#If you are serious about your Professional career. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reiderwriter · 2 months

Note

Hi Kacie!! Now that your requests are open... Could I request a smutty fic where Spencer finds out reader has a not-so-common sensitive spot (like her legs, hair, arms, whatever body part you want). Maybe he finds out kinda in a public setting after she gets all flustered and wants to keep pushing to test his theory?? You can take as much inspo from this as you want<3

(If this emoji's not taken)-💃 anon

A/N: Hello! Sorry for going MIA for a while there. It was the beginning of a new school year here in SK, so I've been really busy! I've been chipping away at this one little by little, and it's finally done! I hope you enjoy it ♡

Warnings; Smut, 18+ Minors DNI, case details, misogyny from a bartender in the opening scene, Semi-public sexual experimentation, edging, PinV sex, use of pet names (good girl), slight degradation, cum play, etc.

Masterlist

The back of the bar was dimly lit as you walked through it, keeping pace with your teammate as you kept one eye on the shady inhabitants of the bar.

You'd been sent - with Spencer of all people - to ask the local dive bar staff about suspicious regulars. A fact that didn't exactly take into account his general lack of intimidating looks and your status as the newest member of the team.

A trial by fire if you'd ever seen one.

You tried your best not to stick out like a sore thumb, but the people in these parts could spot a Fed from a mile away. And though Spencer was remarkably pipe-cleaner-like, they'd certainly recognised enough FBI in him to clam up upon your entrance.

“We got some visitors, I see. What can I be getting you, little lady?” The barman greeted you as you reached the first stool at the counter, a patronizing smile on his moustache clad lips.

“If it's okay, we'd like to ask you some questions. I'm Agent Y/N with the FBI. This is my partner, Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“You're a Fed? Now, why would you bother doing all that hard work when you could be warming my bed, girl. It's definitely more honest and satisfying work.”

The way the man leered at you over the counter has you freezing momentarily. Your instincts were saying fight, but you held your tongue just long enough to not ruin any rapport your team could build with locals.

“I'm flattered, but already spoken for I'm afraid. Have you seen any suspicious men in here in the last six months, one that would pass through only semi-regularly, maybe with a few female companions, though never the same.”

Professionalism at the cost of your peace of mind was going to be a hard learn for you as you grit your teeth and swallowed the bile in your throat.

He just continued to leer at you as he dried up beer glasses.

“You're looking for a man who likes cheap whores? Maybe you are in the market for a career change after all.”

That was about all you could take, and luckily, Spencer Reid was well aware.

Quickly grabbing you by the wrist, he pulled you behind him defensively and leaned over the bar, his voice low and somewhat chilling.

“Disrespect my partner like that again, and I'll have you charged with aiding and abetting a murderer who has kidnapped and ended the lives of three local girls. Local girls whose fathers you're more than likely acquainted with, who absolutely have multiple acres of property and just enough bullets to put you in the ground.”

The blood rushed to your ears at his voice, but the light grip of your wrist held you in place indefinitely.

All the fight left your body, as you found yourself coming dangerously close to melting into Spencer in relief.

He forced the man to answer some more basic questions, but it wasn't as if you could hear them. He stroked a quick thumb back and forth across your wrist as all the thoughts fled your head, and the words fell asleep on your tongue, resting there until he released you from his grip.

You'd known that the area was slightly sensitive for a while, having accidentally brushed up against things and felt serious chills shoot up your spine. What you hadn't known was that it was that kind of sensitivity.

Though, in all honesty, you hadn't exactly known that you could feel that kind of excitement for Spencer either. You just hoped he wouldn't notice. That much.

Having finished his line of questioning and reiterating his threat, he moved his hand from your wrist to the small of your back and adeptly guided you from the restaurant and out of the line of vision of every pair of eyes in the place.

“Are you okay?” He asked when he finally got you to the car, voice still quiet and low, and slightly too close to let you fully relax.

“Peachy. He talked to you at least.” You turned away from him and began opening the passenger side door.

