toward the young boy.

Without thinking, she reached up to trace the pads of her fingers across his temple, sweeping his hair back before brushing away the tears that still stained his cheeks. Elain released a breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding when he didn’t shy away from her touch. “I’m going to put your arm in a brace to hold it still until we can fix it, okay?”

He didn’t speak, didn’t even shake his head to indicate that he understood her, but he watched her, those green and gold-speckled eyes wary, but curious too.

She slid the stool back, reached into one of the drawers on the moveable cabinet, and grabbed what she needed. Getting him into the brace was a whole thing on its own. He cried and screamed as she tried to be as gentle as she could, and every sound he made felt like a knife in her chest. “I know, sweetie. I know. But this will help, I promise,” she murmured, trying to calm him.

His pain broke her heart. Shattered it into a million pieces. Because no child deserves to suffer like that.

Once she finally got him strapped in, Elain released his arm but didn’t step back. No, she couldn’t leave him in this state. Instead, she brushed more tears away with her thumb, cupping his cheek in comfort. It was completely out of line in that patient-doctor relationship, but frankly, she didn’t give a damn. Elain wouldn’t leave him like this—refused to. So, she gave him the gentleness of her touch, the security she knew he didn’t receive from his parents, wherever the fuck they might be.

“Elain,” Thesan said, catching her gaze. “Can we speak in the hall?”

She nodded, swiping her thumb over his cheek one last time. “We’ll be back, Kaden,” she murmured, resisting the urge to kiss the top of his head. Those damn hormones were really getting to her.

He slid the door shut behind them, turning to face her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

She knew he didn’t mean her actions. “The severity of his fracture looks like it came from a large fall. Maybe down a staircase. Did you notice the scar on his other arm?”

“I did,” Thesan told her, eyes going hard. It wasn’t a look she saw on him often, but child abuse cases were always difficult. “It looked like something that required stitching but didn’t receive it. It’s too harsh to have been healed properly.”

She grunted in agreement. “I don’t think we’ll be able to get an x-ray from him. Not when he’s this terrified. I know he needs surgery without it, but maybe we can grab an x-ray after we put him under?” Her boss nodded his head in a way that said he was on the same wavelength as her. “Where are his parents? How did he get brought in here?”

“I’m about to go find out from Viviane. Hopefully she or one of the other nurses can give us more detail.”

“I’ll reach out to social services and see if I can get our social worker from child protective services down here quickly. I suspect child abuse and we’re going to need somebody to sign off on his surgery,” Elain said, already pulling her phone from the front of her scrubs.

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “You did good in there, Elain. He wouldn’t have let me get near him, but you connected with him.” He paused, eyes flicking between hers. “It was that maternal instinct coming out. I could see it in how you handled him—comforted him. Excellent work.”

She couldn’t stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. “Thank you, Thesan.”

Gripping her once more, he strode away, heading for the nurses’ station to speak with them about their patient.

Elain glanced back over her shoulder at the child in the room behind her, his body curled up on his side as best as he could with his arm braced. His little hand fisted the sheets, eyes having drifted close. Her heart hammered in her chest. What else could he have been through that they didn’t know? Scrolling through the phone, she tapped on the name of their CPS contact.

It rang twice before she picked up. “Hey,” Elain said quietly. “I need you at the hospital. Now.”

A pause before she said. “Give me fifteen minutes,” and hung up.

She stared through that glass door, lips pulling down into a sad frown. Something drew her toward him, and Elain was determined to figure out why.

~~~

Elain was waiting for the CPS worker at the front of the nurses’ station. She and Thesan had a quick convo where he informed her of everything they knew about their patient, which turned out, wasn’t a whole lot. He had been sent over from the hospital in Illyria, not having a pediatric surgeon on hand to help him. Technically, she and Thesan also weren’t pediatric surgeons, but they’d been trained in those patients to be able to provide him the care he needed.

Her attention snagged on the tall woman walking into the building, her pace quick and determined.

Elain met her halfway. “Emerie,” she murmured, shaking her hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“You sounded urgent on the phone.”

They strode through the hospital to the elevators. “It is. My patient’s name is Kaden. He has a transverse complete fracture that requires surgery.”

Emerie flicked her thick, dark plait of hair over her shoulder. “Parents won’t sign off on it?”

“Parents aren’t here,” Elain said, pressing the button for floor three to take them to the pediatrics department. “His neighbor called it in when she got home from the grocery store. Told the EMTs that she heard his screams and just called for help.”

“How old is he?”

The doors slid open and they stepped out of the elevator. “Just over four.” She directed them toward his door. “There’s something else,” she started, looking over at the boy in question. “He won’t speak and seems very intimidated by people. Fearful of them. I suspect he’s a victim of child abuse. I was barely able to get the brace on him, so we haven’t attempted an x-ray yet.”

Emerie pursed her lips in contemplation. “What’s your plan?”

“We want to do the x-ray while he’s under. It’s obvious he will need his facture repaired surgically, but we won’t get a clear picture of the damage until we get him prepped.”

She nodded. “I can get on board with that after I try and talk with him of course.” Emerie looked in at the child lying on the bed. “You said he’s just over four?” she asked.

“Yes. His chart shows his birthday was a few months ago.”

Those dark eyes found hers. “He looks awfully small for a four-year-old.”

Elain’s heart ached in her chest. “Yes, we were thinking he appeared a bit malnourished.”

“Do me a favor. When you get him in for x-rays, get some of his body. I want to see if any previous injuries can sanction the abuse.”

Elain’s chin dipped in confirmation as she grabbed the handle of the door and slid it open. “Hello, Kaden,” she said, voice softening. “I’ve brought a friend who wants to talk with you.”

His head turned to look over at them, eyes going straight to Emerie. He shuffled on the bed, curling into himself.

She shared a glance with Elain before moving forward, cautiously. “Hello, Kaden. My name is Emerie. I’m here to help you.”

He blinked at her, not unfurling from his fetal-like position.

Emerie frowned, returning her attention to her. “Do you think he might be deaf?”

Elain’s brows shot into her hairline. She hadn’t thought that at all. “He seems like he can hear us, but let me see,” she said, turning to sign can you hear me at the little boy.

No response.

She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s deaf. Just mute.”

The social worker’s mouth turned down further. “I’ll sign off on the surgery. I can see the injury from here. Has anyone tried to contact his parents?”

“There’s a number for a father, but it’s been disconnected. I can give you his file to see if there’s anything you can pull from it.” Emerie gripped her arm in thanks, moving to sit down on the rolling stool that she sat upon earlier. “I’m going to call up to the OR to get a room prepped. A nurse will be in with the forms to sign in a bit.”

She gave Kaden a small smile, hoping it would bring one to his face, but he just stared at her, little hands fisting the bedsheets. Elain felt an undeniable pull toward the child. A deep-seated need to help him—care for him. She just needed to figure out how.

~~~

Four remodeled fractures.

Elain sat in the chair next to Kaden’s bed as she looked through the X-rays they took of him. She pulled out four, severe remodeled fractures—now five with the one they just repaired. How the fuck did a child of four have five fractures in his lifetime already?

Anger, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before burned inside of her like a volcano readying to erupt. It was obvious that this boy had experienced such tremendous pain and horrors in his young life. She couldn’t help but compare him to her husband, born into cruelty. Abused and neglected. Left to fend for himself.

It left a dangerous spot in her heart. One where she wasn’t sure if she could untangle him from.

The door slid open and Emerie popped in, her dark eyes glancing toward the sleeping child. “How’d it go?” she whispered. Getting him under had taken some work. The anesthesiologist ordered him to be held down so he could put the mask on his crying face when she entered.

“Do not hold him down,” Elain had growled, storming into the operating room after having scrubbed down. The surgical nurses seemed to back up at the look on her face. Even the two residents assigned to the surgery hesitated. She’d moved to his side, fingers stroking his soft cheek. “Hi, sweet boy,” she murmured, voice softening. “I’m going to fix your arm now, but you need to go to sleep first. You don’t want to be awake for this.” Her thumb made a gentle caress back and forth on his face. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She made quick work wiping his tears away, humming under her breath a simple lullaby. Elain waited until he was calm, silver-lined eyes drying as his eyelids slowly lowered without her even using the gas on him. She knew he was likely exhausted, having gone hours without much sleep. The constant crying would’ve drained him too. So, only when he finally shut his eyes, did she take the mask from the anesthesiologist and place it over his face.

The door clicking shut behind Emerie pulled her from her memory. “Getting him under was rough, but I managed to get it done.” She held out the X-rays for her. “He’s had four other fractures that I found. Two hairline ones on his third and fourth ribs, one to his left femur, and one…” her words trailed off, unable to spit out the location of that last injury.

Emerie took a seat on the stool, facing her. “Where was the last one, Elain?”

She took a ragged breath. “On the back of his skull.”

“Any ideas on how he got it?”

Elain sat back in the chair she’d brought in. “Looks like he might’ve collided with something. Probably pushed backward and fell into a table or something similar.”

“They were set properly, though?”

She nodded. “Yes, the last one looks to be about a year old now. The others are about two.” Elain frowned. “The first four were cared for, but this time he was left alone to deal with it. What changed?” she wondered more to herself than anything, but it appeared the social worker had the answer.

Emerie handed her another file. “His mother died. It wasn’t in his medical report, but I had some people do a little digging and found the name of his birth parents. Lorenzo and Anastasia Salazar.” Her lips turned down in the corner. “Reviewing everything you’ve given me and the reports I’ve pulled, I’d theorize the abuse came from the father and when he left, the mother took him to seek medical attention off books.”

“Off books?” Elain asked, brows furrowing.

“There’s nothing in his medical history about the abuse. No flags have ever been attached to his profile in the system. So, either they paid off whatever doctor they used, or they had somebody private doing at-home calls.”

Like Azriel’s personal medical team…She was careful to keep her face neutral, but Elain had a feeling that Lorenzo was a part of some gang, if not the Illyrian Mob itself. Sighing, she looked back at the sleeping boy, her heart racing in her chest.

“Should I be looking into other options for him aside from foster care?” Emerie asked carefully, eyes flicking down to her pregnant stomach and then back up.

Elain’s dark gaze met hers. “I don’t know,” she said earnestly.

The social worker seemed to understand. “Tell you what. I’ll prepare both options for you and then you can decide what you want to do after you talk to your husband.”

Something inside her chest unlocked at her words.

A groggy sigh caught their attention and they twisted to see Kaden’s eyes fluttering open. His small whimper had Elain moving, sitting on the edge of his bed to run her fingers through his dark hair.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured.

He looked at her with large, hazel, and green eyes before curling into her side, cuddling close to her.

It took all of Elain’s willpower to not sob in elation that he felt comfortable with her now. How long had he gone without love or affection that he would cling to a near stranger who showed him any sort of warmth?

Emerie smiled, rising from her chair. “I’m going to go start handling some paperwork. Call me if you need anything in the meantime or if anything changes.”

