loveyhoneydovey
A Whore, but only in theory
Sam ✨ | she/her | twenty-two | Masterlist | mdni
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I've watched the people boosting this gofundme become more and more desperate as the Rafah invasion draws near:
This baby was born during this genocide and has only ever known this genocide. If you can donate to help her family evacuate, please do.
If you were thinking about donating to any evacuation, now is the time. They don't have much left.
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any relationship that involves a queer person is queer 👍 yes this includes m/f relationships 👍 yes this includes bi women dating straight men 👍 throw your biphobia directly in the trash 👍
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GODDAMN FKKEJW reader really is going through it, she can’t catch a break:(( the parts with Soap were so sad, but I feel like the ones with Price are really what made the story go from sad to tragic
In Another Life
Hurt, no comfort, angst, I’m ready to break my own heart.
Your flatmate is dating Soap and he’s everything you want.
Pairing: Soap x your female flatmate, one sided female reader x Soap, Captain Price x reader.
CW: MDNI! low self esteem, character death (spoiler, not explicit), catcalling, voyeurism, masturbation, PIV sex.
A/n: I hella projected lol. Reader is broken.
——
Soap is dating your flatmate.
Most men that your flatmate brought home were wet wipes, but this guy was some kind of special forces. His eyes were electric blue and he had the thickest eyelashes, he went by Johnny but he also went by Soap, you never learned why. You had to mentally pinch yourself while staring at him, he was everything you wanted in a partner. You hated the creamy mess in your underwear when you were in his company.
He was muscled and shaped like an upside down triangle, you had to look away when he would pop out from their room in the night. Muttering “sorry ‘scuse me” as you squeeze past the narrow corridor, ignoring the rumble of his “no no, I’m taking up all the room, lass.”
You caught his thighs and bulge in his compression shorts when he left for a run in the morning. Later, your flatmate traipsed into the kitchen muttering “I can hardly walk after last night, let alone run!”
You laugh and slap her arm playfully as you leave the room. You’re an expert at that now. That’s not to say you were never happy for her, but your phone was currently not blowing up with your latest dating app matches.
——
On the off chance Soap arrived when you were coming out of the shower, he only ever looked at your eyes and quickly got out of your way. He only had eyes for your flatmate. You got to your room and stood in front of the mirror and wondered what your flatmate and other women had that you didn’t.
——
Soap was full of energy, ready for a laugh but very protective. You would listen from your room when he dropped her off late at night after a raucous night out on the town.
“Call me tomorrow, alright?” His voice is muffled.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Just call me when you wake up. You look like you need a lie in tomorrow. I’ll bring you breakfast.”
Tomorrow morning comes and Soap is early with a bag of food from a brunch spot nearby, he even brought you a coffee too. You thank him too much, maybe it wasn’t the coffee you were thanking him for.
——
Your flatmate and Soap came home late one night absolutely drunk out of their minds, they wobbled through the front door trying to dance to a song playing on his phone. They see you and it’s like they have heart eyes.
“Y/n, it’s y/n, THE GOAT!” Your roommate yells.
“The GOAT!” Soap hollers.
They both flop into the sofa either side of you. They’re too drunk to notice your teary eyes. You pushed the soggy tissue into your sleeve.
A dance tune starts up and before you can even recognise it, Soap bounces up with hands held out towards you both.
Your roommate grabs one hand.
You’re next.
You take Soap’s hand and you arc off the sofa, he’s strong.
You’re pressed up against his side. He’s hard, large and warm, you try not to enjoy the bodily contact as you all boogie to the song. You start to smile until you remember he isn’t yours.
——
“It’s only 2 days but I’m so excited,” she talks about her friend’s wedding in the south of France, “I’m wearing this dress” she flicks through her phone gallery “and Johnny is going to wear a kilt!” Muscled calves, big smile and rugged hands clasped at his front, Johnny looked like a million bucks.
“I love it, you’ll match!” You managed to squeeze out. You imagine the memories they’ll make and photos they’ll take. That night you have a 2nd date, you are excited by the fact he has asked you out again. It filled you with something resembling happiness.
You are meant to meet at a station out of town but you couldn’t find him at the small station and the path towards the car park was unlit and dodgy. When your date found you, he was annoyed that he had to pay for parking. He kept throwing red flags at you.
But still you slept with him because you wanted to feel touched and desired. You regretted it and then you had to take the train home later that night because he “had an early start to work tomorrow.” You wrapped your jacket around yourself to keep out some of the cold, trying not to be annoyed that he didn’t even attempt to make you orgasm or show any aftercare. You delete his number from your phone.
Later that weekend, the duo arrived home.
“We bought you back some chocolate!” Your flatmate says, Johnny swings his bag off his back, he passes it to you with 2 hands like it's a bar of gold. It could have been, with the way you looked at it.
“Aww guys you didn’t have to.” Your mouth is dry.
“Johnny found it, I didn’t know you were a sea salt and caramel fan!”
You put the chocolate in a drawer because you didn’t want to get used to tastes you couldn’t indulge in.
——
“He’s a prick, forget about him.” Your flatmate says pointedly about a new guy you were dating.
“Oi who’s a prick?” Soap walks into the kitchen, taking your flatmate’s waist in his hand.
“No one-” you turn away.
“A fuck boy that y/n isn’t seeing any more.” Your flat mate sounds proud by what wasn’t her decision.
“He isn’t a fuck boy.” You know you’ll regret clarifying the point, “we didn’t fuck, so he’s not. He’s just a prick.” You and the conversation. Soap whistles.
Later that night when you’re washing the dishes, Soap approaches you.
“Listen, forget about that guy,” he says low, you’d follow that voice anywhere.
“Thanks.” You squeak quietly.
“You will find what you're looking for, keep pushing and you’ll look back on this shite with a smile, maybe a misty eye, ey?” He bends forward to catch your eyes as you were trying to avoid them.
He smiles, you smile. He leaves, you remain.
The suds disappear and you turn off the tap, left in silence.
That night, they have muted sex, you hear their attempts at muffling moans and stifling strained grunts. You hear the bed frame squeak on the last hardest thrusts, then silence for a while. You imagine they feel warm, tingly and flushed, chests heaving. Eventually you hear footsteps come and go from the bathroom, the toilet flush going and the door shuts again. You wait for your heart rate to stabilise and your heart ache to subside.
——
“We’re going to the pub, wanna join us? Johnny’s friends are going to be there.” Your flatmate asks you.
You wonder if they’re as hot, funny and protective. You tell yourself you’re just going along for a chat, but part of you hopes it leads to something more; you put the hopeless in hopeless romantic. Put yourself out there, that’s what everyone says.
You wear a nice outfit that makes you feel pretty, your confidence isn’t abundant but you’re feeling yourself.
You arrive at the pub, you meet them, you chat, you drink, you leave.
Nothing about the evening was bad, his team were really nice, all huge and charming in their own ways. Their Captain was a greyhound with an intense gaze that seemed to follow you. Gaz’s girlfriend arrived and you thought you heard some rumblings about Ghost being pushed to date.
The Captain was receptive to you, leaning in to listen, you thought you saw him glance at your lips and legs. He helped you off the tall stool you were sitting on, taking you by your waist to help you down. You know not to push, men hated when women pushed. Well, they hated when you pushed. And you didn’t want to make anything awkward between you and your flatmate. So you left without asking for his phone number or a date, but he hugged you tightly and held your gaze for longer than you thought usual.
When all three of you got home, your flatmate shouted at the top of her lungs “you and the Captain huh?! Practically undressing each other with your eyes!” You laugh and immediately feel your ears going red. You were stoked that someone else noticed because you thought it was all in your head, as it usually was.
You didn’t notice Soap put a hand out to stop her.
“Babe. Babe-” he says “don’t go there.”
Your heart tightens. Your flatmate puts her hands on her hips, confused and a little offended as if to say ‘I know what I saw.’
“It ain’t like that, the Captain is… Price is… Look, he’s married to the job.” Brows knitted, the jovial spirit replaced with seriousness, “we don’t sit around and talk about it but he ain’t the type to mess around.”
You play it off “we were just talking, it’s not a big deal.”
It hurts when Soap says “good, because he’s a lifer.”
You close the door to your bedroom and mull Soap’s words in your tormented mind. The fuzziness you felt replaced by emptiness.
Part of you willed it to be wrong, that you were the woman to pull the Captain out of his self fulfilling and self imposed prophecy. You almost laughed at your audacity.
“I can’t even get a text back, why would he be interested?” You stare at the ceiling, the alcohol left your system and the room was uncomfortably still.
——
“You like tha’, lass?” you hear Soap rasp, you’re not sure if he’s taking her from behind or if he’s on top of her. The faint slaps, skin on skin, indicate it’s either doggy or the standing position your flatmate had once whispered about. The loud moans indicate it’s good.
You don’t breathe. You just listen.
“Oh god, Johnny please!” Your flatmate whines, the force of his thrusts evident in her stuttering voice.
You close your eyes and see yourself with Soap under you, knees folded under his bulging arms, hips pistoning into you with ferocious need. You argue with yourself but then you quickly surrender and slip your hand into your knickers. You draw tight circles on your clit while your eyes burn with tears unfallen. Undiluted shame and need fills you. You breathe sharply through your nose and then hold your breath, staying as quiet as possible. Both of your hearts raced, thumping against your ribs.
“Tha’s it,” you hear his muffled voice grunt. You imagine his massive hand grasping your breast, your hand follows. Their bed frame groans but yours is silent. Your flatmate’s voice gets higher in pitch and she comes loudly, he grunts, swears, the mattress squeaks. You push two fingers into yourself and quickly find your spongy spot, electricity rolls through you.
You come undone shakily and silently, tears springing immediately from your eyes as you ride the wave of your orgasm. Your hand clasps across your mouth as you try to stem the noise of your sobs. You feel disgusted and disgusting. You wipe your eyes with your sleeves. You check your phone, no text from him. You manage to fall into a restless sleep.
——
One night, you and your flatmate encountered an asshole at the station.
“Nice bit of skirt, that.” He leers at your flatmate.
“Fuck off, you prick!” You shout back without breaking stride, not caring he was bigger than you. This confidence was new to you. Or was it anger?
When you arrived at the music venue, your flatmate told Soap what happened, you couldn’t hear them as the music was loud and you were at the bar. You could see the look of concern and regret on his face. He stormed over to you and he pulled you into a bear hug.
“Thanks for taking care of her,” he says to your temple. He releases you but keeps his arm around your shoulder as you wait at the bar, his weight is comforting and protective. He then helps you carry the drinks over.
He adds “I’m sorry Gaz and Cap couldn’t make it, paperwork.” You’d heard that one before but this time you gave yourself the benefit of believing it.
During the gig was a slow acoustic song that hit a little too close to home so you snuck out to the toilet to wait it out.
But you could still hear the music as you leaned against the stall and picked at your nails, doing breathing exercises you’d read about, through your tears.
——
You began to feel like the only man in your life. You even treated yourself to a massage because the touch deprivation reached a fever pitch.
You scroll through the website trying to find an available masseuse. Their headshots were small but you were on the lookout for a man with a thick neck and prominent traps, you knew the silhouette you were looking for. Your masseuse didn’t have a Mohawk but he was close enough that when you closed your eyes, his hands, his pressure and weight became Johnny’s.