“Nothing new or useful, though. Your bpm is high,” he joined you in the car, putting on his seat belt while you completely let go of yours, letting it zip back into itself.

“My… my what?”

“Your bpm is high. Your heart was beating so fast,” he said, reaching over you to help you reclip it. “Were you nervous, Y/n? Or just sensitive?”

“Your mouth is entirely too close to mine to be asking that question,” you breathed out, cursing your eyes from stealing a glance at his lips.

Only five minutes into this sudden attraction to Spencer Reid, and you were already mortified and extremely horny. In equal measures.

“What would be the appropriate distance to ask that, then?”

“I hear Australia is lovely this time of year.”

He chuckled softly at you as he finished adjusting your seat and then moved far enough away to let the ground swallow you in peace.

Never one to leave well enough alone, it seemed that Spencer took it upon himself to experiment with you for weeks on end after that.

He'd constantly ask you to pass him papers, pens, anything that'd allow him to run a finger across the inside of your wrist. On more than one occasion you'd caught him staring into your eyes as he did it, and it took a nearly embarrassing amount of time to realise he was checking how dilated your pupils were before and after.

When he'd gathered enough data for that line of questioning, he moved on to bigger things.

You knew you were in danger of seriously falling head over ads when he offered to walk you to your motel door in a seedier case location.

You, an FBI agent with a real-life gun and badge and job at Quantico, and you were jumping at the chance to have a man walk you to your room. You'd have been embarrassed if you weren't burning with anticipation.

You hoped that like every other man in history, he was gently trying to insinuate himself into your bedroom, and by extension, your bed and more intimate places.

So you were more than slightly disappointed when he started wishing you a good night. All of the aforementioned disappointment fled your body, though, when he picked up your hand and dropped a kiss to the inside of your left wrist, repeating the action on the right before wordlessly retreating.

You stared at his back as he walked purposefully down the corridor and into his own room, leaving you to pick up your jaw and retreat to your room to lick your wounds.

You wished it was him picking you up instead and found your brain imagining just that as your fingers dropped between your thighs that night.

It became a case tradition for him to tease you like this, kissing your wrist after innocently walking you back to your hotel room. The others thought it chivalrous, almost cute and childlike, a form of courting that graced the good old days. They didn't know he grabbed you by the waist and held you against his hard-on every time you rode an elevator together. They didn't know his tongue darted out a few times to lick your wrist on occasion. They didn't know how you once mentally begged him to bite you there and how you shuddered as he ran his teeth along the vein there.

Spencer was coming to the crux of his research regarding how far he could push you before you cracked. Only now, it was how far he could get without pushing you against a wall and jumping your bones.

You knew you were in danger when he offered to escort you home after a case.

“To walk you to your door, you know? Like always,” he smiled at you, the picture of innocence as you became damp between your thighs.

“Sure. Yeah, okay, I'll get my keys, let's go.”

You weren't sure how no one else noticed that Spencer didn't have a car to drive himself home after taking you to yours. You were unsure if they'd connect the dots between him escorting you home and his own apartment being 45 minutes in the opposite direction.

Luckily for you, you could keep your hands at 2 and 10 the entire journey, away from his grasp. If he'd have touched you right then, you're sure you'd have driven both of you right off the road into a ditch.

Or a pedestrian.

The drive was calm, but pulling up forced your heart to your throat and kept it suspended there, almost like it was frozen at gunpoint, a deer in the headlights.

“We're here.”

“Great. Let me walk you in.”

In. You swallowed hard, wishing very much for him to be inside of your apartment.

“Okay.”

Stepping into the elevator a few minutes later, he waited mere seconds after the doors began closing to pull you into his personal space. He was hard, he was so hard once again and his cock was now straining against your ass.

“Spencer, we need to talk about t-that,” he stroked your wrist as his hand splayed across your stomach, holding you firmly against him.

“About what, Y/N?”

He pulled your arm up almost as if inspecting the wrist for imperfections, and your head melted back into his chest. Why was this elevator so goddamn slow?

You sprung out quickly when the doors pinged open finally and moved straight towards your door without a glance back, but you felt him close behind you.