She waved her off, resituating herself on his bed as she gave herself a few more seconds of snuggling this precious boy.

~~~~~

Azriel knew something was bothering Elain the moment she stepped through the elevator door. He could read it on her face, in the half-assed smile she shot him. In the way she picked at the food on her dinner plate.

It frustrated him that when he asked her about work, knowing something was wrong, she lied to his face and said it was fine. It wasn’t fine. Nothing about the way his wife was acting was fine. He just wished she would tell him what it was.

“You need to eat, El,” he tried, keeping his voice soft.

She pushed her plate back. “I’m not hungry.”

He tried not to get irritated—he knew Elain was carrying a lot on her plate with her job and the pregnancy. But he was done with her not being honest with him. Azriel sighed, setting his utensils down on his plate with a clank. “All right. I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

Her dark eyes glanced at him, before returning to stare at her meal. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit, Elain. I can tell something is wrong without you even having to say it. It’s written as clear as day on your face. I am your husband. You’re supposed to confide in me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s the matter.”

Az expected her to relent. To sigh, eyes rolling to the sky and finally tell him everything. What he didn’t expect was for her to burst into tears.

Her face fell into the cradle of her palms as a heart-wrenching sob tore from her throat.

For a moment, he froze, blind-sighted by the sudden emotion. And then the panic swept in. He was out of his seat a second later, moving around the edge of the table to pull her chair back and kneeling in front of her seat. “Hey,” he murmured, rubbing his hands on her thighs. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He kissed her kneecap, squeezing her legs gently to show her he was there for her.

Elain sniffed, running the back of her hand under her nose. “You didn’t upset me.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Then what did, love?”

She let out a shaky breath, hands falling into her lap. He took one in his, gripping it tightly. “I had a patient today with a fractured arm that we had to surgically repair. He was only four, and was brought in alone—no father and the mother died last year.” Elain sniffed again. “I found four other remodeled fractures on him from over the last two years. One of them was on the back of his skull.”

Azriel had a feeling about where this was leading. “Abuse?” he asked, voice carefully soft.

Elain nodded. “It would appear so.” She wet her lips, finally meeting his gaze. “Az, he looks like you. He could be your son.”

His eyes widened, unsure of where she was going but he had a hunch.

“I picked out his Illyrian heritage easily enough, but his circumstances, the way he’s been brutalized…they all remind me of you. Of your past.”

He couldn’t argue with her. Just hearing about the pain that had been inflicted on him reminded Az of his childhood. In how his father and half-brothers tortured him. It took an effort to not glance down at his scarred hands, a physical reminder of the trauma he’d endured. “What’s going to happen to him?”

“I’ve been in touch with Child Protective Services and he will likely go into the foster care system. But, looking at what’s been done to him, in the fact that he refuses to talk, and is terrified of adults, I’m concerned he won’t even be considered for adoption…” She let the words hang there, hoping he’d pick up on the unspoken ones she hadn’t yet said out loud but was hinting toward.

Az cocked his head to the side. “You want to adopt him.” It wasn’t a question—it didn’t need to be one. He could see Elain’s every desire as if it were written on her forehead. She had fallen in love with that child.

She dipped her head in confirmation, lower lip trapped between her teeth.

He squeezed her fingers again, thinking over his next few questions. “Love, I need to ask you something, and I want you to promise me you won’t get upset with me for it. Because I think this question needs to be asked.”

Her tongue darted along her lip, but she nodded for him to continue.

“Could the desire to adopt him have anything to do with your pregnancy? I know you have a lot of hormones running through you right now, and your maternal side is going to be very potent. This isn’t just because of that, right? You truly want him?”

Elain was already shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. He was brought to me for a reason, Az. I can feel it in my gut.” Her small hand cradled her stomach in emphasis.

He kissed her knuckles. “And it’s not because he reminds you of me?” He needed to hear her say it. That she wasn’t trying to save this child because of the similarities, but because she truly wanted to take on another kid.

“I’ve never been one for higher powers, but there’s something about Kaden that has completely unraveled me. He fears people but he trusts me. I know, deep in my heart, he was brought to my hospital because I could give him the life he deserves. That we could offer him something better and love him so fully, he’ll never remember a time where he suffered.” Elain wiped the tear from under her lashes. “He is supposed to be our son, Az. I just know it down to my bones.”

It was a lot to consider. She was halfway through her pregnancy with twins and adopting a third child right now would be insane. But he knew they could do it—that they had the means and the love to give to three children. People might call them mad, but looking at her, he had never seen such determination in her eyes and he could feel it buzzing under his skin. “All right,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “I’ll come to the hospital tomorrow afternoon to meet him.”

Elain’s brown eyes brightened like rays of sunshine. “Really? You mean that?”

“If he’s important to you, then he’s important to me, love. That’s the only thing that matters.” And he meant it too. Azriel would lay the stars at her feet if she asked for them.

More tears ran down her cheeks as she slid off her chair and threw her arms around his neck. He held her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, and the other running lines up and down her spine.

“Thank you, Az,” she cried, dampening the skin of his throat.

He hushed her sobs, pulling back to hold her cheeks in his palms. “I love you, Elain. All of you. And I would give you anything your heart desires.” His words had her crying in earnest, enough so that it took him a while to calm her down.

Thoroughly exhausted, Azriel carried his pregnant wife up the stairs and put her to bed; a hum of excitement stirring in his chest at what was to come.

~~~

Azriel pulled into a parking spot outside of the hospital at exactly three o’clock. His heart was racing in his chest like he’d just run a marathon, his gut swirling with anxiety. Elain had told him that the boy—Kaden, he reminded himself—was fearful of adults. In particular, males.

What if he didn’t like him? If he was scared of him? The questions had been daunting him all day and if he was being honest with himself, he was worried. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to form a connection with this child. That he’d only bond with Elain and would resent Az’s presence.

It was fucking irrational, he knew that. But still, the thoughts invaded his mind and refused to let go.

He pulled out his phone and checked the messages from Elain.

Third floor, children’s ICU.

He’s been exceptionally clingy to me today.

Az smiled down at his phone at the second message, picturing the little boy snuggled into his wife’s side when she visited him. Which, was every chance she got.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the vehicle and headed to the front entrance.

The Moonbeam twins had taken up residence in the lobby and spotted him immediately, rising from their seats to greet him.

“Mr. Knight,” Fenrys spoke. “Is everything all right?” he asked, looking over his shoulder into the emergency room concerned.

“Everything is fine. I’m just meeting Elain for an appointment.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. They had decided to forgo telling anyone about the potential adoption until much further into the process, not wanting anyone to try and talk them out of it.

“Of course,” Connall said, stepping aside. “We won’t keep you waiting.”

He offered them a quirk of his lips before heading for the elevator, but he stopped on his way, spying the hospital gift shop. In particular, the stuffed teddy bear in the window. With a glance over his shoulders to make sure nobody had spotted him, he turned into the shop and plucked the bear out of the window display, taking it to the cashier.

A few minutes later, he was riding up to floor three, the soft, plush toy in his grip. Az tugged on the knot of his tie, loosening it around his neck. His hazel eyes spotted Elain across the floor, sitting on the edge of a bed. Her mouth was moving, but she was behind a closed door so he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Like a moth to a flame, he moved toward her, his heart hammering in his chest as he approached the glass slider and knocked.

Elain’s head snapped up, the most radiant smile pulling on her lips as she beckoned him in with a wave of her hand. Fuck, she was so gorgeous. Even made more radiant by the pregnancy as she entered into the second-trimester glow.

Azriel slid the door open, catching the end of her sentence.

“—someone I’d like for you to meet.”

Her fingers threaded through a dark mop of hair, and he finally let his eyes roam over the small child clinging to her waist.

“Kaden, this is my husband, Azriel. Azriel,” she said, gaze flicking to his with a soft smile. “This is Kaden.”

He looked at the young boy, meeting his stare and offering him a calming smile. “Hello, Kaden. It’s nice to meet you.”

Not a sound. Nothing from him other than turning to bury his face further into Elain’s side.

His heart broke, but Azriel was nothing if not determined, placing the teddy bear on the bed against the railing.

Elain grinned at him, thumb rubbing over Kaden’s cheek. “Did you see what Azriel brought you?” she murmured.

A green eye, flecked with gold peeked out from Elain’s waist, glancing at the plush toy but he didn’t reach for it.

Az sat down on the rolling stool, sliding over to the opposite side of the bed as his wife.

“We were just reading a story,” she announced, handing him the book. “How about Azriel finishes for me?” she murmured, brushing Kaden’s dark hair away from his face. “How does that sound?”

He thumbed open the book, going to the page she indicated they left off on. Clearing his throat, he began to read, using the inflections of his voice to aid him in his efforts to make it engaging. Kaden didn’t move away from his wife the entire time he spoke, but he did eventually turn his head to watch him.

Azriel took in the child in his peripheral, seeing the resemblance of himself. He could see why she had claimed he could’ve been his son. Bearing nearly his identical coloring and many similar markers of his Illyrian heritage, Kaden could easily be mistaken as his biological child.

And yet, it was obvious that Kaden was terrified of him.

He sat there for an hour, reading with him, trying to converse with him, and nothing. Azriel felt like a failure. Rising from his seat, he bid the boy farewell, shooting his wife a sad smile.

“I’ll walk you out,” she told them, ruffling Kaden’s hair before following him out of the room.

“He hates me,” he groaned, stopping in his tracks and scrubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes.

Elain moved to stand in front of him. “He does not hate you, Azriel. He’s just intimidated by you—”

“How is that better?”

She ran a hand up his bicep to grip him around the back of his neck. “You can make yourself less intimidating, Az. You in a suit is a force to be reckoned with, and frankly, I have a feeling his father wore similar attire.”

His brows furrowed. “What makes you say that?”

Her thumb traced over his jaw. “The woman who found him refused to give the paramedics her name. They said she looked terrified to even be talking to them. He’s Illyrian, Az…” her voice trailed off, leading him to the answer.

“You think his father is in the Illyrian Mob.” Not a question but a statement of fact.

“Lorenzo Salazar,” Elain confirmed.

The name didn’t immediately register anything in his brain, but he had something to go off of now. Azriel would look into him, find every single detail about the man’s life, and then decide if he deserved to die for the pain and suffering he put his son through.

“Come back tomorrow in jeans and a plain shirt and I’m sure it will help,” Elain told him, bringing his attention back to her face. Her eyes glanced over his shoulder to the boy in the room, a smile tugging on her lips. “Az,” she whispered, nodding toward the room behind them.

Something warm flared in his chest as he turned, and saw Kaden clutching the teddy bear he brought tightly to his body.

Elain stepped up to his side. “If he was afraid of you, Azriel, he would not be touching that toy. You connected with him, even if you can’t physically see it, but you did.”

A sense of awe washed over him, followed by an overwhelming urge to love and protect that boy. He wasn’t sure how long they stood staring at his sleeping form until he breathed, “I want him, El…I want him to be a part of our family.”

Her soft hand slipped into his, fingers lacing. “So, let’s bring him home.”

With joy and love, they stood watching the boy who would one day soon become their son.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

AITA for not liking my 3 y/o brother?