——
You were invited again to a party with the squad, moods were good but there were hints of them being away for an extended mission. While you heeded what Soap said about Price, you wanted to know it from the horse's mouth. You bantered with the Captain, and he bantered back, at first. It turned to flirting and you playfully slapped his bicep, joking that you could drink him under the table, knowing well enough that you couldn’t. You ignored the looks from Gaz and Ghost - it’s like they knew something you didn’t. And they did.
You found yourself outside with Price. He’d asked only you to come outside, you felt giddy at the prospect of him wanting to be alone with you. He was smoking a cigar, you stared at the lit end, hoping it revealed some kind of secret you could finally be privy to.
It was cold outside, bitterly cold.
“You’re a lovely girl, y/n, you’re, smart, pretty, ballsy,” he says, almost to himself. You’re immediately familiar with the tone. What came next would hurt. Your breathing quickens and there’s a pit in your stomach.
“I’m not in a place where I can give you what you want, what you deserve, darlin’.”
The alcohol seemed to dissipate from your system. Rejection was one hell of a way to sober up. You look down at your shoes and chew your lip to stop it from trembling.
You knew better than to beg, to make compromises, to ask for a chance. Nothing would convince him. Maybe another woman could. But not me. So you turned to humour because it was safer than being vulnerable.
With wet eyes and a wobbly voice that you couldn’t hide, you say “so you think I’m pretty?”
He hits you with a look that you’ll never forget.
“In another life-“ he quietly began.
You cut him off, agreeing, “in another life.”
You both went indoors and you summoned a smile from the deepest recesses of your being. You left early that night.
——
It was with bated breath that you left your room ready for your date. You were in a beautiful outfit that did wonders for your confidence. You spun around a few times in the mirror.
Johnny was at the foot of the stairs and he looked at you with his big blue eyes, you’re sure you saw his pupils grow. Your phone buzzed but you ignored it because you enjoyed being under his gaze.
“Look at you! He’s a lucky lad!”
“Wait, let me see!” Your flatmate's voice came from the kitchen.
Your phone buzzed again. You pull it out to see a stream of texts from your date.
“Oh you look gorgeous, girl!” You barely hear your flatmate. Blood rushes to your ears.
You read out the text message.
“Sorry can’t make it, hungover lol.” You sound distant, as if it wasn’t related to you.
“Fucking prick.” Soap says with no hesitation.
“Y/n…. Babe.” Your flatmate pulls you into a hug but you’re limp and embarrassed.
“Fuck it, I’m going out anyway!” You exclaim, pretending to be okay you practically rush out of the door.
The door shuts behind you. You want to cry but you squeeze your eyes shut and start to walk towards the station. You don’t last long, your vision is wet and nose runny. You end up at a riverside cafe, watching the world go by without you. What a shitty year, you tell yourself.
——
You hear a hushed conversation a week before Soap is due to leave for a few weeks. You kept your headphones on and nodded at them when you walked past, giving them privacy.
You wish you could be in someone’s inner circle, but instead you were grateful you could float around theirs. You put a mental reminder in to take your flatmate to dinner while Soap was away and to keep her from watching the news.
——
“Turn it down!” You yell at your flatmate while you go to answer the door, the radio is on blast while you both cook.
Through the peephole you see the unmistakable beard of Captain Price.
“Oh John, hi!” You can’t hide that you’re happy to see him. But then you notice his grave expression.
“Hi love, sorry to come by unannounced,” he’s standing straighter and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is your flatmate around?”
“Yeh, come in.” Your stomach drops. You didn’t need to call out, your flatmate is already by the door.
“No,” she recognises the look.
“I’m so sorry, love.” Price says quietly.
“Oh god no!” She cries out and sobs, her entire body shakes.
You put your arms around her but your eyes are on Price, wet and unflinching, waiting for the confirmation of the news.
His blue eyes are overcast and tired, he nods and looks down.
“We’ll have to take you onto base if you wish to go through matters,” Price says quietly. You helped your flatmate get her coat on, understanding that you couldn’t go with her.
Price dropped her home later that night, you plated up some food for her but she couldn’t eat. You hugged each other on the sofa until one of you fell asleep first.
It felt like Soap would be bursting through the door with his infectious energy at any moment, but the silence was deafening.
——
You weren’t invited to the funeral as it was behind closed doors. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you went from crying to intense panic attacks to bouts of guilt. You missed him, you missed his presence. You thought about the way his eyes would light up when you suggested shots at the pub, how he’d walked you both home and how safe you felt. Sure he wasn’t holding your hand but for a moment, you felt wanted, taken care of and significant. You felt terrible for mourning someone else’s partner so deeply and intimately.
Price came by a few times in the next few months, sometimes you were home, sometimes you weren’t. When your flatmate finally came out of her room, her eyes red and complexion weak, she would walk around the house like an apparition.
“I can’t do this without him!” She would plead, “I miss him so much.” You rubbed her back, silently wiping your tears, telling her you were sorry, over and over.
“John came by today, he sends his best.” She says.
“Bless him,” you say quietly, trying not to read too much into it, because all the meaning you longed for wouldn’t come.
“You never told me what happened with you both that night.” She asks, brows knitted in concern for you while her heart was shattered.
“Soap was right about him.” You said, “and that’s okay.” You breathed, hoping the more you said it the more you would believe it.
——
‘What cannot be said will be wept’ you read the quote over and over, you’d seen it online and it immediately brought Price into your mind.
His visits became less frequent, but he came by again to check in with your flatmate. He looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to pull him into an embrace and comfort him.
“Come in, she just got in the shower, want a tea while you wait?”
It had been 6 months since the news.
“How are you holding up?” Price asked.
“M’okay, trying to be there for her as best I can.”
“I know it isn’t easy for you either.” He said, “you’re doing good by her, you’re a good friend.”
Guilt and shame rushes through your system, you didn’t feel like a good friend.
“He was so good to her-” you start to sob, hands across your mouth, willing it to stay inside so you never have to confront how you really felt about him.
You’re surprised to be suddenly in his embrace. John consumes you, you’re completely surrounded by him. You grip his jacket, afraid to let go. His right hand rubbed your shoulder blades and his left hand held onto your waist tightly.
“I’m sorry love,” he whispered, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t good to you.”
“You don’t have to apologise for anything John, you haven’t done anything wrong.” You sounded throaty.
“I made you believe in something I couldn’t give you.” His voice is quiet, you feel it against his chest.
“In another life,” you manage to sob his phrase back to him, he can feel you inhaling hard, trying to catch your breath.
“Another life.” He says back, kissing your head.
“Take care of yourself, John” you say with a ragged voice looking straight into his eyes. You grab your bag and push past him out of the door. You can still see his sad eyes in your mind.
Immediately you regret leaving while he was still available and present. But then you think if he wanted to say more he’d have done so. Life is choices, he made his choice. And I wasn’t one of them. Your legs take you away from him, into the bitter cold.
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unrequited love with john price (angst, smut, no happy ending, crying during sex)
john knows it’s his fault. he shouldn’t have indulged you so many times. he should have let your silly little crush fizzle out instead of nurturing the flame inside of you. turning the little flicker into a full blown blaze every time he took you to bed with him
even then, it should have ended with sex. it’s harsh but he should’ve kicked you out every time instead of letting you stay the night. he’d play with your hair and whisper sweet things to you, and let you snuggle into his chest with a content smile on your face
he knew the day would come when you would be laying in his bed and finally confess your feelings. god knows he had no plans on doing such a thing. he had just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. he gives you a sympathetic smile as you fidget with your hands, sweet mumbles of love falling from the lips he had kissed just minutes before
“I’m so sorry, love…” he responded and you’re breath instantly hitched. humiliation burning onto your face as you look away from him, chewing on your lip to avoid bursting into tears and making this horrible situation a million times worse
and john knows he should’ve let you leave, throw on your clothes and give you space to deal with what just happened. he certainly shouldn’t have tugged you back into bed, press apologetic kisses to your face and allow his hands to roam over your naked body. soft cries leaving your throat and tears slipping down your warmed cheeks as he fucks you again, slow gentle grinds of his hips as he whispers in your ear
“you’re such a lovely girl. so sweet and kind. so many people are going to love you, princess…” his lips brush against yours, “I just can’t be one of them.”
your lip wobbles even as you cum around him, pulling your hands over your face to hide your crying. he pulls them away and kisses the salty tears away, repeating the words ‘I’m sorry’ when he finishes inside of you
sends you on your way with a kiss on your forehead, telling you to let him know when you get home safe. you don’t even look at him as you give a soft nod of your head. eyes red and raw from crying
he waits for the text before blocking your number and turning off his phone, going to bed with heavy shoulders and a guilty heart…
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I've been chased, almost bit and actuslly bit by many'a dog in my 24 uears of life. Beagle, lab, pitfalls, a retriever and 2 German Shepherds. I now have two German Shepherd mixes [thanks husband] and they're actually kind of nice. Dumb, but protective [protective of the house from our landlord they see every day tho 🤦] and they give me a sense of security when I'm home alone and it's like the dead of night
They're also kind of a police/protection breed. Obviously not these two nuts, but the breed in general. So now, as I sit home alone with these two bozos [and my three cats and like 14 fish] I'm thinking of, like
Does Older bf! Simon get his girl a protection woofer? Rescue or breeder dog? How does that conversation go if he does? Does she think it's overkill or is she thankful for the company when he's gone?
Sorry for the long ass post btws, and the unsolicited pic of the two braincells I call my pets
ok never apologise for pictures of your dogs, they’re so stinkin’ cute 🫶🏼
i think older bf!simon hates being away from you in general but one of his biggest frustrations is that fact he’s left you alone.
he doesn’t like the idea of you being alone in that house and he doesn’t like knowing anything could happen and there’s not a damn thing he could do from so far away.
so yeah, he rescues two dogs (without fkn telling you) and they’re a couple of doberman brothers. they could stand on their back paws and put their front ones on your shoulders, these things are massive and look mean.
naturally, they adore simon and he could walk forever and they’d stay at his side. all he has to do is whistle and they’re on his heel, they don’t even rark up when he’s got his mask on.
you think they don’t like you as much as him, given the fact they spend so much time with him and only seem to tolerate you with food present.
“si, i don’t know why you got them- they much prefer you anyway”
“they like you, sweet’art- everything likes you”
it’s not as if they dislike you, they’ll sleep on the floor on your side of the bed and they’ll sit at your feet under your spot on the couch. sometimes when you’re wandering the house doing chores you can hear their claws on the floor just a few steps behind you.
almost like they’d been trained that way.
simon likes knowing they’re there to keep you company. that if someone chose their misfortune by trying to hurt you and simon wasn’t there to kill them himself? he knows something just as primal as he will do it for him.
so when he comes home from deployment late at night with no warning (as usual) and his boots are loud on the concrete outside as he approaches, he can see movement in the glass by the front door.
he knows it’s you, he’d know you with his eyes plucked out. he doesn’t like the idea that you might be afraid right now, hearing movement and having to investigate it on your own.
he’s about to speak up, to let you know it’s him and let you rest- but something stops him. he’s dead silent so he can hear it, you let out one sharp whistle.
suddenly, two large heads appear at either hip flanking you- simon’s sure he can hear growling all the way from here. he can’t help the smile that forms beneath his balaclava.
“s’alright”
growling stopped, lights come on.