“Y/N, wait for me, wait, I'm sorry,” he called out quietly as you forced your keys into the lock as fast as possible.

“Y/N, I'm sorry if I stepped over the line, I didn't mean too, please look at me-”

You got the door open and turned back around to grab a firm hold of his tie and yank him into the apartment behind you.

“Months. Spencer, you have been edging me for months, and I am sick of it.” You half growled at him, slamming the door behind him and then pushing him up against it.

“I can feel how hard you are right now. Obviously you want to fuck me, so why aren't you?”

His face went from shocked to intrigued, then shot straight for mischievous as he cracked a smile, and you felt his hands wrap around your wrists slowly.

Before you could react, he had your positions swapped, your arms above your head pinned at the wrists and his breath hitting your neck as he answered.

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to break.”

Your lips leapt to his, hitting him angrily as you searched for more pleasure in his touch, one leg pushing up to wrap around his waist as his hips settled between yours.

He met you at your level, giving just as good as he got.

“Call it scientific curiosity,” he murmured, lips trailing down your neck, but hips pinning you in closer to the wall, keeping you trapped there. He made his way along your shoulders and then pressed light teasing kisses up your arms while rutting his hips into you, dry humping you against the wall as your eyes glazed over in lust.

“You react when I touch you, you heat up. But it gets worse if I touch you here, right Y/N?” His lips again found your wrist, but this time his teeth grazed across the veins he found there.

“You get so horny now when I look at you. I can grab your wrist and make you beg for my cock, isn't that right?” His mouth was back by your ear as your legs went limp under you. He still had you caged against your own door, and you had no idea what to say to that.

Part of you wanted to protest purely because of the rough tone of voice he was using. The other wanted to flood to the floor and tell him yes, beg him to just fuck you and be done with this pure torture.

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Isn't that right?”

“Yes, yes, Spencer fuck, I don't care anymore, yes. You can touch me and I'll react to you, please help me.”

“Good girl.”

He pulled away instantly, but his hands wrapped firmly still around your wrists. Slowly, he pulled you towards him as he slowly walked backwards further into your apartment. You thought for a second about just throwing yourself back into his arms, to close the space he'd created again between the two of you.

You tried it, lifted your head slightly, begging his lips to return there, but he held firm. Each step was an agony of need, and you fought to hold your tongue, begging yourself not to beg him so pathetically.

“Such a good girl, I'm holding you by the wrist, and you won't even protest about how slow I'm being.”

Your mouth fell open as you registered his words.

“You're being an ass.”

“What was that? You want me to touch your ass?”

“Spencer!”

“Don't worry, we'll get to that.”

His back finally made contact with your bedroom door, and you stumbled forward into his chest as he kept his grip even still.

“You're going to listen, right? You're going to listen to me and do what I ask you to do, aren't you?”

You wavered again. He'd been teasing you, but now he was serious, his tone light and his voice soft, but you could feel the strength in his grip. You could feel his arousal at your hip.

“Yes, Spencer.”

“Good. Get on your knees on the bed. No clothes.”

He released your hands and opened the door for you as you tried your best to walk forward calmly.

By the time you reached the bed, you'd removed most of your clothes, but you hesitated at the underwear as he watched from behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder saw him palming his cock through his pants, still leaning against the door he'd opened for you.

He was getting off watching you, and you were frozen in arousal.

“No clothes, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“Underwear is clothing.”

“I know that, too, Spencer.”

“Then take it off.”

You shot a quick glare over your shoulder as you unclaimed your bra behind your back and threw it to the floor.

“On my knees, right?” You said, climbing on the bed still clad in your panties.

“I also said no clothes.”

“If you're so invested in my state of dress, how about you come and help me rectify it.”

His lips twitched in small annoyance, but he followed the trail of clothes you'd left, ridding himself of his tie, shirt, jacket, and pants along the way.

He climbed on the bed slowly behind you, not opposite as you'd presumed he would. His hands reached out to touch your back before slowly sliding all the way up to your neck and pushing your upper body down into the sheets.