We’re both autistic, but very differently; I get overloaded easily and have violent meltdowns, and he gets understimulated very easily and loves to make constant noise. He always has his iPad on, usually way too loud, and always on the most grating songs (my parents got him headphones last Christmas so we could both be happy, but that’s been entirely forgotten now and I haven’t even seen them since maybe January). Sometimes I’ll go downstairs for food and he’ll have both the iPad and TV on with different things, both loud, and also be shrieking loudly enough to cause me physical pain, sometimes while throwing toys at the floor to make the loudest crash he can as well

It’s worse because the way the house is built, all of the sound from the living room gets funnelled directly to my room

Most days, I have to isolate myself in my room with the door closed and noise cancelling headphones on at all times to block out the noise, and sometimes even that isn’t enough. It’s completely fine if the living room door is also closed, and that room is not only huge but is also connected to the garden, but I’ve been getting shouted at for asking my parents to try and keep the door closed, because he wants full reign of the entire floor while I’m trapped in one room to try to avoid getting overloaded daily

I really want to love my brother, he’s so sweet and happy, but it drives me insane. I understand we have very different needs and I’ve been trying to just deal with it as best I can, but I’m the furthest away I can physically get from where he is most of the time and I still can’t escape the noise

Am I an arsehole for not being able to like him anymore?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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journalsouppe · 1 year

Text

Here's one of my favorite spreads-- Professor Layton and the Curious Village!! I absolutely love this game and cannot wait to play the sequels!

Writing typed below!

Rating: 8.5/10 Played: Spring 2023 Port: HD mobile (iPad) Favorite? Y Replayable? Y Recommend? Y Series: Professor Layton

Comments:

That tower is insane

Omg I love the memopad, I feel like I'm on Blues Clues

I love the mystery surrounding the tower

omg are we building a robot dog?? -> yes <3 Hot Dog

Omg crash box match puzzle!! ... WHAT THE FUCK

Layton: ew this bottle is so gross. Luke stick your hand in there

What if we were germs in a glass jar and we held hands

Layton you better have Luke on a leash or smth he better not get kidnapped oh my god I am so stressed

Luke is softie for animals T^T <3

A WORM'S DREAM

STACHENSCARFEN omfg not the ace attorney name

veil of night my beloved <3

that old man is BOOKING IT

matthew is the only real one

love the chess puzzles

gorgeous grave statue

these inn items??? T-T

sewer time

Luke: don't worry professor! No one would ever dream of stealing the Layton mobile

Layton: .... Just what do you mean by that Luke

THE FERRIS WHEEL???

Omg layton in a crown

I like how all the tower puzzles are difficult

don't like the creepy lady

is everyone a robot??

YEA A LOGIC PUZZLE

the flying spike ball is insane

He just built the sail??

The ending was SO SWEET T^T

Game Dev Notes:

Beautiful animated scenes

iconic and calming music

stunning 2d art (character and environment)

great range of puzzle difficulty

interactive background and collectibles

different rewards for finishing puzzles

recap questions to see if you were paying attention to the details

great interweaving of puzzles into the story

interesting overall mystery

ability to explore both before the end and after (& gold layton if you solve everything)

Summary:

I absolutely love this game. It's so charming and sweet with a fun story surrounding puzzles. I love the characters and I love their little quips. I love the range of puzzles and how some of them have historical context. It's such a simple concept that was executed very well. Although the story isn't ground breaking, it was still really fun and shocking. It reminds me a lot of an ACD Sherlock story as it's just another one of Layton and Luke's wacky adventures. It is also set up in the perfect way to allow both sequels and prequels (which is what did happen lol). There's a ton of added replayability such as bonus puzzles, finding every furniture piece and arrangements, finding the charms, etc. It's so interactive and doesn't punish the player at all. This is an amazing puzzle game and there's no shame to not knowing the puzzle answers. You don't get full points if you mess up but that's fine as the picarats don't affect main story gameplay. I am so exccited to see how the sequels expand on the characters, especially Flora! She seems like a very unique character and I am so excited to see more of her. I am also just so happy to finally experience the beautiful music I have been listening to for years in the game. The music is so incredible and charming, it makes me want to find a nice, small European town to explore. What a great game and I am excited for what's next! Hopefully in time for the New World of Steam!

All of the stickers I got from Daiso. If you are interested in the materials I use you can check out my pinned post in my blog!

#professor layton #professor layton and the curious village #hershel layton #luke triton #curious village #bullet journal #journalsouppe #video game journal #journaling #journal

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melanieph321 · 2 months

Text

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 8/15

What a perfect day to release a chapter hahaha. 🤣 It's derby day between Man City and Liverpool and with the beef going on between Trent and the team my story becomes more and more unrealistic, or what do you think? 🤔

Could Trent ever make peace with somone like Ruben? Let alone allow Ruben to date his sister?

Part 9 and 10 are already out on my Patreon!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

"These are actually pretty good."

"Really?" You perked up where you sat on the sofa in Ruben's hotel room. He was sitting next to you.

"Yes and the press seems to love the outfit you choose for Ruben, look."

Miranda turned her Ipad around, showing you the published images of Ruben, wearing the outfit you had picked out for him.

"I'll admit that I had my doubts at first, but the reviews have all been great. Good job Y/N."

"Um, thank you Miranda." A complement from her felt like a lifetime achievement.

"I'm gonna call the photographer that took these and see if he can send me the negatives. We might be able to use them on Instagram to summarize the weekend. Miranda left the room to make the call, leaving you alone with Ruben, who had barely acknowledged you this morning.

"I better pack my bags." You said, rising from the sofa. Ruben however, refused to move his legs out of the way to let you pass.

"Excuse me?" You groaned. It wasn't funny, neither of you were laughing. "Ruben?"

His legs wouldn't budge, and you were getting agitated. "What the he'll are you doing, move your..."

Ruben drew back his legs just as you were about to swing at them with your own. This caused you to stumble forwards, almost tripping yourself.

"What was that for?" You frowned.

Ruben's expression was emotionless as he stood, and for the first time the height difference between you was intimidating.

"I...I just wanted to go to my room and pack my bags." You stuttered.

Ruben exhaled. "We need to talk first."

"Talk about what exactly?" You crossed your arms.

"The way you left me last night, it was unprofessional." He said.

"Ruben, I told you that I came down with something." Which was a lie, but it was the best one you could come up with on such short notice.

"And what exactly was it that you came down with?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well you seemed fine when you left my side at the party. What made you suddenly wanna run off Y/N?"

"Ruben, for the third time, I wasn't running, I just needed to get back to the hotel and lie down."

"So that's where you did it?"

"Did what?" You frowned, his tone spiteful to you.

Ruben shifted in his stance, crossing one arm over the other. "Y/N, I expect you to take your job seriously. For you to then run off with some guy...."

"I didn't run off with some guy."

"Don't lie to me Y/N, John saw you!"

The echoes of his words bounced off the walls. The room fell silent.

Ruben's eyes searched your face, he was angry and wanted answers, rightfully so. "Who is he Y/N, an old flame from your university days?"

"Ruben."

"No." He shook his head. "Don't tell me. It's none of my business." He walked over to the windows, running a hand through his hair.

"Ruben, it's not what it looks like. That guy, he is my...."

"Just know if you ever pull something like that on me again...." He said, slowly turning to you. "I won't be giving you any second chances, understood? Do your job from now on or the next time you're fired."

"There. The photographer gave me the thumbs up. He'll be sending me the...." Miranda stumbled into the room but paused at the sight of you and Ruben. "Everything alright?"

You were staring blankly at each other, something heavy forming in the base of your throat. Your voice shook when you spoke. "I have to pack my bags." You said and ran off into your room, gasping for air once you stood behind closed doors. You were gasping for air from the unstoppable flood of tears.

You were considering your life choices on the journey back to London. What if you just moved aboard and started a new life in some foreign country? No one would know you and you wouldn't have to lie about who you were. You'd be nothing and therefore be someone.

"Y/N! You're back early."

You stepped into Grandma's shop carrying your suitcases. You had forgotten your keys to her apartment but was glad to be welcomed by Jennifer at the front desk. However, her initial joy of seeing you quickly faded. "Oh my god, you're soaking wet. Is it pouring outside?"

"Just a drizzle." You murmured, as she rounded her desk to help usher you inside. "Is my grandma here? I forgot my keys."

"She's in her office, sorting out a golden suit. You won't guess who it's for." She giggled.

"Trent."

Her smile withered. "How did you know?"

You removed your soaked coat. Your shirt beneath had also been ruined.

"Oh my god, tell me about your weekend." She gasped. "London Fashion Week, was it as exciting as they make it to be? And your boss, was she happy with your work?"

"He." You corrected.

"What?"

"My boss is a he, and no he wasn't happy with my work."

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry Y/N. Is he high maintenance when it comes to fashion?"

"No, he's just a fucking dickhead."

"Language."

Grandma walked into the room, pinching a dozen sewing needles between her teeth.

"But he is a dickhead Grandma. And I don't care anymore, I'm not going back to work for him."

Grandma spat out the needles in her mouth, all the pins dropping soundless to the floor. "Well you're not coming back to work for me!"

"But where else am I supposed to go?"

"Home. To your mother, and tell her she's failed to raise her children."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"I'm serious Y/N, you're not staying with me. I'm getting tired of your tardiness, not to mention that furball you've got running around my apartment."

"What does Whiskey Jr, have to do with any of this?"

"He stinks, just like your attitude towards authority."

"I don't have an attitude towards authority. "

The bell above the front door rang in the distance. "Guys?"

"No, tell that to your current boss. I've overheard you talking, I bet he's done with your tardiness as well."

"Hey, guys?"

"What are you talking about Grandma, you don't even know my boss and if you did you would agree that he is a fucking piece of...."

"Y/N, please!"

Your argument with grandma was interrupted by Jenny's objections. She stood by the shop entrance, greeting the customer that had stepped through the door. He was soaked with rainwater from head to toe.

"You have a new client." She said, cheeks as red as they come. You on the other hand, couldn't find the words to speak and so grandma stepped in. "Can I help you sir, we're not open for much longer."

Ruben stepped forward. "No....I mean yes. I want to speak to Y/N."

"My granddaughter?" She frowned. "And who might you be, young man?"

You shook your head as Ruben met your eyes. However he went ahead anyway. "I'm Ruben, Ruben Dias, her boss."

"Oh. My. Days!"

You saw Jenny bouncing up and down in the corner of your eye.

"There's no way." She squealed. "There is no fucking way."

"Jenny please." You groaned, begging her to spare Grandma who hadn't been as quick to put two and two together.

"Your boss is Ruben Dias? Of all people." Jenny was clearly overjoyed by the drama unfolding before her. "Y/N, you're basically working for the enemy."

"Please don't be so dramatic". You sighed.

"Does Trent know? He's got to know, right?"

"Trent?"

You looked to Ruben as the name escaped his lips. His eyebrows furrowed. "Is that who you were with in London? Is that the name of your boyfriend, Trent?"

"Ha!" Jenny snorted, slapping a hand against her mouth. "You ran into Trent in London? Oh the drama. I can't."

"For fuck sakes Jenny!"

"Y/N!" The room fell quiet as Grandma's voice rose above all. "Language."

"But grandma..."

"No buts." She said, forcing your silence. "Now." She stepped up to Ruben, examining him. "This young man. Your boss? He has come here to speak to you, let's hear what he has to say."

It was a nightmare come true. Even Ruben seemed a bit taken aback by Grandma's demeanor. However he did gather the courage to address you as if you were the only two people in the room.

"I came here to apologize." He said. "For being a dickhead to you this morning."