“daddy’s home”
#holy fuck that last line ENDED ME#KVKDKWK I NEED HIM#and the dogs are so freaking precious#ghost#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader
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“we fucked up.” I wonder what gave him that idea mgkdjwjwk
I hope they GROVEL for the rest of theirs lives
just a thought that i thought of after reading the angst fics 😖:
Pretend the guy who took her home was some rando she became close with at the bar, and that she told him about all her troubles and issues that she encountered with 141 recently. He comforted her and then they drank together yadayadayada he takes her home, the boys tuck her in despite them being mad, the cute “princess” moment, then morning.
When morning comes, they all talk it out, only catch is that now they’re back at square one when getting Reader to open up, and get intimate. Let alone even hug them.
Another catch is that they seemed more comfortable with literally anyone else BUT them. They all went out? Reader brings the guy friend to come along, then falls asleep on his shoulder accidentally, even though Gaz offered his shoulder first instead. They all are gonna cuddle and sleep in the same bed together and want Reader to join in? Reader opts for a plushed animal (The big plushies— Like a giant bear or shark) instead. It was like getting Ghost to let down his walls, just a little harder since instead of short answer “no’s” and grunts, they’d feel like they’re bullying Reader even though all they asked was want they want for breakfast.
Ex: *They all are talking, then Price turns to Reader* “Where do you wanna go out tonight, sweets?”
Reader: *literally sweating and looking at every other place thats not any of them, fiddling with their fingers as they mutter out a soft,* “Dunno.”
here’s a lil something something i’ve been thinking about
c/w: reader has trust issues, boys attempt to make amends, not a happy ending really but still more to come, panic, anxiety
it had been a stressful few weeks for you after that night at the bar
when the morning came, you woke up to find yourself in the centre of their bed. sheets all tangled with up in the knot of limbs made up by you and your lovers. heavy arms slung over your waist and sleeping faces smushed into the side of your neck
this may have been the norm for you a few weeks ago but with recent events, this makes you feel trapped. especially since you can’t recall the events of the previous night. your brain had switched off after your fourth daiquiri
you must have gotten hammered and crawled into the bed after hours, you think to yourself. must have gotten so lonely and desperate that you crawled into their bed. you have to get up and leave before they find you
you carefully pull their arms from you, untangling your legs with a painfully slow pace. no risky movements. when you think you’re just about to make it, you feel a strong arm snaking its way back around your waist and pulling you straight back into the flesh pile
“where’re you goin’, darlin’?” price grumbles in your ear, his prickly bread tickling your skin when he pushes his face back into the side of your neck. your eyes widen at the situation you’ve found yourself in
price perks up a bit, lifting his head when he feels you push at this arm wrapped around you like you want it off. he lifts his arm slightly for you. you twist and turn to get out of his grip, scrambling to your feet and watching him with a nervous expression
“woah, calm down. please don’t act like i’m going to hurt you, you know I’d never do that.” price says with a soft tone, hands out in surrender as you step away from the bed. he frowns at your skittery nature
“what happened last night? why am I in your room?” you ask, wrapping your arms around you for comfort. your hands feel soft cotton rather than the black silk you wore the night before and you look down to see one of soaps old band t-shirts, “did I put this on?”
the boys begin to stir awake at the sound of hushed voices. soft groans and joints clicking filling the room but you don’t take your eyes off of john’s. he seems sad, like you’ve just subtly devastated him
“you came home in a bit of a state so we bought you to bed. why’d you look so nervous, honey?” john coos, the rest of the boys are fully awake now, sat up and watching this scene unfold in front of them
feeling all those sets of eyes on you makes you close up, looking down at the floor and not saying a word. like you’re trying to make yourself small, hard to see and perceive
john climbs out of bed next, placing a gentle hand on the top of your head. “let’s go get something to eat, yeah? we all have a lot to talk about today.”
all you can do is stand rigid and stare at them with shock splattered on your face as they all climb out of bed, walk over to you and plant a kiss on your forehead before following john downstairs
you stare at the empty doorway for a few minutes before creeping downstairs, brow furrowed the whole time as you watch them move around in the kitchen. john grips your tense shoulders and nudges you into a seat before placing a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of you
johnny and kyle are setting the table, smiling at you and asking how you slept. playfully scolding you for drinking too much before popping a few painkillers in front of you. you feel like you’ve been placed in the middle of a tv sketch. like at any moment someone with a camera is gonna run out and tell you that you’re being punked
“how was your night out, darling? we see you made a new friend.” john gives you his classic close lipped smile, the one you used to tell him made him look like a quokka. you jerk away when you feel simon walk over, ruffle your hair and place a bowl of cut up fruit in front of you wordlessly
“uh… it was… fine.” you mumble, staring down at the ceramic bowl. kyle connects his phone to the speaker, letting the kitchen become filled with morning news reports and music as they cook breakfast. you barely touch the food they put in front of you, your paranoid brain telling you that something bad was about to happen
they fill the tables with plates full of food, all the fixings for me a full-english and more. fruit and pastries, jugs of freshly squeezed juice, courtesy of kyle and that ridiculously expensive juicer that he asked john to buy him. they start helping themselves to the food, piling their plates high whilst you just sit there anxiously, hands kept firmly in your lap
your coffee has since gone cold, only taking one sip to help you wash down the painkillers. you can’t take it anymore. you don’t like how normal they’re acting, as if they haven’t spent the past few weeks putting you through hell at home,
“need to do the food shop today. why don’t you come with me, princess? we’ll pick up some lunch and sit in the garden. the weather is-“ john begins talking but you just cut him off
“what the actual fuck are you talking about, john?” you blurt out, hand coming up to silence him. everyone stops eating and turns to look at you. “have you lost the plot? why are you acting like everything is just normal?”
“I ken it’s been a difficult few weeks for ye, hen but we just want-“ johnny begins to speak, a frown tugging at his lips as he reaches his hand across the table to grab yours. you snatch it away, looking at him like he was insane
“I don’t give a fuck what you want!” you scoff, snatching your hand away before he can touch you, “I don’t know what joke you lot are playing on me but it’s not funny. I can’t- I don’t- just fucking stop, okay!?”
you struggled to find your words for a moment before bursting out, your lip wobbling and eyes welling up before you stand from the table abruptly. you turn on your feet and storm upstairs, going straight to your room and slamming the door
the second the it’s closed you slide down the wooden door, tears falling from your eyes as you bury your face in your hand. meanwhile, downstairs the kitchen is silent. cutlery placed firmly on the table, untouched as all the boys comprehend the situation they’re in
“we fucked up.”
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hi he says he loves you (and so do i)
PLS I LOVE YOUUU SJSJSJDJSJSJ IM KISSING YOU <33333
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i fear he is a father figure 🤧🤧
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oh i never talked about how soap canonically has a scar on the upper inner bicep of his left arm, it's visible here
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obviously, put on headphones for maximum enjoyment ( ͡° ᴥ ͡°) and if u fancy hearing more like this, check out this tag!
[reblog to kiss op <3]
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Someone pls tell me if this doesn’t make sense
Thinking about the comedic relief character (maybe in a mafia book). Its a bonus if their best friend/the person they take orders from is the love interest to the main character. He is the only single one of the men in the group when the book ends; where’s his happy ending?
He used to joke about taking his best friend’s woman from him to piss him off, and it’s even funnier when she sees him as a brother and doesn’t take it to heart anyway, but all fake interest stops when you come around. You, finally someone possibly for him, and you quickly find out that despite his bubbly nature, there was an inexplainable amount of pent up sexual frustration going on.
It starts when you first meet at the bar. His friends point out that he seems to be having fun from their booth across the club, laughing almost as hard as you were at his words. In the past 10 minutes you’d been talking, he’d already called you the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, told you insane stories that he swears are true, and uses his charming smile to make you more comfortable than anyone you’d ever met. Of course, you had no idea the man next to you has handed men their deaths on a silver platter, but who cares about that right now?
Regardless, his cologne overwhelms your senses when he leans in to speak, tugging a giggle from your lips, smiling against the back of your ear and placing a chaste parting kiss before pulling away. He asks you to dance.
That’s how you find yourself on the floor, his hands draped around your waist, letting you guide him as you shake your hips to the bachata. He follows, occasionally twisting you around and dipping your head. It makes you feel free. Letting loose with this man you’d just met.
When you feel him behind you with one hand moving along his hip and the other curled back around his neck, you flush at the tent there. It’s his gun, but you don’t know that.
And then the song switches, something slower, sultry. You turn to face him where he already is smiling at you. Your arms connect at his nape.
Just when you get close enough as if you’re about to kiss him, only a breath away, the beat drops. He’s completely entranced when you begin to descend slowly, dragging your hands down his body with a featherlight touch and eye contact that can end a man.
“Shit,” he mumbles. This time, it wasn’t his gun.
He’s used to being over the top, testing the people around him to see how much he could get away with, but you’re something different. You’re like him, but worse.
Once you get as low as your body allows, you come back up just as languidly, not letting go of the doe-eyed expression that renders him speechless. It was a perfect view, allowing a small peak into your dress from above. Any wrong movement and the small mounds of your nipples would be on display for him.
He separates you from his job, but he does let you meet the crew that night. They’re all huge, one with a scar, others with tattoos and stern faces; you realize it literally is just the way he acts. He’s the only one with a humor. You sit and you all pass around drinks. The only other girl is sweet, though.
Unfortunately, the heat for him grows as he caresses your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your center, causing you to excuse yourself to the bathroom. He follows behind
When you tuck yourself away, he knocks, “It’s me.”
You shout through the door, “Who?”
“The hot guy you were grinding on?” There’s a moment of silence. “…Is there more than one?”
Chuckling, you swing open the door, dragging him in. “You’re so annoying.”
“You love it.” He shoots you a sexy crooked smile. What you’re about to say next catches him by surprise.
“Unfortunately, and now you have to pay for it.”
“How so?” He knows how so.
You only prove it when you tug him by the chain wrapped around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. “Finish what you started.”
Instead of kissing you like he was supposed to, he swiftly rotates your hips around and tangles his hand in your hair as you face the mirror. “Actually, you started it.” His hold on you makes you release the softest hum into the air, but he may have heard it with how he leans right into your space, pressing up against you. “I vaguely remember you looking up at me, only inches away from what you want.”
His voice isn’t the same teasing one, but a velvety smooth version, rumbling through your core as the usually bright eyes sink into darkness in the reflection.
Sometimes people forget this character is his own person, with his own story, still somehow left unfulfilled in the end, even though he has an amazing group of friends and a seemingly happy ending. But damn, he’s just a man, you know?
Nobody takes him seriously since everyone knows he’d never separate his favorite couple despite all the times he’s said “I’m next.” The girlfriend in question rolls her eyes, saying “you wish.”
But he has feelings as well, and after fighting for so long, never actually having time to settle, he’d never thought about a real woman or the desire coursing through him. He’s more than just a side character.
Everyone is there when reading the erotic scenes of the main character, but what about him? Has anyone ever gotten perspective on the way he fucks?
Well you have an answer. It’s rough, and needy, and so so perfect. He hits you deep with a strong grip on your loose hair. And he’s not like the main character—they have two different personalities— he’s ten times more annoying and won’t degrade you. No, he’ll praise you, praise you until you know how much of a good fucking girl you are and how good you take his cock.
“Oh fuck, fuck—” you jerk into the counter from the force of the thrusts just to be pulled back in the same second. Only being able to stare at your distant reflection in the mirror is embarrassing, so you look past yourself to him.