You let out a little squeak in shock, but let his hands guide you, feeling especially pliant when he grabbed your hands and crossed them behind your back.

“Maybe the panties can stay. I'll just decorate them afterwards,” he said, and with that, he pulled your hips up with his free hand guiding you into the position he wanted you in, and pushed two fingers into you.

“Fuck, Spencer-” your brain short circuited as he pumped the digits slowly in and out of you, setting an agonizing pace but holding you so tight that.you couldn't even press your cunt back into his fingers.

“What? What is it, Y/N? Tell me how you feel?”

“Feel good, so good Spencer, p-please more.”

He shifted slowly behind you, pulling his fingers out almost completely before pushing them back in, this time with another finger added. He didn't quicken his pace as you assumed he would, but he took his time stretching you out further as you moaned and whined underneath him.

“More. You wanted more,” he reminded you, and his voice was like a sharp hit straight to your cunt, rough and hot and filling you completely.

You barely registered the orgasm that flowed over you, your brain replaying his words on a loop as he continued pleasuring you.

“That's it. That's a good girl. Get my fingers nice and wet.”

When you finally grounded yourself in the moment again, your cheeks flushed as you realized just how wet you'd gotten. You felt your arousal still dripping down your leg and turned your face further into the sheets to hide your embarrassment.

He pulled his fingers out of you, though, and with his now free hand he crouched over you and hooked his fingers under your jaw lifting your head and body up, forcing your crotch back into his as your back arched.

“Don't hide from this. Look how wet you are for me, Y/N. Taste it.” He tapped his fingers against your mouth and you were ashamed at how fast your lips dropped open, tongue falling out to let him wipe his cum stained fingers against your pretty little lips.

You tasted yourself on his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and sucking as he dragged his dick across your back, trying to relieve himself in any way he could.

“Good girl. It's time for one more, Y/N.”

You released his fingers with a wet pop as he pushed you back into the sheets. Lining himself up, he entered you easily, your cum providing ample lubricant.

You whined at his first few pumps, certain he was going to continue his torturous pace and leave you begging for more hours into the night.

Instead, he let himself work you up to it, each thrust gaining in speed and strength until you could hear the slap of your skin against his more vividly than your own heartbeat.

His cock was thick, filling you perfectly as you lost yourself in the sensations.

“One day, I'll handcuff you to this bed,” he said, leaning down and whispering in your ear as each part of your body vibrated with lust.

“I'll tie you down to this bed, and I'll treat you like a princess. I'll eat your cunt for hours until you cum every time my breath hits your cunt, and I'll cover your pretty tits in my seed. I'll let you use my cock as your personal sex toy, and I'll fulfill every single need you have.”

His hand released your wrists as both of his hands came to wrap around your waist, pushing you deeper into the plush covers and changing the angle of his dick.

You screamed at the pleasure, forgetting the paper thin walls your apartment boasted.

“Fuck, Spencer.”

“And you're going to love every single second because your brain switches off every time I touch your delicate little wrists.”

With that, another wave of pleasure spread through your body, sending prolonged shivers throughout your body.

You felt him withdraw and heard the sticky mess of him stroking himself behind you until he made good on his promise and sprayed his generous load across your ass and panties before collapsing on the bed next to you.

The two of you laid there for what felt like hours, sharing nothing but your labored breaths and the space of the bed before he finally rose.

You tried not to sleep, but your entire body felt stiff from the awkward, if enjoyable, position he'd held you in.

Your eyes drifted shut, and you just listened to his movements. A creaking floorboard here, a stumble against some furniture there, culminating in some running water and a return to your space.

“Y/N,” he whispered, cautious to rise you from what he assumed was much needed sleep.

“Mmmm,” was all you could reply.

“I realize now that I made a pretty big mess, so we need to get you in the bath.”

“Mmm,” you protested, brows furrowing as you tried to gather your sheets closer around you, cradling yourself in the warmth.

But doing so only made you more aware of the sticky wet mess around your torso and legs, and you let out a small, frustrated sigh.