Jenny snorted somewhere behind you, however grandma shot her a glance that made her fall back.

"You have the right to do and see whoever you want. I was just jealous and upset that you chose to do so on the night of my friend's gallery opening. For some reason I really believed that the two of us were...."

"No way." Jenny gasped, once again interrupting you. "You're fucking him too?"

"Oh for the love of..." You grabbed Ruben's arm, pulling him aside, into Grandma's office in the back room. There the two of you were left alone, however this game was getting old, the game of Ruben hurting you then crawling back, begging you to forgive him.

"There's something you should know about me." You said, wanting to get it over with. Ready to get it over with.

"Alright." Ruben nodded. "Tell me."

It was now or never.

"That guy your friend saw me with last night wasn't my boyfriend, or an old flame from my university days."

"No, who was he then?"

Another one bites the dust, you thought. Telling the truth meant that you were going to lose Ruben, just like the truth made you lose your old friends. You sighed before you spoke. "He is my brother Ruben, my twin brother."

"Oh, okay." There were clear signs of relief coming across Ruben's face, a slight twitch in the corner of his lips.

"His name is Trent, Trent Alexander Arnold. You might recognize the name since..."

"Wait." His expression went stiff again, carved by a deep frown. "Did you say Trent Alexander Arnold? As in..."

You nodded. "Yes, THE Trent Alexander Arnold. Liverpool's right back, however you might know him better as the guy that got booked for trying to punch you out the last time Man City played Liverpool."

Ruben's snort was unexpected. "Tried to, is the right word for what he did."

It made you gasp, as well as playfully nudge his arm. "I'm being serious."

"Trust me Y/N, I'm also trying to be serious. So you're telling me you're related to Trent Alexander Arnold, your twin brother to be exact?"

"Yes. I'm the oldest, if you must know."

Ruben's bright eyes searched your face. But it was unclear to you what had suddenly lightened his mood.

"Is this the reason?" He asked."

"What reason?"

"Why don't you want to be with me? Because of who your brother is. My "rival" in the football world?"

"Well that and the fact that you are my employer which would label our relationship as highly inappropriate."

"Yes, but it's mainly because of your brother, no? You worry about what he will think of you, of us. It's why you had him take you home the other night, because you didn't want the two of us to meet, no?"

You nodded. "He doesn't know that I'm your stylist. And I don't think that I want him to. The truth would send him through the roof." You still wondered why it hadn't sent Ruben through the roof, what was his angle?

"Y/N, I don't give a fuck about who your brother is?" He said this in a way that shook your core. Ruben then stepped forward, grabbing your face between his hands, tilting your head upwards. "Can we stop pretending that what we have between us isn't real?" He chuckled. "Can you just accept the fact that I want you and you want me Y/N?"

"You want me to run into your arms?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Like the girl in the painting." You smiled. "He's waiting for her to run into his arms."

"Yes." Ruben nodded. "Exactly. Come to me, run into my arms."

You crashed into his lips instead, with Ruben initiating it by pulling your face towards his. Just like that you we're back to square one, the game between you having stepped into a second round. And the next round was guaranteed to involve less tears and more fistfights.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #ruben dias x reader #football angst #ruben dias imagine #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold #liverpool fc #liverpool football club

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127luvr · 1 year

Note

Can i also request a mark x male reader where Mark needs you to be by his side when he writes songs? The situation came to be because of Mark writing a masterpiece with you beside him, now he has to have you by his side at all times. Now, everytime when mark writes a song, he has a stash of food at the ready for m!r and he would try to follow m!r to the bathroom since he was this close on finishing writing his song

Child

Mark Lee x Male Reader

Mark spins the pencil with his fingers, bringing it in between the folds of his knuckles and tapping the end of it in the crevice of his cheekbone. You watch as he scratches words off of his notebook, frustration clear in his actions as the led breaks under pressure for the nth time in five minutes. He’s one of the only members that still writes like this—in a more traditional sense. Whereas others sit with their iPads and their laptops tapping away at keys nonstop.

You sigh, standing up from your position next to Mark so you could stretch—seeking a distraction from the constant tapping of his foot and pen. You make your way over to the kitchen. Arms leaning against the island, enjoying the cool surface on your skin. You fail to notice Mark’s footsteps shadowing yours, his head buried in his notebook when he crashes into you.

“Mark, what is going on?” It’s not a harsh question, more out of concern if anything but you catch Mark’s hesitation. His flinch at the sound of your voice and the way he puts his notebook and pencil down next to you. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. It’s just a little stupid so don’t laugh when I tell you.” Mark flips through the pages in his notebook, going back more than halfway when he finally stops at a page—it’s titled Child—in big bold letters where you can tell he pressed down the led of his pencil on. The words are smudged, written across the side of the page and up and down the right way. “I wrote this song when you were next to you. You pulled these lyrics out of me and I was able to release it as a solo project, (Y/n). All of the songs beforehand weren’t good enough because I didn’t have you by my side. You’re my lucky charm—or something. I need you by my side… you know?” Mark looks down at you with big eyes, the lights above you reflecting on his pupils. You don’t know who could make Mark feel silly about this kind of confession. If anything, it was heartwarming. Sweet that he trusts you this much he believes you’re his lucky charm.

“Mark.” He scrunches his face at the sound of his name from your lips, ready to hear the worst. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, honestly I don’t deserve you.”

No work of art could compare to the smile that Mark shoots you, teeth on full display when he pulls you by the arm and drags you to his room. The somewhat messy dorm comforting you even further as it was filled with Mark. His clothes thrown over his desk chair and at the end of his bed—cd cases open next to his stereo with five—or maybe ten—pairs of wired headphones tangled up. His smile is now shy—bashful—as he presents you with your favorite snacks.

“You see, the plan was to lure you here as always but I figured you would catch on, right?”

You furrow your eyebrows for a second, holding back a laugh when you point towards him with an accusatory finger, “Mark, have you been doing that Pavlov dog experiment on me?”

“Not on purpose!”

There’s an unspoken agreement as he works. In thirty minute intervals with five—maybe ten—minute breaks in between. It’s a more effective approach as it stops him from following you to the restroom with his pencil still in his hand—which you caught him trying to more than once. You’re seated next to him, playing with loose strands of his hair or scrolling through social media and only showing him posts you deemed funny enough for Mark. Nothing beats days like these.

#hello user ikiduck 😁😁😁#i love your requests so awesome #mark lee #nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #mark lee x male reader #mark x male reader #nct x male reader #nct u x male reader #nct dream x male reader #nct 127 x male reader #x male reader #<3

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player1064 · 2 months

Note

Literally obsessed with the ask fics you’ve been doing, thank you 🥰 my suggestion to throw in is something on Jamie being whipped as hell…. I just love that as a concept and the latest STF where Gary’s instinct is to demand he provide him with clothing alternatives made me think of it hehe… like something regarding everyone knowing Jamie’s basically at his beck and call

JAMIE! IS! SO! WHIPPED!!!!! this is honestly such a core part of my carraville belief system anyway like ngl I do try sprinkle a bit of it into most of my fics so YES I loved writing this!!!

---

“Alright guys, we’ve got a fifteen minute break and then I need you all back in your seats,” a producer calls out once they’ve cut to the match.

Immediately, everyone on the set of Monday Night Football starts bustling around, setting up equipment or wandering over to the craft table for something to eat or drink.

Jamie rushes off without a word, and David stands up to do the same but ends up hovering awkwardly next to the desk when Gary doesn’t move from his seat, just gets his iPad out from under and starts to type furiously on the little bluetooth keyboard.

“You’re not coming for a coffee?”

“Huh?” Gary blinks up at him. “Oh, no, Carra’ll get me one.”

David gives Gary a disbelieving look but goes off to get his own refreshments anyway. By the time he gets back, Jamie’s wordlessly setting a mug down next to Gary’s elbow, along with a couple of custard creams. He doesn’t wait for Gary to acknowledge him (which he doesn’t), just sits back down in his seat and starts scrolling on his phone, glancing up across the desk with a smug smile when Gary picks up the mug to take a sip.

“Where the fuck is Jamie?” Gary asks as he whirls around Sky studios lobby, not stopping for long enough for anyone to actually respond. “James! James, you twat, where are ya, I ‘ave to be back in Manchester for five, can’t believe you’re makin’ me wait –”

“Alright, alright, keep your tits on,” Jamie says as he rushes in, coat only half pulled on. “Jesus, it’s your fault I’m late, y’know. You left your airpods in the dressing room, I ‘ad to go back and get them ‘fore I was stuck with your whining for the next four hour.”

Gary frowns, pats his pockets, then looks at Jamie bewildered when he finds nothing. Jamie drops the case into his hands.

“How’d you even –” he starts, but Jamie’s already hurrying towards the waiting car.

“I always get so hungry while we’re commentating, wish there was a – a runner, or somethin’, who could go get us some snacks.”

Jamie, who’d been about to start saying something into his mic, shoots Gary a glare and then starts raving about brilliant possession. While he’s talking, though, he uses his foot to push his bag out from under his seat and towards Gary, gives him a little kick in the ankle for emphasis.

When Gary opens the bag there’s a few packets of hula hoops, some chocolate bars, a packet of wine gums, a couple of apples which he studiously ignores, and some granola bars. He grabs a few things so that he doesn’t have to go rummaging again later, then holds out one of the chocolate bars to Jamie.

Jamie glances at the offering and shakes his head, waves it away. “Not big on sweets, am I?” he says once he’s put his microphone down.

“Jamie – Jamie, can you c’mere for a second?” asks Gary, waving him over to where he’s stood talking to Wrighty.

Jamie gets up from his seat and walks aver, looks between the two of them expectantly. “Yeah?”

Gary reaches up to pluck the glasses from his face, which gets almost no reaction from Jamie beyond a surprised blink when Gary’s hand first approaches him.

“See, Wrighty, look at this,” Gary says, as if Jamie were nothing more than a mannequin. “He’s way blinder than you or me, I dunno how ‘e’s not always crashing into things when he’s not got them on.”

“I think you’re right, check out the magnification on these things!”

“Ugh, Jesus, what kind of place only takes cash?” Roy complains, searching through his pockets to no avail. “And to only tell you after they’ve made your order, now I just look like a prick. Do either of you boys have any notes?”

Gary and Jamie both say no, and Roy’s about to turn back and go to the counter to tell this poor teenager that he can’t buy the food after all, when Gary squints at Jamie suspiciously then holds up a finger to say hold on to Roy.

“Shame, that, ‘cause them sandwiches look really good. An’ I only had a piece of toast at breakfast.”

“Not my fault you’ve not been grocery shopping in two weeks,” Jamie says, rolling his eyes. At the same time, though, he’s reaching into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet, pulling out a ten pound note and handing it to Gary.

Gary grins triumphantly and hands the note to Roy.

“Glad ‘e’s got too heavy to pick up now,” says Paul with a nod towards Gary. “Else he’d be jumping at us every time Salford scores.”

“Oi!” Gary reaches out to whack Scholesy in the arm. “I am not fuckin’ heavy, d’you mind? If I wanted to jump at people I’d jump at people, ta very much. I’m just more civilised now, like.”

“No, Gaz, y’just know that if you try it we’ll both end up on our arses looking like twats. You prob’ly don’t even have the leg strength to –”

“Jamie!” Gary cries out, interrupting him. “Jamie, go stand over there, would ya?”