He throws his hips into your ass and slaps the skin roughly a few times just to soothe out the pain with his hand. “Pussy’s so fucking tight. What? You don’t like me?”
He leaves enough room for you to twist your head no back and forth, whimpering as you try to provide an answer. “I-I do.” He’s huge, filling out and reaching walls you didn’t know extended that far.
He laughs outwardly hearing how fucked you are before gathering your wrists in the small of your back. His hand slips past your hair, now digging into your nape and forcing you down as he barrels forward. “That’s good. Can’t have that if I’ll be buried inside you more often.”
All that processes in your head is the grunts and the abuse on your pussy, pounding into your g-spot, and he’s loving every second he gets to witness the curled up features on your face to go with the mascara rolling down your eyes.
Breasts bouncing in the scrunched up dress, you begin to whine. “I’m coming,” you warn.
He leans forward and brings you up to meet him. His arms wrap under your neck, putting you into a headlock, but it’s nothing like the ones he does when he’s suffocating someone. It’s softer, foretold by the fact that you can still breathe.
All it does is bring him closer, his hips unstopping, right into your ear so you can still hear him even if it’s slightly muffled by his arm. Every time he pulls out, you suck him right back in.
“Can’t believe that I get to ruin you.” Your hands come to grasp his arms, but it’s not nearly as tight as it should be. You groan deeply.
He’s petting your hair, somehow even able to press a kiss to your temple, but he never leaves. You can feel his lips move against your hot skin. “There you go pretty girl, fuck, keep clamping down on me. Show me how much you want it.”
“I w-want it,” you nod. Or try to.
“Yeah?”
Your eyes shut as the heat multiplies.
“You can’t back out now, baby,” he chuckles, and it’s a little breathless. He seems to be talking so fast and you can only understand a few words at a time. “Open your eyes. Watch yourself come on my cock.”
Your eyes might stay open for the slightest second, but it hits you so fast that they might have just rolled into the back of your head. He doesn’t stop. It still jolts you back and forth and it’s so overwhelming mixed with everything of him.
You come so hard you almost get a migraine.
Moral of the story is, don’t forget about your favorite side character. He may be just as good in bed. ;)
©️hxltic
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You guys really liked my last poll so
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IM ON MY FUCKING KNEES FKEKWJJWJW
ps!ghost x of!f!reader au :)
It hadn't even been him who found you. It'd been Kyle.
Look at this lush little doll fuckin' herself on your cock.
Simon's chilled glass clinked on the marble tabletop of the bar as he placed it down, brows furrowed in response. He hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what the fuck Kyle was doing watching porn in public because he slid the phone over in a flash, and as soon as Simon's gaze shifted to the phone, his words instantly lodged into his throat.
You really were fucking yourself on his cock. Well, a replica of his cock. Simon found himself unable to look away. You were riding it, puffy lips spread wide as your cunt took every thick inch of the toy. The way you undulated your hips with every rise and fall had a familiar hunger gnawing at his insides, your fingers— so much smaller than his own— circling your bundle of nerves stoked the fire in his lower belly.
His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth when he noticed your soft thighs begin to tremble, the pace of your hand, glistening with your slick— oh, he'd pay for a little taste— quickening as you reached your climax. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip the same way he knows yours did too (it's a shame you're hiding that face of yours, he'd love to see if your eyes cross as you peak), and before the video got to his favorite part, Kyle quickly swiped his phone back.
Johnny's here. Wave 'im down.
Bastard. Good thing he took note of your name.
He'd signed up that same night and tugged his cock to that same video, this time with volume. You keened so prettily, a voice like honey and milk. Gasps when you lifted yourself until just the tip of it remained inside, mewls when you lowered yourself until your lips were flush against the silicone balls (those were inaccurate, he had a full, heavy set thank you very much). Simon stroked himself at your pace, a muted groan escaping him when you gave the toy a pointed thrust, cunt squelching as you did.
The sound you'd made as you climaxed was exactly like he'd thought it'd be, a hiccupped noise that came from the back of your throat, so real, genuine. It'd easily tossed him over his own edge, muscles taut and stomach tight as he spurts thick ropes of warm spend on himself, coating his dark trail of coarse hair under his navel and pubic area.
His cock had barely begun to soften, the loud ringing in his ears starting to fade when he came to a startling realization.
You'd whimpered his name— his stage name— as you hit your peak.
Simon quickly rewinds the video back a couple of seconds and watches intently as your hand stutters, frothy white desire at the base dribbling down in viscous drops (seriously, just a taste), your breath hitches, and—
There.
A warbled, slurred Ghost.
Well, well. Lucky him. He sends you a hefty tip, (for your service, pet) and turns on notifications for your profile. He'd hate to miss a live video of yours.
(His mind is already whirring with the thought of fucking you on his bed, just to see for himself if you really can take him the way you did the replica.)
#DO U UNDERSTAND HOW OBSESSED I AM WITH THIS AU#KCKKEWKKW#simon riley x reader#simon riley#ghost#ghost x reader
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I JUST NEED ONE CHANCE GLOSSY PLS GFIJKDS HOLY FUCKING SHIT (the whole time i was reading this i had the best of both worlds by hannah montana stuck in my head LMAOO INKMDFS)
THE WAY THEY ALL SPAMMED HER WITH REPLIES???
OH. MY GOD. so in our little “price’s girl shared with the 141” au…
you become their own personal OF star. no official page no no. but a group chat SPECIFICALLY to send videos of price utterly ruining you (it eventually becomes any and all videos and pictures of any of them together, with or without you. safe in a seperate chat)
sharing is caring ; poly 141
OH JESUS i just about melted to the floor. this got away from me LMAO this is more centered on the first time you send pics to the group chat, so it’s the start of the whole dynamic. i really hope you enjoy!! i love talking about this au with you (talking to you in general ofc) <33
18+, afab reader, price x reader -> price sharing his girl with the 141, nudes, sharing of nudes (w readers consent, she's the one sharing them), purposefully lowercase.
i think maybe it starts out gradually. after all, you’re only used to sending risky pictures to your husband, john price.
you're dipping your toes in the water.
throughout your relationship and marriage, you would send him a variety of pictures to help boost his morale while on deployment and give him a taste of what was waiting for him at home.
sometimes it was a shot of your tits. sometimes they were held up by your lace bra and giving him a tease of the valley of your breasts. a lace bra he picked out, one he would have to restrain himself from ripping off of you. sometimes you would be covering your tits with one arm across your chest while your other hand was holding your phone, snapping the selfie. then of course, sometimes you would just be cupping your tits and letting the timed camera count down - capturing a perfectly uncovered view of your tits for your hardworking husband.
other times you would send him shots of your ass. all bare and plush and all his to squeeze and spank and bite. you would always be on your large bed, with your back arched and your ass in the air, letting the timed camera count down. presenting yourself to him just like you would if he was there with you right now, pressing his cock against your ass and letting you feel how hard he was. sometimes you would be sporting a pair of lingerie, just a thin stripe of fabric that left nothing to the imagination. whenever you wore them, it was almost with the intention to tease him - like you knew how much he would be itching to just tear that flimsy piece of fabric right off you.
sometimes you would send him pictures of your cunt all wet and on display for him. you'd be all bare and on display for him, your legs spread open all for him. he would be able to see the plush skin of your inner thighs, littered with stretch marks (that he yearned to taste again). he would be able to see your folds all swollen and dripping with slick as you presented yourself to your husband. whenever you sent him those pictures (or any picture of yourself, really), he could feel himself practically salivating. he would kill to be able to reach through the screen and swipe his thick fingers through your lips, gathering your juices on his fingers. he would kill to just devour you right then and there.
of course, sometimes you would send him one with everything. one where you would be laying in bed, all bare for him, and you would be holding your phone above you to get an aerial selfie. perfectly showing your tits and sensitive nipples, your stomach and your plush thighs. because you wanted to be thorough, you would always take the time to get a shot specifically for your cunt. you couldn't let him go wanting, not when he was providing for you like that.
all of those applied to videos, of course. you would always throw in some line that went straight to his cock (in addition to the visuals you provided), like, "fuck, i miss you so much," or, "god, i need you so bad. my big bear."
of course, as he began integrating his men with his personal life, you began growing closer to them as well. you would exchange glances and fleeting touches that lingered way too long, full of heat and tension. they were all simultaneously filled with guilt and anxiety. you were married. they were working under your husband's orders.
you felt like shit. like a two-timer, even though nothing had happened physically. at least, not really. you felt terrible. that was, until john had murmured something in your ear one night that flooded your core with heat.
"mmm. they've been lookin' at you like that too, y'know? they'd kill to get a taste of that pretty pussy." you practically shiver at both his words, the husky timbre of his voice and the scratch of his beard against your ear. "i would know. they've all begged me for a taste of her." you could imagine your eyes were as wide as dinner plates.
from that point on, your confidence was ping-ponging between outgoing or introverted. you constantly wondered if it was a good idea to pursue this.. new path. would it over complicate your husbands work life? the relationship's he had with his friends? or worse, your own marriage?
and when you weren't mulling yourself to death with the possibilities of what could go wrong, you were preoccupied with the possibilities of what could go right. toe curlingly right.
you could have the best of both worlds. you could have your husband all the time, both physically and emotionally - while also enjoying his men and their bodies. you could enjoy soap's, johnny's, nimble and thick fingers pumping in and out of you as he finger fucked you to the first orgasm of many. you could enjoy gaz's, kyle's, sweet mouth as he worshipped your breasts (breasts that you noticed he would stare at every chance he could) for all they were worth. licking, sucking and kissing at your sensitive nipples like he was a man starved. you could enjoy ghosts', simon's, cock, if john let him stuff you full of his length. by the buldge in his pants, you'd hoped to god that he would.
your heartbeat thrummed in your ears as you added john's familiar number in a new text, before you read off three other numbers from a piece of paper your husband had left you. you knew who they belonged to, and just the thought made your core fill with heat. once you had formed a groupchat, you clicked on your gallery and selected two pictures you had taken only a minute prior.
both pictures were ones you would usually ever send to your husband. one of your tits, in a bra just to test your confidence. the other of your ass as you arched your back and let your ass perk up in the air. you opted to wear some lingerie in this one as well, again, to test your confidence. you didn't wanna bite off more than you could chew and scare yourself off. that would embarrass you beyond repair, and no matter how much your husband tried to convince you - you were sure it would embarrass him too. it wouldn't.
so you were playing relatively safe. not explicitly showing nipples or completely uncovered breasts, or revealing anything except for a bikini line.
you typed out a quick text along with the photos. you had to admit, you would feel a bit awkward (even more so) if you just sent random almost nudes to someone that wasn't your husband without even so much as an accompanying text. you started off with the typical 'it's so-and-so,' so they could save your number into their phones.
hi, boys. felt like you might need a pick me up.
your thumb hovered over the blue 'send' button before letting out an exhale, and pressing send.
only a few minutes passed before your phone was blowing up from all four men. a lot of texts from all of them, some in all caps, some filled with misspellings, some with emojis.
in a few painstakingly long minutes, they had left about five voicemails each. even more missed calls and voice messages.
the general consensus was: be ready when we get home.
©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.