“You're stubborn, you know that, right?” He said, admiration coating his tongue as he lifted you slowly and helped you place your feet on the floor and walk towards your bathroom.

“Spencer, shouldn't have a bath, too sleepy.”

“I know, I'm going to stay.”

“In the bath?”

“In the bath.”

“Good.”

And it was. You let him lift your legs one by one into the scorching water and melted back into him, your head resting on his shoulder as if it were the most comfortable pillow you'd ever used, and you slept.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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sapphosclosefriend · 6 months

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- Money, Power, Glory pt 1 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: suggestive

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, successful and rich CEO, books an urgent meeting with someone who she might be able to finally destress with. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, BIG age gap (N=56, R=24), suggestive themes.

A/N: this story contains mature topics so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. Just as an introduction hehe don't worry, their first time is in the next one, I won't leave it out! Thanks sooo much to @rt--link and @supercorpdanbeau for being the kindest and both helping me out ❤️ As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You still remember clearly the day you received the call from your agent. You honestly thought it was a cruel joke of hers at first, but the serious, yet excited, tone in her voice easily reassured you of the realness of the situation. The fact that she was calling you in the first place, and not quickly messaging you, was clear proof of just how important and urgent the matter was. Not only were you requested for that same night, meaning that the trusted woman deemed the new customer as important enough to ditch the advance days you usually demanded, but the house you needed to get to was of no regular person.

You were a high end escort, pleasing la creme de la creme only, well, at least in terms of monetary assets. You, and the agency you worked with, were known for your discretion, professionalism and skills, an overall level of competence that simply tended to attract clients of a certain status. And that's how you met her, the Natasha Romanoff herself, CEO of a multi-billion company she had created from the ground up in her decades-long career. But why was she so important? She would've been the richest one of your clients, it was as simple as that. Pretty much every single one of them were at the head of, if not close to, big and different companies, all with the highest power of the twenty-first century in their hands, money. You had actually thought about dipping your toes in the world of politics once, which was not so surprisingly filled with countless requests interested in your realm of expertise, but thanks to long consideration and much advice, you had decided to avoid its risks, settling on who you knew, after all, had what you wanted, filthy rich assholes. And gosh, wasn't she the richest one of them all.

Aside from her status, the thought of such a woman, so idolized she seemed unattainable, who could and probably had everything in the world, asking for your company, intrigued you immensely. That day, during every single hour you had spent to thoroughly take care of your appearance just for her, anticipation completely took over you. You knew she was beautiful and you genuinely thought she was fucking hot, which wasn't necessarily to be taken for granted in your line of work, but what you found yourself needing to know, and consequently making your interest in her grow even more, was how she was going to be in private. Was she going to be just like one of those countless naggingly cocky know-it-all's who thought of themselves as some sex gods, and gods in general, but really couldn't even figure out if you had cum yet? You found yourself almost wanting her to be different than everybody else, because deep down you felt like, even if she was the most annoying, full of herself bitch ever, you would’ve gladly tried to satisfy every single one of her needs and taken anything from her with a smile on your face. Ok, maybe scrolling for an hour through the internet looking up information about her and consequently ending up lost through any picture of her you could find wasn’t the best idea, but what could you say, you had a bit of a sweet spot for powerful women.

What you gathered from your innocent stalking session, though, was mainly about her countless successes in life but also concerning some gossip regarding her not so successful marriage life. It didn’t bother you, barely anything about your clients did at that point, but it only intrigued you more about why she wanted someone like you. She could’ve had anybody, she was a walking goddess with her pockets more than full and ladies most definitely falling at her feet left and right, yet there she was, in her car, getting back home after one of the longest and most tiring weeks of the past few months to wait for a girl she’d only seen a couple pictures of to take her mind off of everything. Her driver immediately knew not to even greet her by her frustrated sigh and the pinching of the bridge of her own nose as soon as she got in the car and immediately took off to her desired destination, making Natasha thank any and all gods for the nice relief after such displays of incompetence she had to endure from basically her whole staff. She was right at her limit and all the pent up anger and irritation from the week was finally starting to crack her composed facade at the prospect of the imminent weekend slowly reaching her. She didn’t even want to have dinner, she just needed to be at home, everyone out of her goddamn house and a pussy to unload some stress into. If she had to be honest, in that specific moment, she even missed her disastrous married life and the perk of having a wife always waiting for her at home, ready to meet her needs at the end of the day.