Jamie raises an eyebrow at him but gets up off his seat and goes to the flat platform at the back of the stand. Gary follows, then without warning does a pathetic little run-up and launches himself into Jamie’s arms, his legs wrapped tight around him.

Jamie gives a little humph under his weight, which Gary ignores to raise his hands in the air in celebration. “Ha!” he says, “see, Scholesy, told you y’were talkin’ nonsense!”

“Gary, y’great lump, are you planning to stay up ‘ere much longer? Not sure my old man knees can take it.”

“Shush, you.”

Jamie shushes.

#not sure if in this one they're together yet or not. funnier if they're not and jamie's just. insane.#and gary doesnt realise how insane jamie actually is about him. but everyone else is like oh my fucking god #thanks again for the suggestion!#carraville #drabbles

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nebulablakemurphy · 5 months

Note

Just read all your shit with Haymitch in it and

A) I’m obsessed with it omfg no one writes for Haymitch AND THAT FACT THAT ITS SO WONDERFUL AND WELL WRITTEN?!?! god it has my heart

B) Y/N going on her fucking Tablets after their first time is so funny for some reason to me, like Haymitch is drowning in his sorrow and she’s just being a lil ipad baby. Like she’s the kind of chick that when their finished to roll over and play clash of clans💀

C) Y/N is sooo mirrorball coded. “I'll show you every version of yourself tonight” the way she forces Haymitch to constantly self reflect that makes him realize how much he admires her selflessness. The chorus is them trying to keep their love something secret and just there’s. AND DO I EVEN NEED TO EXPLAIN THE BRIDGE OMG

D) Not to be a sadist but god I love Haymitch’s internal conflict about feeling so guilty for everything. Also correct me if I’m wrong but him being her highest bidder so she wouldn’t get sold to some creep…my heart💔

anyways the new movie has me back in my hunger games faze and yours fics are all I think about.

I’m not kidding I was zoning out thinking about Lavender Haze today and didn’t slowdown while turning and thank god there was no traffic or else I would have caused a fucking collision

Screaming thank you! Haymitch deserves all the fics, his character has always been so interesting to me.

Y/N is an iPad kid, she’s definitely the type to be like “look, Haymitch.” Whenever she reaches a new level on her games. But the way she whips open her notes app whenever something is wrong it’s like girl, what if Snow hacks the iPad 😂 But on a more serious note, she respects the tablet and understands that it can retain a lot more information than she can especially when it comes to helping her tributes.

Mirrorball is an EXCELLENT representation of Y/N and their relationship.

Haymitch obviously feels so bad that he has to marry Y/N to keep her safe from being sold and then ultimately has to participate in her “working” for the Capitol anyway. He wanted to completely save her but all he can really do is soften the blow.

You’re so real for that, I’m glad you didn’t crash

#moves & countermoves #haymitch abernathy fanfic

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yu-yu-hakusho-memes · 4 months

Text

Live Action Yu Yu Hakusho Episodes 1 - 3 Spoiler Review???

*All images are from the official Netflix Japan Twitter Account*

Wanted to watch all 5 episodes but it’s almost midnight, so I’ll watch the last 2 tomorrow

Compared to both the manga and the anime, the live action moves very quickly but it isn’t rushed. Seriously can’t believe there are only 5 episodes… I need at least 10.

I really enjoyed how we got to see what Yusuke and Kuwabara are up to while Sakyō plans to open up the portal and Tarukane winning money at casinos. I think the idea of seeing both sides (earth and the demon world) work at the same time is genius. I also love how Yusuke has become an older brother figure to the boy he saved from the car crash 🥰

ACTION SCENES = PERFECTION 🤌

The only thing I didn’t like so far is the mirror that Kurama uses to bring back his mother. It’s called a mirror but looks likes an iPad. The staff couldn’t find one at IKEA or a home store???

Genkai and Toguro 😭😭😭 while there wasn’t a battle, the two had a conversation about their past before her death. I was also surprised that it happened in ep 3.

Goki is terrifying I mean look at him. I don’t really need to say anything except that

Overall, I’m really enjoying this series and it may be my favourite live action anime adaptation.

Super excited to watch the last 2 episodes!!!

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internetgremlin-writes · 2 years

Text

Flat Spin [Chapter Four]

Summary/Prompt: Flat Spin

1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal

2. A state of agitation or panic [informal]

As the only female driver on the grid, you’re fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Female Reader

Word Count: 9,200 (don't ask it didn't split up any other way and all of it felt too important to miss out)

Warnings: Miami Madness part 2: crash injuries & silly drunk boys, say it with me kids: INSPIRATION not ACCURACY

messy hair carlos = my entire body shuts down

Previous Chapters: One || Two || Three

Given the chaos of the introduction to Miami, you thought Thursday might have been a bit quieter.

You were, inevitably, wrong.

You had breakfast with Katie and a small entourage of Aston Martin staff who were trying to make your life as easy as possible, much against your will. You spent most of the meal staring over Katie's shoulder, where you could see the back of a mop of jet black hair and strong shoulders with the number 55 splayed in yellow between them. You hated how even the back of him made your stomach clench these days. You could tell by the animated movements he was deep in conversation with his own team, watching as he spoke with his hands to describe something. You wondered what he was talking about. Probably tyres if you knew Carlos at all, it was always about the tyres with him.

“Y/N!” Katie snapping her fingers in front of you brought your attention back to your own table. “Are you even listening to me?” You looked down at your yoghurt, wondering shortly if you could get away with pretending.

“No,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I was telling you where you need to be today, if you actually wanted to know,”

“Not really,” you grinned at her and she tutted at you behind her iPad, but you could see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. You propped your elbows up on the table and battered your eyelashes sweetly at her. “Okay hit me, who do I have to make happy today?”

You wondered if the PR people get a sick kick of satisfaction out of jamming their driver's days full of mindless crap just to watch their faces fall as their own ideas of how their day might go fly out of the window. That was how it felt anyway, as you were briefed that not only would you attend your seat fitting, practice session meeting and the fan signing sessions as expected, but you were to spend any free minute in the Aston Martin hospitality watching and supporting the lower level races and entertainment being hosted on the pit lane. The only saving grace, you figured, was that Sebastian would be there with you.

You were allowed a swim after breakfast, followed by a quick stretch-out session before you were herded out into the paddock to begin duties. Surprisingly, the day slipped by quite pleasantly. The fan meet and greet was so busy it took hours to get through everyone, but the fans were insane which made it worth it for you. You’d never been given so many gifts, had so many kind words and some slightly bizarre requests. After the third man asked you to sign his bare chest you decided to place a blanket rule on body signing.

You also found yourself enjoying the lower races much more than you thought you would. Lounging in a deckchair on your fourth non-alcoholic beer watching the chaos of the pit lane from above was actually quite nice. Not being the one in the middle of it all, stressing about stop times and tyre strategy and arguing on the radio, instead just enjoying the thrill of motorsport as you had when you were a child. It was safe to say you’d missed it. You never regretted becoming a driver, but it made you think of the driver’s wives and girlfriends and part of you was a little envious of the glamour of it all, of the kind of life where your main concern would be picking your outfit for the day. You and Seb were also running a halfhearted betting pool on the F2, and lazily arguing about the most effective lines into a couple of the corners. There were a handful of sponsors around, but not enough to be much of a bother and you were pretty sure at one point when you looked over at Seb he was napping behind his sunglasses.

Much to your honour, you’d been asked to present the awards for the W-Series race, and for once you found yourself not bitterly hating the media duties and public appearances that came with being a professional athlete. The W-Series race had been a spectacular display of driving and there was no doubt that you were excited to hopefully be sharing the F1 grid with more women in the coming years. You told Jamie Chadwick you looked forward to racing her as you handed her the first-place trophy, and the young woman looked like Christmas came early as she caught you with a firm spray of champagne. A photo was taken of the entire female grid, with you in the centre afterwards. You saw it later, all of you with rosy cheeks and arms flung around each other like old friends and immediately bought a framed copy.

You’d heard only briefly from Carlos throughout the day. He was doing a filmed exposé out on one of the fancy golf courses with Lando for the majority of the day. He’d texted you a picture of a very elaborate-looking mocktail, followed by a terrible selfie of him and Lando captioned ‘muppets’. You told him about the W-Series to which he reacted with a thumbs up. By the time you’d had your police escort back to the hotel complex, it was a little past 7 pm.

You: Fancy dinner? Just got back to the hotel

You didn’t think too much about sending the text. You knew it was a long shot given the schedules of the day, but you were itching to catch up properly with Carlos and if it meant you could avoid another dinner going over the fine details of your life with Katie, well, who were you to complain. By the time you’d had a shower and changed into a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting top to try and keep the humidity away, you had three texts.

Carlos Sainz: Still in meetings, they delivered us pizza.

Carlos Sainz: I am sorry, Cariño. You can take me to the date after I win on Sunday.

His emoji use really was horrible, you thought; a chilli, a flexing arm and a winking face with its tongue out. It still made your insides warm.

Track Dad: Come to dinner with me, I’m hiding from Antti.

That was Seb, who’d earnt the nickname last year when he spent most of his time in the paddock chasing yourself and Mick Schumacher around like a parent with toddlers that kept running off. The media loved the relationship the three of you had kindled, with Seb very much mentoring the pair of you. And as for you and Mick, well you just adored him. You’d be surprised if anyone could even dislike the young German, he was nothing but nice, probably one of the sweetest men you’d ever met. He was endlessly kind and surprisingly humble to the point of being shy despite his heritage.

You sent Carlos several snoozing emojis in response and wished him luck with the meetings (but not the race) and responded to Seb that you’d meet him in the lobby in five minutes. To no one’s surprise, when you stepped out of the elevator into the air-conditioned hotel lobby, Seb was waiting for you in deep conversation with Mick. You greeted them readily, pulling Mick into a big hug as you’d not seen him around in a while.

The three of you had a wonderful dinner in the hotel, even if your menu had clearly been sent forward from your nutritionist, containing a thrilling array of steamed fish and steamed veg and plain carbohydrates. It was always easy to be yourself around the three of them, and it made you laugh how when Mick was around Seb changed from the equally troublesome teammate he was with you to a fond parent. You didn’t mind too much, because Mick was equally fun to bounce off and Seb inevitably would end up in the chaos in some way or another. You talked mostly about the upcoming race, trying to find out how best to approach a track you’d never driven before and what the weather meant for tyre strategy and how bad the first turn would be.

You fell asleep easily that night, feeling strangely satisfied and excited to get the car out for practice.

The Friday practise sessions were of little note. You got through FP1 relatively smoothly, only reporting back that your car felt a little slippy on the rear and you had to correct quite a few near-spins. It was hard to set a fast lap with hard tyres and the cluster of yellow flags you had to work your way around, but you still came out with a decent P6 and a bunch of notes you spent your lunch break poring over. FP2 started much better, and already you felt like the small adjustments your engineer had done were giving you a much sturdier and quicker drive. Working onto the medium and soft tyres was also helping, and you were just starting to enjoy the track and work up to putting some good times on the board when you drove past a flashing yellow flag.

“Virtual safety car?” You asked down the radio.