🏷️: @viylikescats @cassiecasluciluce @ghastlybirdie @lilpothoscuttings @jumbojazzcats93 @krakenbabe @lordlydragon @violet-phantoms @bunnyreaper @blackrose4242 @ansaturn @luvecarson @kenqki @luvmeijii @zittles3000 @theloneshadow24 @moonriseoverkyoto @vgilantee @stargirlrchive @itzzjxlyn @blissful-bunny @damnirina @claymorexpunisher @mandalover2023 @kiroshang @ivymarquis @wolfieisacat @forsworned
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things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton
part two
word count: 10k
warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.
A man not made for commitment also doesn’t know how to communicate
It's safe to say that since that night in Cannes nearly two months ago, the lines have blurred.
Every night Clem spends with Lewis ends with her falling asleep nestled in his arms.
Some nights, they don't even have sex; he just calls her up to see him.
Their outings are no longer limited to his bedroom or whatever hotel he's shacked up in. They're often found all over tabloids and fan pages, seen out at clubs or dinners or even on simple excursions such as shopping or taking walks.
Clementine tries her hardest to remember that Lewis was noncommittal. He would never ever even think about dating her or taking her seriously. That realization and his vocally telling her to not make things weird every time he can see that he catches her off guard keeps her on track.
Clem knew what she signed up for; quite literally, the NDA she signed entailed every component of their relationship.
Besides the weird butterflies she got around Lewis, life was only getting better and better.
Being around someone who understands her fully and allows her to completely unravel herself to them has really been good for Clem socially and career-wise.
She was less awakward around people, less reserved and she felt like hey, this man has accepted me for my every little flaw, why wouldn't other people.
She was moving up in the world, and people loved her for who she was, and for the first time ever, she did too.
She's won an emmy for her netflix show, her movie was breaking records, and she was finally stepping out of her box and showcasing other skills she had.
Along with this new burst of confidence came new relationships.
She's been trying to go out on dates to see if now was finally the time for her to try to settle down and find something serious.
That what she was doing currently, at dinner sitting across from some NBA players as he rambles on and on about different shots he couldve taken during the game, the he most definitely lost.
Clem hums, eyes feigning interest as he describes how he actually wasn't open when he tried to go for a three-pointer. Shocker, he missed.
When he excuses himself to run to the bathroom, she whips out her phone, seeing that Lewis texted her.
Lewis 🏁
How's your date?
She shakes her head, typing out her response.
dense. how's silverstone?
Lewis 🏁
Nerve-wracking, my car is still shit.
i'm sorry 😞
Lewis 🏁
I'm going to need you tonight.
Lewis, i'm on a date.
Clem scoffs, but the smile on her face as she presses send is misleading.
Lewis 🏁
Is he getting lucky tonight?
NO!
Lewis 🏁
So why can't I?
Clem feels the familiar tingle in her core and places her phone face down on the table just as her date takes his seat in front of her again.
She can't help the incredulous eyebrow raise she gives him as she sees a powdery substance painting his nostril.
"Yeah, it was nice meeting you, love." She smiles politely as she stands and motions for him to wipe his nose. He lifts his camera just as Clem drops enough money to cover her bill and tip the waitress generously.
She hops into the black SUV, thanking her driver for helping her into the back. She unlocks her phone and sees another message from Lewis.
Lewis 🏁
My jet will be waiting for you.
That is precisely how Clementine ended up in Lewis' hotel room, waiting for him on the bed as he took a quick shower.
When he emerges from the bathroom she can only offer him an uplifting smile, he looks so tired and so stressed.
It helps, it always does which is why Lewis wanted her here in the first place. She was like sunrise after the darkest of nights.
"Hi," she coos, opening her arms for the muscly man.
He falls into her arms, his torso bare and his bottom half swaddled in a towel. He lays his head in her lap as she sits against the headboard. He looks up at her face as she stares down at his, and she physically pouts as she brings her fingers up to massage the stress lines from his face.
"That bad?" she whispers as his eyes flutter closed. Lewis sighs, grumbling out a faint "Yeah."
"You don't have to go through it much longer, at least." She tries and she knows it does nothing to take the heavy weight of mercedes off of his shoulders.
"You feel like you're carrying the weight of the world." She hums, her hands traveling down to rub the tension out of his neck. Her fist rubs up and down from the sides of his neck to the crook of his shoulders.
Lewis lets out a relaxed sigh, letting her work on him.
She doesn't know how long she sits there with him snuggled into her lap as she kneads the tension from his body.
After a while, she connects to his speaker and plays music. She has Lewis turn over onto his stomach as she slips from underneath him.
She hums as she sits on his bottom and begins massaging his back. "Your back is bruised."
"I was bouncing around like crazy in that fucking car." He curses.
Clementine bends down, pressing kisses around his back on the purple and red marks adorning his skin.
Lewis closes his eyes, relishing in the comfort she gives him.
Lewis has noticed it, too, the turn their dynamic has taken. He is aware that he has given slight leeway to the emotional part of their relationship.
He finds himself thinking about Clem plenty throughout the days. Buys things he thinks she'll like. He's grown accustomed to placing delicate pecks on her lips and face randomly throughout their time together; he can't help it.
Something about her has him wanting her all of the time, not even in th physical way. He just wants her to be with him.
"Can you come out to the race tomorrow?" He rasps.
She sits up, her legs still encaging his body. "Hmm, I don't think your publicity team will like that, people are already speculating about us."
"I don't care." Lewis argues, "It's about time you come to a race, wanna see you immediately not wait to get to the hotel and then see you."
His words make her heart thump harsher, and suddenly, all of the warnings from her publicist dissipate.
"Okay."
Lewis didn't initiate sex between them that night. He simply turns over with her still on top of him and places his hands on her thighs.
"Come here," he whispers, reaching up to tug her head down to his face.
Their lips lock and it's not rushed or leading to anything. It's like how he kissed her in France. It's just sweet?
She can feel his heart against her chest as she is pressed against him, beating rampantly. "Thank you for showing up for me." He mutters against her lips. She grins against him as she remembers the words she scribbled onto the note she'd given him with her gift.
"Always." she breathes, diving back in to kiss him. One hand travels to her waist, and the other has a soft grip on the back of her neck.
She feels his member poke against her thigh, and she sits up as much as she can with his hand on her neck, ready to free him from the towel, but the hand he had on her waist stops her actions with a grip on her wrist.
"I just want to lay with you tonight, if that's okay?"
Just when she thought she was safe from her tom-foolish thoughts, she felt her suppressed feelings for Lewis take light again. Don't make it weird, she thinks to herself. "Okay."
Lewis sits up, his hand returning to her hip; she is sat in his lap, legs folded, and his body pushes her slightly back as he tugs on the comforter. He falls back taking her with him and pulls the thick comforter over her body which lays against his chest.
"What's one thing that surprised you about me?"
Clem traces her fingers on his chest in deep thought, "that you don't do relationships."
"Why that?"
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis presses a kiss to her hairline, butterflies doing summersaults in his belly.
-
They wake up the next morning in the same position, with Clem's face nestles in the crook of his neck. Lewis smiles as he reaches over to turn off his alarm.
"Gotta get up, Clem." He soothes, rubbing up and down her back.
"Mhmm." She moans in denial, cuddling deeper into him. "No."
"Come on, beautiful."
He sits up, forcing her up with him.
She flutters her eyes open and wraps her arms around his neck.
He chuckles at her defiance, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He taps her thigh and she gets the message, wrapping them around his waist.
He walks her into the bathroom and sits her down on the bathroom counter. "Sit here, be careful." He orders, unraveling her from his body. He almost gives up and tucks her back into bed as she whines at him.
He leaves the bathroom and returns with a small bag of hers. She slumps against the mirror as she hears him rustling about. When she hears the faucet turn on and then feels his big hands massage circles into her cheeks, she opens her eyes.
There, she sees Lewis standing there with a cheeky smile, his hands lathered in her face soap as he massages the suds onto her face.
"Going to have to get my girl ready myself, huh?" He questions.
She only smirks at him and closes her eyes, letting him work through her skincare routine step by step, laughing as he inquires about every product.
When he finishes, he washes his own face and then passes her toothbrush to her. He stands between her legs as they both brush their teeth. Both of them stare at each other with googly eyes, laughing as foam bubbles from their mouths. When she leans over to spit into the sink, he follows shortly after and then pours a capful of mouthwash for her and them himself. And again, they stare into each other's eyes, giggly and gleaming, as they swish the liquid between their puffy cheeks.
This is where Clementine struggled with the status of their agreement. These weren't the actions of a man who didn't intend to be in a relationship. But she had heard of Lewis and his many flings and "friends" and she knew that he was a very affectionate person so once again she willed away the thought that there was any chnace of Lewis ever straying away from his bachelor lifestyle.
She pats his shoulder beckoning him to step away, when he does she hops down and releases the last of the contents from her mouth into the sink and stepping aside so Lewis can do the same.
"I'm going to grab my clothes." She informs.
As she lays her outfit options across the bed, she hears a vibration beneath her shirt, and she leans over the bed, patting until she finds the culprit. When she feels the device, she pulls it from underneath and sees that it's not her phone but Lewis'.
The screen lights up with notifications.
One catches her eye from, Natalie.
Lewis did feel comfortable enough to disclose his other flings to her, and she nearly shit herself when he associated them all with cities. She remembers the way he laughed when she asked if she needed to get tested. Then she asked if he had referred to her as Clementine, NYC.
Natalie, Silverstone. She recalls.
It wasn't like she was intentionally snooping, but as the screen lit up in her hand again, she couldn't help but read the message as it appeared.
Still on for tomorrow?
At first, she feels a pang in her chest, but then she remembers her place, and she gently sits his phone on the nightstand, allowing the screen to turn off.
"Hey, you okay?" Lewis questioned, poking his head from the bathroom, realizing that she had stopped responding to him.
She is stood facing the bed with her hands on her hips, scanning her oufits. "Yeah," she smiles though it doesn't quite meet her eyes.
He eyes her quizically, but when she chuckles at his facial expression, pulls her outfit from the bed, and saunters into the bathroom with him, he relaxes.
Clem is in her head, and she hopes it's not obvious to Lewis.
But she can't help but wonder why he would fly her out just to make plans to sleep with another woman in the span of two days.
She's hurt, and she's jealous, and she knows she shouldn't be, but a part of her wants to slap the shit out of him.
Instead, she refrains and plays into whatever sick bullshit he was playing with her heart unintentionally.
-
She arrives to the paddock with Lewis and she tries not to grimace as he tells a journalist that he brings friends with him to races all of the time, as they pass by.
He opens the door to the Mercedes motorhome like the proper gentleman he is and directs her into his room.
"I'm just going to change into my suit, and then we can head to the garage, okay?"
She nods and pulls out her phone. Already, she sees that they are trending.
Lewis steps out of the room and leaves the door open. A few minutes pass before she hears an audible gasp.
When she looks up, she sees a bright-eyed George Russell.
"Hello, Hi! I'm George, I'm a big fan." He enters the compact room, his hand outstretched before him. She stands from Lewis' bed and accepts his hand.
"Hi, George, I'm Clem."
"I know who you are. What are you doing here?" He wonders.
"I'm a friend of Lewis'. I wanted to see you guys race today."
George stutters out a wow, beginning to ramble on before he is interrupted by a throat clearing at the door. There stands Lewis, with a burning look on his face that makes George immediately drop her hand.
"Lewis." He gasps, "How do you literally know everyone, man?"
She smiles, raising her eyebrows behind Lewis as George rambles about her.
Lewis claps his hands against George's shoulder before speaking, "I love you, kid. But we've got to get going."
And then he reached his arm around George and latched onto Clem and pulled her from behind him.
George stammers out a quick bye, and Clem waves sweetly at him as Lewis pulls her from the motorhome and towards the garage.
"He's so sweet," Clem coos, and Lewis only grunts out a "yeah."
"He looks like a literal prince charming." She extends.
Lewis doesn't want to hear her call his teammate any more kinds of cute, so he opts not to respond.
When they finally reach the garage, he is sitting her down beside Toto, who introduces himself with a warm and welcoming smile.
She accepts his hand, gently shaking it, and in return, Lewis gets whisked away.
She enjoys her time in the garage, whilst Lewis talk to his strategist she is sat beside Toto and a few engineers and she feels like she is on a field trip as they explain the many different parts of their setup. Finally Lewis appears at her side again, beckoning her to follow him. She accepts his hand, lifting from her seat and walking hand in hand with him to his car.
"Wow." she gasps as she studies the racing car.
"You want to get in?" Lewis questions. She turns to him with wide eyes, and Lewis can see the excitement in her dark orbs.
"You don't like people in your car." She reminds, peering back down at it.
"I said I don't let just anyone in my car, are you just anyone?" He is staring at her so intensely it has her body on fire.
She felt shy underneath his gaze as he stepped closer to her.
She stands tall, looking up at him through her lashes. He's nearly bumping chests with her as he looms over her.
"There's an entire team in here, Lewis, and cameras." She whispers only loud enough for the two of them to hear.
He doesn't care. He leans down, his mouth near her ear, "Are you just anyone to me, Clementine?"
She swallows nervously as he takes a step back, "No."
"Then get in the fucking car."
Toto watches on from his seat in amazement as Lewis lifts her frame into the car. He then turns and looks into the camera with his eyebrows raised as to show his impressment.
He put two and two together that she was a personal guest for Lewis. It was obvious since Mercedes had already planned for Tom Cruise and Damson Idris' arrival for the race today.
Lewis leans into the car as he motions to different parts on the inside of the automobile.
Clem honestly couldn't give two fucks about the car, but she was relishing in how passionate Lewis looked and sounded as he spoke about every aspect of it. She hadn't moved her eyes from his face not once, and Lewis froze as he turned to face her and saw the wanting look adorning her features.
It has him hard instantly.
"Behave." He warns, turning his head to survey their surroundings.
"You're fine as fuck when you're talking cars."
Lewis chuckles, and a blush comes up to cover his cheeks. He lifts his hand, his knuckles skimming along her jaw.
"I want to kiss you, but people will see."
She drops her face against his hand, puckering her bottom lip out at him.
"Aw, too bad." She whispers seductively, and Lewis whispers out a quiet "fuck." as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. His thumb reaches up and drags it back out.
"Gotta be nice to me right now, Clem. Hmm?" He hums, not bothering to remove his thumb from her lip. He smears his finger across, watching as it pops back into place.
"Help me out of this car." She smirks, lifting her arms, "Before you do something you'll regret, there are cameras around."
"I don't give a fuck about the cameras." He rasps and breaks out into a grin when she bursts into a fit of laughter. He smacks his teeth, standing up straight, preparing to get her out.
"You like fucking with me." He declares.
Lewis helps her from the car, his hands probably lingering on her lower back for far too long once she's back on the ground.
"Lewis." He hears, and when he turns around, he sees Tom and Damson.
He pulls Clem with him, introducing her to the pair. He instantly regrets it when he sees the way Damson eyes her down like she's a refreshing tall glass of water.
Tom starts up a conversation with Lew about the business they need to handle for his upcoming movie, but his eyes can't leave Clem's frame, and how Damson brings her hand up to his lips.
He feels like a suicidal maniac when he watches her laugh and smile at whatever he is saying.
He'd met him before, and trust, whatever he was saying couldn't possibly be that funny.
Lewis wants to rip Toto's head off as he directs the two of them into a set of empty seats. He was less than present during the conversation with Tom, and he hoped he hadn't noticed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his foot is tapping the ground anxiously. He tries not to make it obvious when he directs Tom to his spot and takes his in order to keep an eye on Clem.
When the time for the start of race gets closer he is thankful to see om take his place beside Toto.
He saunters over to the still chatty pair and stands in front of Clem. He waits for her to notice him, and when she doesn't, he clears his throat rather dramatically.
She stands when she notices him, shooting Damson an apologetic smile that has him ready to drag her off. Which he does.
He pulls her to a corner of the garage and up the stairs into a random office and locks the door.
"You okay." Clem questions, stepping towards him and placing her hands on his waist. "Lewis." she tries again when he doesn't answer.
He looks stressed and zoned out.
"I- uh yeah." he coughs and suddenly he feels better having her away from Damson. "i'm fine, pre-race jitters." He lies.
Her hands slide up his chest until they settle on the sides of his head.
She tilts his head so that he's staring into her eyes.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"I'm regretting this." He admits and her eyes squint, "bringing you here, I mean."
That does nothing to alleviate her hurt expression, so he continues, "My car is still shit, I don't want you to watch me lose."
She scoffs, gently slapping her hand against his shoulder before returning it to its place caressing his beard. "Would’ve watched you lose at home too, what's the difference. I'm going to support you all the same."
Lewis leans down and presses a short, soft kiss to her plump lips.
Her eyes flutter closed as he stares down at her, and finally, his hands raised to her hips, pulling her into him. "I don't think that I tell you thank you enough for all of the ways you help me, Clem."
"You don't have to," she whispers, dropping her forehead against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her head, putting his arms over her shoulders as hers wraps around his torso.
Lewis likes this. He thinks he can start every race for the rest of his career like this. When he hears a knock on the door, he groans but shoots Clem a warning look as she chuckles at him.
"Big baby." she teases, moving around him to unlock the door. He maneuvers behind her, reaching to open it, and when he does, he sees Toto there with a knowing smirk.
"Time to race, Lewis."
She allows Lewis to pull her from the office hand in hand, and she knows her publicist is probably in New York and stressed running through cigarettes. She always joked that this Lewis rendezvous would result in her smoking her stress away.
Lewis knows something is wrong with him for sure when he realizes that he doesn't care about the camera or who's watching him show Clem his affection. He knows they're going to be the main topic of every tabloid tomorrow, and he just doesn't care.
She stands in front of him beside his car as the crew bustles around them.
When it's time for Lewis to finish his preparation, he motions his head towards Clem, and suddenly, her hands are stuffed with a balaclava and a pair of gloves.
She turns to the man who handed them to her and he offers her a small smile.
She turns to Lewis, and he can tell she's trying to fight off the grin that desperately wants to appear.
She reaches for his right hand, tugging the glove onto his hand gently, she checks each finger and pulls to make sure the fit is snug. She repeats her actions on his left and and then Lewis firmly places his hands on her waist. He's looking at her with those sparkly eyes and a loving smile.
She turns the balaclava in her hands, trying to figure out which way to pull it over his head. When she sees the opening, she lets out an "Aahh" that has Lewis chuckling at her.
She stands on her tiptoes, freeing his braids from the ponytail and pushing them back. She hums to herself as she pulls the balaclava over his head.
She settles back on her feet, and she can only see his eyes, but it does something to her.
She reaches between them pulling the upper half of his suit up his body, giggling when he grunts realizing he's got to let go of her to push him arms through the sleeves.
His hands are back on her in an instance, like by not physically touching her he'd fly away.
Clem reaches between them again; this time, her fingers latch onto the zipper, and she tugs it up from his pelvis all the way up his chest until it's set in place.
"I don't know, Lew. I think we've at least got a podium." She whispers, accepting the helmet.
She steps back, allowing his hands to fall, and then hands him the helmet.
"I can feel it in my bones."
"Oh," Lewis laughs, "Can feel it in your bones?" He sticks out his free hand, tickling at her.
Clementine laughs, stepping back and gripping his arm, "Stop!"
He listens, pulling on his helmet and looking back at his car.
"Well, that's me."
Clem feels like a lovesick puppy as she watches his eyelashes flutter with every blink of his eyes.
"Podium." She reminds him, lifting her pinky.
"Podium." He declares, wrapping his own against hers. He lifts their conjoined hands and places them against his helmet where his mouth would be, and she swoons.
"Get in the car, Hamilton."
She's a giddy mess as she steps away from him and finds herself accepting a seat from one of the crew members.
She sighed while watching the screen as Lewis started in P5. He is quickly into P4. She feels her adrenaline kick in as the crew cheers excitedly watching him overtake into third. When he overtakes two other drives all in the same lap the garage erupts in shouts of excitement, just for that to be taken away just as fast when they see a car barrel through off od the track and into the fence.
Clem gasps, her hand coming up to cup her mouth.
She knew Formula One was a dangerous sport, but watching a wreck like that happen in real-time has her mind reeling on just how much danger Lewis puts himself in.
"Is he okay?" She hears as the crew all talk amongst themselves.
"George is out of the race. The other driver is okay." Toto announces, "We're restarting."
Lewis is back in the garage, and he is irritated.
Clem stays back and out of his way as she watches him angrily rant. "That is not right, Toto." He snaps, "back in fifth?"
She watches as Toto nods at him, and Lewis turns to his assistant, rolling his eyes. He looks so frustrated as he throws his hand out, "fucking fifth."
Clem knew that when she was angry that she didn't like to be bothered, so she stayed in her seat. She feels a body plop down beside her, and she turns to see Damson.
"Intense, yeah?" He questions.
"Most definitely." She sighs, "My adrenaline is off the charts right now."
"First time coming to a race?"
She nods, returning the question, "Nah, this is like the NFL to Brits."
She laughs, "Right."
The two chat whilst the rest of the garage is in shambles, and Lewis watches the two with slits in his eyes.
He knows he shouldn't be jealous. Clem was nothing to him but a friend who he enjoys fucking. It's what he tells himself as Damson passes his phone to her. She was just his friend. He'd even encouraged her to get out there and find her person.
But that was before he realized how differently she made his heartbeat.
Lewis doesn't bother going over to her before the race restarts, he can feel her lingering eyes as he manuevers around the garage, avoiding her.
Lewis feels a bit enraged. Initially, it was just the FIA and their stupid fucking rules, then it was the car, and now it was Clementine and the stupid British actor drooling over each other in his face.
It was all piling on top of him, and he hadn't felt so unsettled ever before a race.
He hops back into his car, not sparing Clem a glance, and rolls out into P5.
This time the only thing on his mind is how fucking mad he is.
That anger got him P3.
He doesn't know why he doesn't approach Clem as she waits for him patiently in her seat. He goes around and thanks the crew and the engineers and has a brief talk with Toto and Tom. And then he leaves to go to the podium, all without even glancing at her.
Clem, always aware, remains silent and tries to keep the pout from taking place on her face.
She tries not to take Lewis' actions personal, it's obvious he's wound up. She doesn't know if it's something she did or if he's still frustrated by the race restart. Logically it's the second, she's learned that not everyone's behaviors have to do with her. It's taken years of her enternalizing other people's moods to realize that 9/10 people are just feeling things. She hasn't done anything, she's sure of it.
She is directed into the motorhome whilst Lewis handles other business and she sits in his room on his bed waiting patiently.