“Yep, confirmed,” you sighed, with a roll of your eyes and took the time at a cruising speed to take a sip of your drink.

“What happened? Is there debris on track?” What you really meant was who happened, but it wasn’t normal for drivers to ask that.

“Negative, no debris on track. Sainz into the wall at Turn 14,”

Fuck.

You knew this was going to happen. It was the nature of the sport that no driver was ever safe or cushioned from accidents. World champions, rookies and everyone in-between crashes out or spins or has technical problems. Hell, just last week you’d proved that. But you really hadn’t expected to hear his name like that so soon. You weren’t ready for the way your stomach dropped and your chest squeezed and the only thing you cared about was if he was okay or not. At least last time you’d been so out of it you’d barely been aware of your own injuries let alone someone else’s. This time all you could think about was what kind of mess he was in.

As you approached the third sector of the track you slowed to a virtual crawl until the stricken Ferrari was visible. It was sat flush against the concrete barrier deep in a gravel trap, but Carlos was out and you saw a flash of his red race suit as he hopped the fence, providing only a small flood of relief to know he walked away. You were distracted for the rest of FP2, even so, you managed to pull a P5 and gain 1.3 seconds on your FP1 time.

Your team seemed pretty pleased with you, and you managed to ignore their comments about Sainz’s sudden trend in finding gravel. It was taking everything you had not to ask everyone you saw if they’d heard anything and if he was okay. Instead, you sat through your debrief meeting, desperately refusing to acknowledge the way Seb was watching you quizzically as you fidgeted and stared at the clock behind Mike and almost bolted out of the door the second it was over. You had your head down in your phone before you’d even turned into the corridor. Carlos had already updated to his Instagram that he was fine and would be competing in the rest of the weekend as normal, and you were halfway through drafting a text to him when you walked right into someone.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, barely looking up from your phone as you hit the send button.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” It was Seb, who’d steadied you and stepped back, his expression unreadable.

“Nothing,”

“You didn’t seem all there at debrief. Is everything okay?” As much as you loved Seb, his attention to detail was sometimes a nightmare.

“Yeah I’m fine, I was just…” You trailed off, unsure of what you were just doing.

“I was on my way to get a coffee, come with me,” one thing you loved about your teammate and mentor was he never asked you anything. His invites were more statements, and you liked that. It made you feel wanted and included and especially in your rookie year it was exactly what you’d needed to help you settle on the grid. It didn’t take long for the pair of you to have fallen into step and locate the nearest coffee machine in the building. You were nursing a steaming americano and quietly observing the emptying paddock when Seb started again.

“Forming close, ah, relationships, with fellow drivers is tricky. You spend so much time together it feels inevitable, but also they are your competitors. It’s hard to find the balance, how much time do these people deserve of you? How much of yourself? How much of your care?” He was staring into the distance, a look on his face that made you wonder if he was thinking about someone in particular as he spoke. “When it takes over your mind, when you can’t concentrate because of them, it can be dangerous. And bad for your career,” he chuckled dryly to himself. “You see it more often than you think. It’s why a lot of us have to change teams,”

“What do you-”

“I think it is very good you are branching out, making other friends. I’m too old to be keeping you company so much, and Carlos is a good man. I wanted to be the one to tell you, so you know it’s not trouble, but to be mindful. Be mindful of how much you think of them when you’re on the track. No matter what’s happening elsewhere,”

“Oh,” Seb offered you a warm smile as he sipped his drink. You could feel the heat rising into your face. “Well I’m not - he’s not my- it’s not like that,”

“Don’t panic so much, Y/N, consider it a general warning about getting close to anyone. I have to be careful myself with you and Mick, and of course back when…” he tailed off and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of Mick’s father and Seb’s initial mentor. The news of Micheal’s accident had been devastating to all motorsport fans - but for Seb, who was as close to him as family - you didn’t want to think about how much it had hurt him. Your phone pinged in your pocket and on instinct you checked it, leaving Seb lost in his memory a little longer.

It was Carlos, assuring you he was fine, but nonetheless, his room number was supplied.

“Go see him,” Seb’s words brought you back to the present as you finished the dregs of your coffee. He had a wry smile that was a lot more Seb. You nudged his shoulder affectionately and thanked him for the coffee and chat, before turning to leave him on the balcony.

“Hey, Y/N,” he caught you, making you turn to look over your shoulder for a moment. “Not that you need it, but I approve of him very much,” he winked at you, the shit. In the sinking sunlight, his blue eyes were twinkling playfully. You hoped you weren’t blushing too much as you nodded awkwardly at the floor and hurried out.

There was a Seven-Eleven on the way back to the hotel. You stopped and bought a slice of rich-looking chocolate cake from the fridge section.

Carlos was quick to open the door for you, his face lighting up when he realised it was you who was knocking. You noticed he was a little slow as he made his way back over to the bed with a stilted gait.

“I brought cake,” you held up the plastic case in your hand as if it wasn’t obvious. You felt a little small and stupid, but Carlos was watching you as if you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Why?” You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your face was heating up as you looked at your shoes.

“My mum used to - if I got in an accident - she used to get us chocolate cake on the way home,” Carlos nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” you leant down to place the cake in his minifridge and gently toe your shoes off, padding over to the chair opposite his bed and dropping into it.

“I suppose it means that bad days can end nicely or something,” his expression changed at your throwaway comment, an eyebrow creeping up into his hairline and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth that made you feel like a deer in headlights, frozen under his gaze.

“It’s ending very nicely,” before you could open your mouth to question him, he was gesturing for you to come closer, patting the space beside him on the bed. You were all too happy to oblige, your skin bristling pleasantly whenever his arm brushed against yours.

Carlos had been watching a game of football, and you leant quietly against his shoulder as he explained the rules to you. If you were being entirely honest, you couldn’t have given less of a shit about football if you tried, but it was clearly something that Carlos was passionate about and you would have sat there and listened to him recite Pythagoras’ Theorem as if it was the only thing you could ever care about.

It felt strange, but the nice kind of strange, to be back in a plain hotel room together, sitting a little too close on a king-sized bed. Except this time you were trying to ignore the way your skin was thrumming with electricity and the way you couldn’t stop thinking about the last time you saw him when he’d taken you on the most beautiful date you’d ever been on and then kissed you. You wondered if he wanted to kiss you again. It felt like dates when you were 15. When you were so enthralled by the new world that was physical touch that you spent most minutes with a boy wondering if - or when - the next moment would come where your fingers brushed against each other or his arm found its awkward place on your hips or his nose bumped yours as you kissed, badly.

Carlos must have noticed you drift off because he was poking you gently, a playful smile tugging at his features.

“Am I really so boring to you?”

“What?”

“You weren’t listening!”

“I was!”

“No, you didn’t!” He was pouting, somehow managing to look both ridiculous and adorable at the same time. “You came all this way to make me feel better and then you didn’t even listen to me,” you couldn’t help but snort, partly because Carlos was still poking softly at your sides in a way that was starting to tickle.

“All the way from down the corridor, sure,” you rolled your eyes playfully and Carlos gasped with mock offence, matching your energy as his fingers dug into your side, making you squeal as he began to tickle you in earnest. You tried to shimmy away, but he was quick - an arm snaking around your waist and holding you firm against him as he made you squirm. You couldn’t control the high-pitched giggles he was pulling from you. You hadn’t noticed he’d rolled back, dragging you with him so you were balanced in his lap until your stomach was sore and you were begging for him to stop and let you breathe.

The grin on Carlos’ face faded quickly when he realised the position he’d put you in. You didn’t miss the way his tongue slipped out to moisten his lips. One of his hands slipped down from your ribs to your hip, the other reaching up to softly brush a strand of hair that had worked its way loose in the struggle behind your ear. You tried to ignore the way your face was heating up and his touch sent a trail of goosebumps raising along your arm. You placed a tentative hand on his chest, stabilising yourself and searching for boundaries all at once.

Carlos lunged for you. He cradled the back of your head and pulled you down to meet him at the same time as he sat himself up, catching you in a kiss that couldn’t have been more different to the last one. It felt like something was burning between you, something that made you hungry, desperate for him. The smell of cologne and burnt rubber fogged your mind. He was so warm, pulling you close so as much of your body was pressed against his as possible. He made a small noise against your mouth and you felt any resolve you had melt away, your body becoming soft and malleable in his hands.

His arm found its way around your waist again and you allowed yourself a second to revel in the security of him as you broke away from his lips to press experimental kisses along his jaw bone. Carlos shuddered against you and in one smooth motion rolled you sideways onto your back, settling himself between your legs.

Or at least that had been the plan. He leant down to reconnect your lips and winced, pulling back. You reacted immediately, trying to push down the bolt of insecurity that shot through you as you scrabbled up so you could sit opposite him. Carlos groaned and fell back into the position he had been in, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

“Are you okay?” You hoped you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. His eyes were closed and his breathing a little too shallow.

“Yes, just-” he winced again “Not steady enough. I was told to be resting,”

“Sorry-” you felt small, and suddenly the room was too hot and too cold at once and all you could think about was finding an excuse to leave rather than face him. But Carlos was shaking his head before you could get any further.

“No, Cariño, not your fault. I wanted to,” his thumb was rubbing smooth circles against your hip bone. “God, I want to,” there was something strained in his voice. Your chest blossomed with warmth at his admission that his desire matched your own, and it gave you the confidence to push it down. It wasn’t the right time, for either of you. Not before qualifying, not with injuries.

“How bad were you hurt?” You murmured, your eyes glued to the spot on his neck he kept touching. He shrugged, but Carlos had never been very good at hiding his facial expressions and you knew he was in pain, and probably a little embarrassed.

“My neck - we don’t know how bad yet. There were too many Gs and the concrete wall was bad, I don’t know why it wasn’t Tecpro. And the hip - it’s a contusion but okay,” you made a face as he spoke. You’d had a hip contusion before and you knew Carlos was downplaying the pain.

“Where?” the word was barely a whisper from you, but Carlos understood and he lifted the left side of his t-shirt up.

Arching in a half-moon was a streak of purple that fanned out at the edges, the bruise already well-formed in the hours since the accident. It followed the shape of his hip perfectly, the final tendrils reaching down into the groove that disappeared below the waistband of his boxers. You couldn’t stop yourself as you ran your fingers carefully along the shape of it. Carlos’ eyes never left yours as you watched his face for any signs of pain. He gave you none.

“Shit, Carlos,” you felt his stomach move beneath the pads of your fingers as he huffed out a dry laugh.

“It’s not that bad,”

“It looks bad, are you icing it?” He groaned, but there was a smile behind his eyes.

“Mrs Nurse,” you gave him a stern look. “In the fridge,” ignoring his protests you made your way back to the mini-fridge, collecting an ice pack from the freezer box at the top which you’d previously not noticed and wrapped it carefully in a t-shirt you plucked from the pile on his desk that was waiting to be put away. Before he could protest, you pressed the pack against his clothed hip. He hissed as you did so, but relaxed into your touch. You tried to push down the image that the noise created in your mind.

Carlos’ hand came to cover yours on the ice pack, so you carefully slid away and let him adjust it against himself. You settled against his good side as he turned his attention back to the football, now showing the highlights of the game. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching up to press a kiss against his cheek, enjoying the way his lips pulled into a smile and his cheeks flushed a little.

You sat with him until the football highlights ended, and your phone had pinged three times with questions from Katie about why you hadn't collected your dinner yet. At the thought of dinner, your stomach growled, which made Carlos’ gaze fix on you with a startled expression.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t eat again,”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” You defended “I came here straight after debrief,” the arm that was around your waist squeezed you into his side and he pressed a dry kiss to your temple.

“‘M glad you did,” you hummed against him.

“Me too,” you could have stayed there all day, but your stomach was making a lot of noise and Carlos was laughing and pushing you to your feet and walking you to the door.

“Go eat, Y/N, otherwise you’ll be no fun to beat tomorrow,”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t be on the front row, Sainz,” he grinned at you.

“P2 is good to start from, no?” You slapped his chest with no malice.

“See you in my mirrors,”

“See you on the podium,”

“Top step baby,”

“I’d still be taller,”

“It’s not about height though, is it?” And then he was kissing you again and pushing you out of his door and you stumbled down to the restaurant to collect your dinner, the haze of him still carrying you.

*****

Qualifying was relatively unexciting. After a strong start and a couple of purple sections you were pleased to have made it to Q3, but that was where things started to slip. An unfortunate late spin saw you struggling to make up time, and your final fast lap was disappointing. You weren’t really surprised when you were told you’d gotten P7, and you didn’t know what was worse. The disappointment of knowing you had so much more to give, or the fact that your team were celebrating because, unlike Seb, at least you made it into the final qualifying round. Carlos had gotten P2, and you watched as he did his live interviews on the grid alongside Charles and Max. You were a little surprised that Max was only in P3, but you weren’t exactly going to be complaining if it meant keeping the championship battle open a little longer.

You survived interviews in the media pen, working your hardest to hitch a smile onto your face and answer politely and professionally as you were questioned on your mistakes in every which way. You knew it came with the territory, but you still dreaded the headlines that evening. Every driver was criticised by armchair experts the second they weren’t at the top of everything, but for some reason, your gender seemed to only become part of the story when you’d either majorly fucked up or snatched a good win.

You were kind of hoping to see Carlos either in the paddock or on the way back to the hotel, but by the time you’d made it out of the team debrief and you’d had a good long rant with Seb about everything the paddock was nearly empty and so was the restaurant. You took your meal up to your room and sat stoically watching a sitcom you didn’t follow and pointedly ignoring the internet and anyone from Aston Martin. The only texts you’d replied to were from your family and the one from Carlos, which came in just as you were about to go to sleep.

Carlos Sainz: Bad luck today. Drive fast tomorrow, I want to battle my favourite maneater.

You were too tired to properly reply, so you just sent him a little heart emoji and slipped into sleep.

You woke up early the next morning. Over a quiet breakfast in your room, you made a resolute plan to blatantly ignore everything that had happened up to this point in the weekend and train all your focus on nailing the race. You made Katie spend nearly two hours in the gym with you going over the final warm-up and conditioning exercises, followed by an extensive stretch-out.

You thought you’d be able to avoid a lot of the chaos of race morning by heading to the stadium early, but you were strongly informed that it didn’t matter how early you were, you were still being escorted by the police to and from the stadium. The second you stepped out of the hotel into the sunlight you were almost blinded by flashes from cameras, and it took you 20 minutes of ignoring the paparazzi and signing items from fans who were wishing you all the luck in the world today before you could even get to your car. Usually, you didn’t much enjoy the fan interactions. It was always nice to have people in your corner but you found being stopped constantly, having to smile for photos and sign something every few steps could wear you down, not to mention the kind of fans that had no boundaries and assumed you would be their best friend, despite having met them ten seconds ago. However today you found their positivity was fuelling something within you, the desire to outperform everyone else stronger than ever.

As a result, you spent most of the day hiding out in the Aston Martin garage and the offices above. Several hours were dedicated to agonising over minute details with your head engineer and strategist, the three of you more determined than ever to put you back on the podium as a minimum. You also spent much longer on your warm-up than normal and went through two cooling vests before you even made it down for the grid walk and National Anthem.

Sometimes you didn’t mind the grid walk, and Martin Brundle wasn’t exactly difficult to chat to. But today, standing beside Daniel Ricciardo for the anthem and admiring the headphones that he wore to avoid talking to anyone before a race, you understood him entirely. It didn’t help that the grid walk was packed. Simply turning away from the anthem lineup to walk back to your car felt like you were immediately absorbed into a mosh pit. A throng of hot, sweaty bodies pressed against you from all angles was doing nothing to help you keep a narrow tunnel of focus. You had three different phones shoved into your face, asking you to say hi to a TikTok live before you even got to the first row.

It almost, almost, felt good to be absorbed in the sea of Ferrari tops buzzing about the place, because at least here you were shielded from pseudocelebrities all clamouring for a piece of - well what you didn’t even know because most of them clearly were not Formula One fans.

When you made it to your car you immediately climbed in, ignoring the way you already felt unbearably hot and how you knew sitting like this for ten minutes before you even got to the formation lap was a bad idea. You spotted Martin Brundle, looking awkward as he tried to flag down celebrities to interview. It looked like he knew as few people as you did. You decided the best thing you could do for yourself was just zone out. You closed your eyes, finding the right groove in your seat where it felt like your whole body was being cradled by the car, the straps comforting in the way they anchored you in. Your helmet smelt like a new car, the way you liked it before the padding became soaked in your sweat. You checked the water tube, twice, and adjusted the position of your radio. By the time you were sent out on the formation lap you felt like a greyhound out of the trap, the only thing on your mind was the stupid stuffed rabbit you just needed to sink your teeth into.

And then you were in position and you were revving and you watched, heart thudding throughout your entire body as those five red circles went out and your whole body was thrown backwards and you accelerated like your life depended on it.

The race in itself was actually quite dull for the majority of it. You took Lando, who started just a place ahead of you in the first three laps and then sat in a comfortable P6 for nearly half the race. The leaders had put a significant gap between yourself and them that you didn’t even see George Russel, who was holding his own in 5th until you’d been driving for nearly an hour. It was an eight-lap battle to get past the Mercedes, who was clearly fighting you for everything he was worth and it took you six DRS zones to finally draw equal enough with him that you could cut him off through a corner and take the position. It wasn’t until after your strategist complimented you on the particularly smooth manoeuvre that you realised it had been at Turn 14.

Just ahead of Russel was Perez, the Red Bull’s tail already taunting you and you could see the back of a Ferrari dancing just ahead of you as well. If you’d thought the battle with Russel had been drawn out, the opposite was true for Checo. It was like you’d caught the Mexican by surprise as you zipped down the inside straight with your DRS open and there was nothing he could do to stop you.

“Okay Y/N, gap for P3 is 2.8 seconds,” your radio crackled.

“Time to send it?”

“Send it.”

“Copy,” you couldn’t keep the grin out of your tone as you began your drive for real. On a reasonably fresh set of soft tyres, you felt like nothing could stop you as you started driving like it was Q3 all over again and your only goal was pole position.

The Ferrari in front of you was making your life difficult. You felt like you were almost matched in pace, every time you got close it inched further away. Every time you took the corner so tightly you could have been Dutch, so did the car in front. For every attack line you could throw at him, he had a perfect defence line.

“Gap to Sainz 0.8 seconds, you’ll have DRS on the next lap. Three laps left,”

“Copy,” of course it was Carlos. He said he wanted a battle and he was sure as hell giving you one. Determined not to cause a second Imola, you played the game mirroring him and just biding your time, inching ever closer. By the final lap you were virtually side by side, but every time your DRS opened his did too as Charles didn’t have much of a lead. You imagined the commentary must be going insane, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin neck and neck into the final lap.

You decided to take a risk and try a manoeuvre you’d only ever discussed in theory. You dropped back, letting Carlos take the lead on you again but staying within DRS. You were trying to pick up a slipstream, hoping that you’d be close enough when your DRS ended that you could use the continued boost of power to just slip past him on an inside corner. It was like Carlos could read your mind, because you got your perfect opportunity, gaining on him with the DRS open, so close you were almost touching his rear wing. You took a deep breath, swinging left to come into the first turn of the chicane sharper than him. You were almost level as you began to push the drift to keep the speed for the second half, but then the Ferrari shot forward and you found yourself following him into the final straight.

You tried to pull level again, throwing everything at the car on the straight, your eyes entirely trained on that chequered flag as you came over the line and pulled off the throttle.

You couldn’t help but hold your breath as you waited for your result over the radio.

“Fantastic drive, Y/N, simply perfect!” Your radio was alight with delighted messages from the team. “P4 confirmed, that’s P4 with the fastest lap. Well done,” you felt yourself deflate a little at losing the podium. You’d really wanted it, to saunter into the media pen and smile sweetly at everyone who critiqued you yesterday. But P4 was good points, and it was your first-ever fastest lap. You had to admit there was something very pleasant about knowing you had the edge on both the Red Bulls and the Ferraris, yet there was still a bitter taste in your mouth as you pulled off the track and into the pit lane to greet your team.

*****

The following few hours were a blur. Your team was delighted with you, and even more so because Seb had clawed his way to P7, meaning double points for the team. The interviews were insane, lasting twice as long as usual as you answered question after question, most of them about the battle with Carlos on the final laps and if you thought there was anywhere you went wrong.

You watched the podium from below, and something in you eased a little. Carlos was all but glowing in the golden evening sunlight, his beam visible across the entire stadium. The trio also had to wear football helmets instead of the Pirelli caps, and there was some bizarre streamer party which was enough for you to be at least a little satiated with watching from afar.

Seb had congratulated you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Good drive. No mercy,” he’d winked as he clapped you on the back and you had to ignore the blush creeping up your cheeks.

There was talk of an after-party, which you were planning on tactically avoiding. You weren’t always straight-laced, and when you were in the mood you loved getting very, very drunk and partying the night away in clubs around the world. But Miami was Miami and you’d had enough. The race had taken everything out of you, you were still struggling to want to celebrate the P4 and to be blunt you were sick to the back teeth of people asking you stupid questions.

You had been about to slide off towards the back entrance when Katie caught you.

“Not a chance,”

“What?”

“You are not sneaking away tonight,” you groaned dramatically, dropping your head back like a small child.

“I wasn’t-”

“The after-party is at this place,” she handed you a business card which you looked wearily at. You didn’t like the idea of a nightclub that comes with its own business card. “It’s being hosted by a lot of sponsors - don’t look at me like that I’m just relaying the message! Mike says it’s mandatory. I’ll be at your hotel room at 9 pm, sharp.”

You just rolled your eyes and grumbled something about free booze, before joining the small queue of drivers waiting for their police escort back to the hotel complex.

Back at the hotel, you showered in record time and then spent half an hour drying your hair whilst staring blankly at your wardrobe. You’d asked Katie if there was a dress code and she was yet to reply, which usually meant no. The idea of clubbing and a sponsorship event happening simultaneously didn’t sit right with you. You couldn’t exactly wear jeans and your team polo to what seemed like one of the most exclusive clubs in Miami. You also couldn’t wear the usual skin-tight, see-through and/or barely-there garments clubbing usually came with. In the end, you picked out one of the shorter dresses you carried with you.