When Lewis had brought up the idea of bringing her to the race yesterday, he raved on and on about how she'd be able to walk the track, wait with his team whilst he's on the podium (if he got one), and get the classic guest experience. She hadn't gotten that, which was a letdown since she really wanted to experience Lewis' world, but she understood why that wasn't possible today after seeing Lewis' mood.
But still, it would have been nice not to sit in his motorhome and then the garage all day, just to end up back in his motorhome alone for hours.
When Lewis emerges into the tiny room he is clean and dressed in comfortable clothes. He had been on the phone in the office preparing a few arrangements for the past hour. He sighs as he sees her frame sprawled across the tiny bed.
There are soft puffs of air escaping her, and her phone is clutched loosely in her hand.
He can tell she fell asleep scrolling through her phone.
He sits on the foot of the bed at her feet and drops his head into his hands.
He doesn't know what he's doing. But he does know he can't keep going on like this. Lewis didn't like relationships, he didn't like being tied down, it wasn't fair of him to only want Clem to himself when she would never get all of him.
"C'mon Clem, let's get you back."
Like the sleepy girl she is, she whines as Lewis pulls her body from the bed, placing her on her feet.
"Can you walk?"
She only nods, reaching over to grab her bag and her phone. She doesn't speak to Lewis quite yet, still unsure of his mood. She lets him direct her from the motorhome, his hand tight in hers as he leads her through the paddock. It is so late at night that there are rarely any people hanging around. When they exit and get to his car, the flashes from the cameras wake her up even more, and she uses the back of her hand to block the lights.
Lewis walks her to the passenger side, waiting for her to slip in before he closes the door gently and goes around to his seat.
He pulls out cautiously and begins their trek to the hotel.
Clem forces herself to stay awake, knowing that it's only a short drive.
Still, she is waiting for Lewis to speak, but he doesn't.
"I had fun," she announces.
"I'm glad."
"You got podium." She cheers lowly.
Lewis only offers her a small smile, and uncertainty settles in her gut. Something's not right.
She gives up trying to talk to him after that.
The car is filled with tension and awkward silence. It's so unlike them.
When they pull into the hotel, Clem doesn't wait for the valet to open her door. She clambers out and thanks god as the night breeze fills her lungs. She's never felt so suffocated around Lewis.
As Lewis exchanges formalities with the man she rushes into the hotel and onto the elevator, when she reaches the room she unlocks it with the secondary key taking a moment to gulp down a glass of water.
Lewis follows in behind her shortly after, paying her no mind as he goes to the bathroom and emerges with his shirt and jewelry off.
"You got an attitude?" Lewis questions, standing in the doorframe.
"No, I don't."
"I know you, Clementine." Lewis rasps, coming to stand over her as she sits on the bed.
"You're the one with the nasty ass attitude." She huffs, reaching up to nudge him away from her. He doesn't budge.
"Lose the attitude, Clem." He orders, and she rolls her eyes.
"Or what, Lewis?" She pushes.
Lewis' hand is at her neck in a second. His grip is not tight at all, just holding her in place as he ravishes her mouth. Just as frustrated as he is, she returns the kiss.
"Got something for that attitude," Lewis grunts, pushing her onto her back.
She gasps as he roughly pulls at her pants.
He has them off before she knows it, and his hand lets go of her neck and travels down to pull at her panties. He rips them off of her with a hunger in his eyes like no other.
"Gotta fuck it out of you, Clem?" He asks.
He doesn't give her time to answer as he sinks down to his knees at the end of the bed and pulls her down with him. He lifts her legs over him and wraps his arms around her thighs. His hands settle on her thighs, keeping them apart, and he stares up at her one last time before connecting his mouth to her clit.
She jumps, but his hands hold her in place.
He removes his lips from her bundle of nerves, his tongue traveling down to swipe through her crease. She moans lightly as she fists at the sheets. His fingers travel up to replace his mouth, and he digs them deep into her core, his tongue flicking against her clit before he presses it flat and moves up and down.
Clem gasps as he curls his fingers inside her and suckles extra hard on her. Her hand shoots down to push him away, but he catches her wrist in his free hand, holding it against the mattress.
He stares up at Clem, the whole scene naughty and erotic. He lets her other hand come down to rest in his hair.
Lewis moans into her, his mouth sending a wave of vibrations through her body. Lewis never took his eyes off of her, watching as she writhed above him. He was showing her no mercy as the gushy sounds filled the room.
She tasted so good.
Lewis worked his tongue around her clit, teasing her only for a minute before he smushed his mouth over it again and suckled just the right amount, his fingers still thrust in and out of her, driving her absolutely insane. He moans into her pussy and trails his mouth down to swallow where she is oozing.
Lewis lets her captivating moans egg him on as he devours her like a starved man. He can feel it when she comes when her tight, spongy pussy constricts around his fingers. He happily licks up the juices she releases as she comes undone.
He pulls his fingers from her core and stands, quickly turning her body over. She lands on her stomach with a slight "oomph" noise and turns to look back at Lewis.
He wastes no time hammering into her from behind. He grabs her arms pulling them behind her back and crossing her wrists; with one hand, he holds them against her back, and with the other, he swats at her ass. Groaning as he watches it ripple.
"Fuck."
Clem can do nothing but pant underneath him and let out pathetic mewls as his hand repeatedly strikes her ass. It hurts so good.
Lewis keeps pounding into her hard, his heart racing as he chases his own orgasm. He sees her phone light up beside him, and a message from Damson appears.
When he sees this, he speeds up his thrusts, gliding his thick member in and out of her suffocating walls.
She can only blubber out useless moans as he plummets in and out of her.
He lets go of her wrist, pulling her up onto all fours.
"You get a thrill out of pissing me off?" He grunts, his hand going up to grip her hair.
"No!" she whines, gripping the covers.
"I think you do."
His other hand is gripping her waist, pulling her back to him every time she falls forward.
"Nuh-unh." He orders from behind her, letting go of her hair and holding on to her waist tightly with both hands now.
"Don't run from it, baby. You wanted this, huh? This what you want?"
Clem rasps out a choked yes, her head falling at the intense pleasure running through her veins.
Lewis sounds like a beast behind her, all strangled up and growling out praises at her.
He feels so possessive as his hand lifts and smacks at her ass again. "Fucking, mine." He growls, and Clem falls forward. He doesn't stop as her legs give in, and she drops to the bed again. He climbs behind her, still keeping his pace, and throws his head back as she quivers around him like a candle on fire.
He can feel the heat building in his core, and it eggs him on as he places his hands on her ass, holding her in place.
Clementine spasms beneath him, never experiencing an orgasm like this before. Her heart feels like it's beating outside of her chest as her ears ring and her eyes roll to the back of her head. She can only curse over and over as she feels Lewis drag out of her and return again with much more force.
This was the best sex she'd ever gotten in her life.
Her walls clenched around him, her breath hitching as he moved aimlessly in and out of her.
Lewis shuddered at the feeling, sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. She is face down, panting into the mattress as he pants above her.
She can't count how many times she has come undone underneath him, but as she feels another orgasm approaching, she can't help the way her thighs tremble underneath Lewis.
Lewis is an incoherent, mumbling and moaning mess above her as he allows himself to succumb to her squeezing cunt, clamping over him. Lewis falls into the abyss, pleasure washing over both of them as he spills into her.
He pulls out with a hiss, shuddering at his sensitivity, and falls over beside Clementine, who rolls onto her back.
"Woah." she pants.
Lewis feels her phone vibrate and he watches as she scambled down the bed to get it, he feels green as he watches her smile at the screen.
Just as she moves to lie beside him again, he speaks up with words that make her feel dismayed.
"I booked you a room."
He turns away from her, staring at the ceiling.
"I- What?" She stutters, turning to face him.
"It's just a floor below, suite 909."
Clem is distraught, and it shows on her face as she jumps away from the bed as if Lewis has burned her. "Lewis, what-"
Her words are cut off as her phone vibrates in her hand. Lewis chuckles dryly, finally tilting his head to face her. Suddenly Clem feels like a little girl again, wondering why her parents never made an effort in her life, wondering why it was so easy for them to push her aside like they didn't care that she existed.
"What's the matter? Are we okay?" She rambles.
Stop talking, Lewis. He thinks to himself as he watches Clem's eyes flash with wetness. Even sad, she has doe eyes, still shining, but this time, there are tears in her eyes and an intense sadness.
"Yeah," he should’ve stopped there, but he kept going. "I'll probably see you tomorrow. If not, it'll be the next time I need you." He motions to the bed.
Clem frowns, letting out an exhale as she bends down to tug on her pants. As she maneuvers around the room collecting her suitcase, Lewis calls out to her. "I put the room key beside your toiletry bag."
She slips into the bathroom, picking up her small bag, and sure enough, the keycard is there. She grasps it in her hand and walks out. She wants to scream at him, tell him how big of a dick he's being, but she's not that kind of person.
She is graceful. But it's taking everything in her to channel the lessons her grandpa has taught her when she is this mad, this hurt.
Clem avoids looking at Lewis as she latches onto her suitcase.
"Maybe you should start considering finding someone who's serious, Clementine."
Is this what this is about? She knew the blurred lines would come back to bite her in the ass eventually.
She freezes, her back turned to him as her hand pauses on the door handle. And her body shakes slightly as a her frown deepens, she feels a stream of tears flow down her cheeks.
And just when Lewis thinks that Clem is going to turn around and argue with him, probably throw something at him and shout at him, she doesn't.
She lifts one hand, swiping at her face, and then softly opens the door and leaves without so much as looking back at him. The door clicks shut behind her, and she walks on down the hallway towards the elevator.
The words don't react, echoing over and over in her head, but as she hears the wheel rolling on her suitcase, she can't help but feel the trembling in her body. She presses her lips together, stepping onto the elevator, and as the doors close, she lets out a gutwrenching sob.
She sniffles as she steps into the suite. Rushing to the bathroom to shed her clothes, she showers wiping all traces of Lewis Hamilton from her body the way she wishes she can erase him from her mind. She scrubs harshly, eyes still full with tears, between the scorchingly hot water, steam and the tears she can barely see anything as she scrubs severely.
For the first time since agreeing to this arrangement, she feels used by Lewis. She's never felt so dirty in her life. As she sank down to her knees, feeling the wails rip through her body with force, she realized why exactly his words and actions hurt her so much.
It didn't matter how much she showed up for him or how much she allows herself to be his shrink and him hers, it'd always be a bad religion, loving someone who'd never love you back.
Lewis is in the same position he has been in since she left, flat on his back with his hands covering his face. His body is quivering as sobs rack through his body.
It was a tough decision, but it was one that had to be made. He could never give Clem what she deserved; he wasn't a committed person. Seven years on and off with the same person is proof of that. He could never be okay with putting her through that.
-
Lewis wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and lingering loneliness.
He always felt like this when he woke up without Clem in his arms. As he sits up and swipes his hands over his face, his heart aches when he notices her ripped panties thrown on the floor.
He regrets his actions.
He wishes he would've sat her down nicely and explained how things were getting too deep for him. It's Clem, she would've understood.
He realizes just how bad he fucked up when her giddiness to lay beside him last night flickers through his mind like a clip from a movie.
"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk?"
He feels like he's been shot when her hurt face replays over and over. He treated her like shit last night, all because he was scared of what she made him feel.
He was a mess during yesterday's race; all he could think about down every straight and around every curve was how much he liked Clem, how good she made him feel, and bad she could make him feel just as easily.