It was a ridiculous little thing and you hadn’t even been sure where you were ever going to wear it, but you’d seen it in a tiny boutique at home and it plagued you for days until you eventually went back to get it. It was satin, silky smooth and the perfect slip, and of course, it happened to be Aston Martin green. You liked it because you thought it made your figure, which was naturally very muscular due to the nature of the sport, appear softer and feminine in a different way to what you were used to. You decided to pair the dress with black strappy stiletto heels that you’d definitely end up taking off or running the risk of breaking an ankle in and a delicate choker necklace. You left your hair down and even experimented with some smudged eyeliner that softened and accentuated your eyes before there was a knock at the door and you were greeting Katie.

Katie immediately commented on the green, so you decided that meant it had been a good choice. She was wearing a skirt and a pretty cami top, also green. You met up with a handful of other team members in the lobby, including Seb who was wearing dress pants and a white button-down shirt with the top button popped open. He’d also trimmed his beard and attempted to control the mane of hair he was currently sporting into an organised sweep.

The club was within walking distance of the compound, much to your dismay as you tried to settle into the rhythm of wearing heels. You wished you were one of those girls who wore heels everywhere, but you spent most of your time in trainers or racing boots so it was taking a little time to get used to the change. Seb let you hold his arm though, and you were almost the same height in your heels.

The queue for the club was already winding around the block when you arrived and you found yourself secretly thanking your privilege as your little entourage was sent straight through a black velvet rope and into a VIP door.

No matter how fancy they are, all nightclubs smell the same. Of sickly sweet alcohol, sweat and an acrid mingle of perfumes and aftershaves. You found your nose wrinkling instinctively, and then within seconds spotted a camera so quelled your expression into a soft smile that said ‘I want to be here’. The party was clearly sponsored by one of the beer brands that had banners all over the race because the usual bar was closed and instead, it was lined with rows of hundreds of green glass bottles, tall tables dotted around also piled high and you even spotted several men in full suits carrying around trays dipping under the weight of the bottles. The rest of the team had dispersed immediately, and you realised that for a lot of the group it would be more about securing investments and sponsors than it would be about celebrating a good weekend.

You were glad you had Seb by your side, quickly joined by Mick who looked very sweet in a red bow tie with a lost expression. The three of you plucked a bottle each off the nearest table and made your way to the seated area where you could watch over the rapidly growing crowd.

“It must be nearly full already?” Mick was shouting over the thumping bass, casting a wary look at the entrance where a steady stream of people dressed to the nines was still flowing in. Seb shook his head, shouting something back that you didn’t quite hear. The three of you stayed in the booths, having quickly worked out that if you lounged around and looked bored enough a man in a suit would bring you a tray of beer.

You were three in and finally starting to relax when Mick grew tired of trying to make small talk over the noise and started begging you for a dance. You decided to agree, Seb taking pictures as you and Mick began a horrible rendition of the funky chicken to a song you didn’t know. He was pulling a wide variety of concentrating expressions as if he was trying his best for you, and it was sending you into fits of giggles. Eventually, Seb clearly couldn’t stand watching the two of you mimic TikTok dances that were getting worse and worse by the minute and cut in.

He was showing off, scoping you up into a ballroom pose with one hand respectfully high on your waist and the other supporting your hand delicately as he swept you around in a couple of easy steps. Mick looked dumbfounded.

“I didn’t know you can dance!”

“A gentleman that can’t dance, tsk tsk,” was his smug response. Ever since he joined Aston Martin, Seb liked to lean into the fantasy that he was James Bond and should behave accordingly. He was drunkenly trying to show Mick how to dance, you not so subtly videoing off to the side when someone caught your elbow.

You’d half expected it to be Carlos, you weren’t sure why, you hadn’t seen him all night, but it didn’t stop the small blossom of disappointment in your chest when you found yourself face to face with a man you didn’t recognise, who was holding out a beer for you. You politely declined as he introduced himself as one of the managers of a company that had stakes in Aston Martin, so you smiled sweetly and made a little bit of idle chit-chat about the cars and the good result until he spotted someone who was clearly more important than you, patted you on the exposed middle of your back in a way that made you shiver uncomfortably and disappeared into the crowd.

You switched onto the alcohol-free beers after that.

The rest of the night followed suit. It was what felt like a seemingly endless cycle of accepting a 0% beer from a man you didn’t know, making a weak attempt at conversation and having a carefully distanced dance with him before he’d see someone else he needed to talk to and move on, leaving you free to sneak off to the toilets for a moment to breathe and take some selfies with the women in there. You’d lost Mick and Seb shortly after the second businessman dragged you onto the dancefloor, and you liked to think you were holding your own quite well, but you still felt a little lost. You were trying to fight the urge to crane your neck around in search of Carlos, but you’d given up after a few hours and accepted there was an even more exclusive party for the top teams.

You’d excused yourself to make another trip to the bathroom, checking your phone on the way to realise it was nearing 1 am and the night was nowhere near over when a hand landed on your bare shoulder, making you turn sharply.

“Cariño!” It was Carlos. He was grinning at you languidly. “There you are!”

“Hello,” it was the first real smile you’d managed all night. Even in the low light, Carlos looked incredible. He was wearing another white shirt, with the top two buttons popped open and the sleeves rolled up the way he had on your date. His hair was a little dishevelled, as he ran his fingers through it you realised why. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, still with that podium glow as he looked at you. And then he looked at you, his eyes flickering down as he took in your whole figure, right down to your toes that were still miraculously in their shoes, and then raked his way back up to your face. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“You look stunning,” he leant in to speak to you, lips gently grazing the sensitive shell of your ear and his hand almost burning on your waist. Your body automatically melted into him. If you thought you’d been relaxing earlier when you were dancing with Seb and Mick, it paled into comparison with the way you felt so right as your body slotted against his, finding your place on his hip with ease.

“Not so bad yourself,” you grinned, playing with the collar of his shirt. His eyes searched your face once more and you knew that if you hadn’t been in a crowded nightclub crawling with journalists and paparazzi and bosses, you would have been all over each other. “You gonna ask me for a dance?” You reciprocated his earlier movement, your lips deliberately catching his ear as you spoke. You felt his chest vibrate in response.

He took your hand and let you carefully to the dancefloor, spinning you expertly and catching you with ease as he found a spot. You looped your arms over his shoulders as he began to move slowly. And then there was a fat hand landing on his shoulder.

“Carlos, my man! My guy!” And Carlos spun around, apparently recognising the man because he dropped you like a hot coal, sending you an apologetic glance and mouthing the word ‘later’ as he was dragged back towards the bar. You should have known it wouldn’t have been that easy to get a dance with a trophy-holder. Although you spotted Charles alone in a corner of the dance floor, thrusting into thin air with a grin on his face that said he was already drunk out of his mind.

You went back to your routine of non-alcoholic beer, bathroom trips and chatting up sponsors, but you weren’t really interested. You were nodding along absentmindedly as they spoke to you, not really listening as you scanned the crows from your new vantage point on the balcony upstairs. You spotted Carlos every now and then, each time deep in conversation with someone pressing another beer into his hand.

By 2:30 am you were almost sober, bored out of your mind and your feet were hurting. You thought you must have done enough for the team and decided to call it a night, texting Katie quickly to let her know where you’d be. The second you were outside the air was like a drink of iced water. It wasn’t cold, instead just soothing as the breeze carried through your lungs and you felt yourself open up as the fumes of the club washed off you. You kicked off your shoes and padded back to the hotel barefoot. You probably shouldn’t have walked back alone, but the streets were alive with post-race celebrations and you followed the well-lit road the whole way back.

You’d barely had time to throw your hair up and wipe off your makeup when there was a hammering at your door. The figure swayed through the peephole, but you knew who it was.

When you opened the door there was Carlos, leaning against the doorframe.

He looked sexy for all but two seconds until he stumbled forwards. You just about managed to steady him and lead him into your room.

“Hello,”

“Mi sol,” his voice was low as he pawed at your dress, not really trying to take it off you but just watching the way the fabric slipped through his fingers.

“How did you get my room number?”

“Seb,” he pursed his lips, making the ‘b’ sound pop, and giggled to himself. He swayed again and you realised he was very drunk. His interest had left the dress and he was nosing at your exposed skin, placing kisses messily along your shoulder towards the base of your neck. You couldn’t deny the goosebumps rising on your skin.

“And how many beers have you been given, hm?” You questioned lightly, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“Enough to know you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,”

His lips tasted like beer.

“Carlos,” you weren’t really protesting as you let him walk you backwards until your knees hit the bed, and he crawled on top of you as you laid back.

“I want you so bad,” you could only manage another high-pitched sigh in response, your mind clouding over with your want for him. It felt like he was leaving trails of crackling electricity along your skin.

“Carlos,”

“I know,” he groaned against your mouth, pressing his hips down against your leg, his fingers teasing up your thigh and slipping below the hem of your dress. He was pressing sloppy kisses on any part of your neck he could reach. “You feel so good,” he was drunk, you told yourself. This wasn’t right. It was hard to break away from his spell because he was right. It did feel so good, and he was barely doing anything. “The things I wanna do to you,” you shuddered.

“Carlos,”

“Do for you,” Jesus Christ, he wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Carlos, you’re drunk,” he hummed against your neck, his hips rolling down against yours in vein. You steeled yourself, fighting every instinct in your body as you gently pushed him back, and moved out from under him.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he pouted and whined, reaching out for you like a child. Those stupid brown eyes would be the death of you one day, you thought. You let him hold your hands. “Not tonight, at least,” he had a glazed look on his face.

“Okay,”

You’d have thought he’d fight more than that, but instead, he simply stood up, walked over to your couch and collapsed, eyes closing.

“Carlos, honey, you can’t sleep here,”

“‘S warm,” he burrowed down. You had no idea how he looked so cute, trying to curl up on your couch.

“Come on, you need to go back to your room or they’ll ask questions,”

Carlos, fortunately, had the good grace to be a cooperative drunk and let you walk him back down to his room, you got him in and let him go about wrestling his clothes off whist you got him a glass of water and left a packet of painkillers on the bedside table for him. He crawled into bed after you helped with the final buttons of his shirt, and diligently ignored the way he was trying to encourage you to lose your dress to match.

“You should come to Barcelona early,”

“Hm?”

“Stay with me. I know all the good places,”

“All of them?” He grinned at you, but it slipped quickly, his eyes sliding out of focus before fluttering shut.

“All of ‘em,”

You pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead.

“Okay,” you said, and made your way back to your empty hotel room.

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

Chapter Five

Check out my Masterlist here!

Hello hello

As you can see, there was a reason the gap between this chapter and the last was quite long. This was a MONSTER to write but I've had so much fun with it and it's been a nice break from rotations when I've had time

And for anyone getting antsy, there will be a full smut scene in the next chapter, I promise!

So yeah, not much else to say for this one other than I hope you guys like it and as always feedback is hugely appreciated!!

I also cannot thank you guys enough for the continuing support and love i've had not only on Flat Spin but on the prompt challenge and my other works! It honestly means the world and hearing stuff from you guys is so inspiring and motivating to keep writing <3 <3 I know I don't always reply to every comment, sometimes I don't see them straight away but I see them ALL & will get round to replying to all soon!!

<3 <3

Le Gremlin

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