He realized that the woman had too much control over his heart yesterday, and he couldn't take that. This was supposed to be fun, casual fun. He never inteded to catch feeling for Clementine Russell, but she was the kind of girl who made you drop to her feet.
He never stood a chance against her charm.
He scrambled from the king-sized bed, rushing to his phone.
-
When he hears a knock on his door, he opens it in a rush; he sees the butler there and offers him a finger to signal to hold on. He rushes to his table, picking up the bouquet of flowers, an array of red, yellow, and orange orchids, dahlias, and marigolds.
"Can you take these down to suite 909?" Lewis pants pushing the boquet towards the man, there is a note nestled between the pedals.
The man tilts his head, pushing the flowers back towards Lewis.
"I am sorry, Sir Hamilton, Ms Russell has checked out already in the early hours of Midnight."
Lewis feels his heart crumble as he steps away from the man, the giant bouquet firm in his hold.
Lewis says nothing as he closes the door and walks away.
-
Clem had left that night, not long after leaving Lewis' room. After her shower, she was on the first flight home, and she hadn't spoken to Lewis since.
Lewis misses Clementine. It's a realization that he came to rather quickly but refused to admit.
Lewis pulls himself out of the leggy woman he picked up at the end of his race. She drops down beside him in heavy pants.
"That was fun." She exhales.
He doesn't know why when he turns his head, he expects to see Clem staring back at him with her dark eyes and cute smile.
This woman is no Clementine, and that's for sure.
He doesn't know why he tries it, but he does. "You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever; everything is unchanged, and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"
He watches as her eyes scrunch momentarily in confusion.
"I don't know. It's probably Paris. I'm obsessed with their lifestyle, honestly."
Lewis turns his head back to the ceiling.
He wants her to leave. And he wants Clementine to be in her place.
It's quiet and awkward, and she doesn't even try to ask him.
He already knows his answer. He'd be with Clem in his bed, hands connected as they lie naked underneath his covers, heads turned to each other as they talk. He'd watch on as the moonlight supersedes the darkness and the moonbeams are replaced with sun rays. And he'd listen to her feel things like she made him. And he'd be happy and content with spending eternity like that.
Everything unchanged, nothing new.
Lewis begins to think that maybe casual sex isn't for him anymore. Perhaps he's taking Clem's absence extra hard because he yearned for the other form of intimacy, the emotional aspect of being with a woman.
So he tries dating.
And he comes to the same conclusion, date after date.
Their eyes don't gleam like hers.
They don't understand his humor.
They don't care about why losing his favorite toy as a kid was an integral part of the man he became.
They can't carry on discussions like Clem or even talk like Clem.
They don't have her precious smile and her deep dimples. They're not gracious and benevolent.
They aren't Clem, no one ever will be.
Lewis craves Clem; he misses her with every fiber of his being.
And he regrets letting her up from his bed. He regrets telling her to pursue another man.
When Lewis returns to New York, his thumb lingers over the send button.
clemmy 🪂
I need to see you, where are you?
He doesn't send the message; he drops his phone with a sigh, knuckling at his eyes. Why was it so fucking hard? He'd never felt this troubled in his life, especially over a woman he'd never even dated.
He sighs in distress, picks up his phone, stares at the message begging to be sent, and clicks off of the app. Instead, he opens his Instagram. As he goes to search for Clem's name, he sees that she is still his top search, and he feels like a loser as he enters her profile.
He'd take any sight of her he could get.
-
Clementine wouldn't say she was necessarily religious. Her grandpa would probably drop dead of a heart attack if he heard that. But it was the truth. She thought it was fairytale-like sometimes. Yes, she had faith, but she wasn't as devout as many people.
If she was being honest, she thought religion began as something beautiful, putting your complete trust and faith into another person, with the idea that they were quite literally the holy grail. Over time, it's been skewed and manipulated, some for great purposes and others for very wrong reasons.
She thought most religious people were hypocrites. Lewis was a hypocrite for sure, giving her an inch and then taking a mile. Now that she has had time to ponder over it, Lewis Hamilton is actually a sick man. Pouring affection into her and poisoning her heart.
How did he expect her not to fall for him when he treated her the way he did? She feels like a fool herself, too, thinking back to the conversation she had with him the night before it all went to shit.
"You're a lover boy at heart." Clem chortled, "Literally just a sweetheart. Most men who can't see themselves being with someone don't act as affectionate with women."
Lewis lets out a hmm sound, his hand still gliding up and down her back beneath his t-shirt that she wore.
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Good, there's nothing wrong with being a sweetheart; bad if someone gets the wrong idea; I have a feeling you're an easy man to fall in love with."
Lewis was a hypocrite, and she was too.
But the truth is religion gave people purpose. She'd never felt it firmly in a spiritual sense, but she had experienced that strong urge to follow someone's every command. She's believed every word that tumbles from his mouth. Given the opportunity, she would surely drop to her knees at his feet. She's only ever felt the need to praise and put her limited faith and her secured trust into one person. Sure, she had faith, just in a bad religion. She admired one man, Lewis Hamilton, but there was one problem, she could never make him love her the way she loved him.
Clem took his advice. She branched off, presented herself in new ways, made new friends, developed herself, and found someone who would take her seriously, though that didn't last long at all.
clementine
liked by feliciathegoat, pharrell, and 12,898,465 others
clementine so, they've helped me make an album? Clementine, NYC out now on all streaming platforms !!
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feliciathegoat Cool kids doing cool shit 🏌🏿
clementine the coolest 😎
lilyachty ALBUM OF THE FUCKING YEAR
clementine 🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️🤸🏾♀️
user no bc who did my girl like that
clementine no really, it's okay though builds character 😃
user builds character my ass, go beat his ass
user A MOVIE AND MUSIC IN THE SAME YEAR ASVJHKHK WHEN DO WE GET SEASON 2???
clementine yk im filming girl 🙄
clementine
liked by danielricciardo, justinbieber, and 10,898,465 others
clementine two post in one day bc why not, what's everyone's favorite song from Clementine, NYC?!?
danielricciardo In your hands slaps
clementine you sir, have great taste 😘
user daniel what are you doing here 😭
user No really, weird ass crossover episode
user the blue hair to match the album cover the movie * chefs kiss*, your creativity is unmatched queen
clementine you noticing the small details >>>
justinbieber posting us arguing over the order is killing me
clementine no bc we both look so over it 😂
user I love her and Tyler's friendship sm
feliciathegoat i love my bestie
clementine and I love u T 🥹
-
Lewis instantly throws in his airpods and starts the album, one by one he listens to each song. Sure enough every song has small anecdotes about their time together that only he'd know.
He was aware that he was blurring the lines between just benefits and true feelings, but he didn't know that he wasn't the only one feeling strongly about it. He never took her feelings into account.
Just when he thought he couldn't feel any worse about the situation, that realization dawned on him. Clementine Russell loved him and he threw her to the curb like a bag of trash.
He's throwing on whatever clothes he sees first as he rushes from his door.
He doesn't bother calling his driver as he treks block after block; he has one destination in mind, Clem's townhome.
He's there before he knows it, his fist urgently banging against her door.
He sees a light flicker on through the window, and then her door swings open.
She's in her nightshirt with her hair wrapped in a scarf, and her eyes are puffy from sleep. When she sees Lewis, she begins to swing the door back closed, but his hand pushes against it.
"No, Lewis." She snarls, swinging the door open again. She is looking at him like he's the devil himself. "I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't even want to think of you."
"Clem, please." He begs, "Please, I can't take it."
She pauses at the door, taking her time to study the man in front of her. He looks bad, simply put.
His eyes are bloodshot and droopy with bags, his braids are disheveled and clearly in need of a touch-up, and he just looks all around miserable.
She almost gives in until she thinks back to the last eight months where she had been miserable herself. She smacks her teeth swinging the door closed until she hears Lewis shout out three words that take her back to when the roads got foggy, cannes. When she realized the difference in how she actually felt for Lewis.
"I love you."
She peels the door back open and stares at him intensely. "What did you say?"
He looks like he's watched his whole world get taken away from him as he repeats himself, "I love you. Don't shut the door, please."
"It's not fair, Lewis." She fumes.
"I know." He whispers, and his voice cracks.
"You don't get to do this to me." Clem snapped. "You can't just make me feel things for you and then push me away. You can't make me love you and then hurt me and tell me you love me when it's too late."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry, isn't enough." She hissed angrily, approaching him and poking his chest.
He reaches up and grabs her hand, holding it close to his chest. She feels him shudder underneath her touch, and his body begins to shake.
"Clem, I'm sorry." his voice is hoarse and thick as he peers down at her, and she cracks when she feels a teardrop against their connected hands. "I'm sorry."
Her forehead drops against his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. "You didn't deserve that; I should have just told you; I was scared; you broke all of my walls, Clem; I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to hurt you in the end."
"But you did, " she cries.
"I know, I did; I was scared of commitment, was scared I would ruin us further down the line." He presses a kiss to the top of her head, "I'm not scared of commitment, Clem, not anymore. I just don't want to be committed if it's not to you."
"You don't mean that." Clem breathes.
"I promise I do, Clem."
She steps back from him, letting his arms fall to his side. "You made me feel dirty."
He opens his mouth, and she puts up her hand, "Let me talk. I let you disrespect me, Lewis. I should be done with you. I should be over you. I don't care how much I feel for you; if you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me that way or treat me like I'm nothing ever again, all gracefulness is out of the fucking window."
"I understand." He breathes, "I will never, Clem, and I mean never treat you like that again."
It's ironic, the two of them standing infront of each other as the sky illuminates in yellow and orange hues.
"It's six in the morning." Clem sighs.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you."
"I wasn't supposed to be here today; you almost missed me," Clem informs.
"I would've found you. Lost you once already. I didn't know how much I cherished what we had until I no longer had it. Until I lost it. I don't want to lose you forever, too."
"It's almost spring," Clem announces.
"Gonna take you to that mountain, Clem." He promises, pulling her into his arms again.
"I've missed you so much. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about. I missed talking to you." She admits and Lewis holds her tighter.
"I missed listening to you. Swear I did."
"Are we still friends?"
"No, we're more than that. We should’ve never been friends. Always meant to be more."
"I wrote an album about you." She sighs.
She feels Lewis hum against her. "It's beautiful."
"I talked so much shit about you, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry for feeling Clem, I was a shit person to you."
"My hair is blue." She announces, and he chuckles; there she was, his Clem talking his head off.
"Starting over, right?"
"Yeah, starting over."
Although they weren't laying in bed on their backs hands connected and staring through the ceiling like it was their sky. Things felt familiar to the two as the sun rose and light beamed around them.
Lewis was her sunset, the beauty that comes after a hard and blaring day. To him, she was the sunrise. After the darkness, it will always be light again. She was his light source, and he knew that now. He could never lose something that's always shining.
"Thank you for showing up for me."
Not proofread
the album:
bad religion - frank ocean
in your hands - halle
i think- tyler, the creator
saturn- sza
broken is the man- jorja smith
everything is gonna be alright- infinity song
everything- kehlani
mine- beyonce ft drake
poison- beyonce
are we still friends- tyler, the creator
eternal sunshine- jhene aiko
<3
#genuinely i think this is one of the best fics i’ve ever read#i have such a soft spot for the fmc#lewis hamilton
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The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.
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