She, unfortunately, never felt the symptoms of "true love" with any of her ex wives, but the thought of how badly it had gone wrong with all of them still pained her a little every time her mind drifted to that phase of her life. During her successful yet busy life she'd been through her fair share of failed marriages, all with beautiful women she'd deeply cared for, but all eventually focused on one thing only, her absence. The first thing she'd always made sure to make very, very clear was just how little time she had to dedicate to anything outside of her company, which unfortunately included her personal life. Her best guess was that the haziness coming from a brand new love must've made it hard to get a grasp on her words…every single time, apparently.

It didn't matter anymore, though, because what she had to focus on now seemed to be much more important than any matter ever had. The quick, warm shower she had just enough time to take as soon as she got home was thankfully able to wash away the surface level anger that was starting to make her temple throb, preventing her from being a rude prick for the rest of the night. She was aware, after all, of the favor you were doing to her by working the night without any notice and all she wanted to do was be respectful for your kind availability. Being her perfectionist self, and deep down maybe even wanting you to like her, she knew she had to focus on not losing her mind on minor things like her outfit, so she decided to try to at least appear to be careless about her appearance and only focus the last bits of mental strength she had on the more relaxing, pleasurable parts of the night. Of course she still couldn't help but fix her hair just a little and change her sweatshirt for a still casual but more put together beige, cashmere sweater. She'd had it for years and, despite its condition not being the best, she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it, it just reminded her too much of- nevermind. A few small holes and pulled threads on her top would certainly be the last thought on your mind anyway.

She didn't even realize she was starting to zone out while still looking at herself in the mirror, when the sudden, distant ring of the front door slightly startled her, effectively making her get herself back together. What was minutes away from happening truly dawned on her as she descended the stairs to the first floor and, for a brief moment, as she walked through the entrance corridor and saw the blurry outline of your figure through the frosted glass of the tall door, time seemed to slow down and for the first time in years she felt a small twinge of anxiety creeping up on her the closer she got to you. She was really doing it, she was really about to follow the advice of her idiot Stark friend and didn't mind it too much. Maybe she was really getting old, maybe age was starting to actually play some tricks on her, because, as her hand pushed the cold handle of the entrance door and started to pull it open, the snippets of hair she could start to see of you lit a confident fire in her that only burned more vividly as your form was finally fully displayed to her, making it impossible for her to suppress the excitement she suddenly felt at the sight of you in person, looking at her through your lashes with subtle faux innocence she could see right through.

"Good evening, Ms Romanoff"

Part 2

Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff smut #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #marvel #mcu

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ohnococo · 5 months

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Pining Hiromi Higuruma HCs

(Hiromi Higuruma, pining away for you, his coworker. Except he's kind of a pervert about it.)

Hiromi Higuruma who always listens to your professional opinion, and makes sure to credit you to coworkers and higher ups.

Hiromi Higuruma who becomes your lunchtime venting buddy early on. Sometimes you’ll catch each other's eyes and he’ll give you that look that lets you know he has some shit he needs to say RIGHT now so it’s time to take a break.

Hiromi Higuruma who is happy to help you out off the clock because at least you give him something to look forward to during his stressful days. He really does want to support you in your career growth (among other things).

Hiromi Higuruma who takes turns with you buying each other lunch, then dinner when you have to order takeout for overtime. He knows your go-to order from every place that delivers to your office.

Hiromi Higuruma who looks ten times more stressed when you get back from any time off. His jokes get increasingly more serious about how you “can’t just leave me on my own like that” even when you aren’t working on the same things so your presence makes no difference. Except it does. To him. He feels like his head is going to explode from dealing with work all day without those little moments of relief from being around you.

Hiromi Higuruma who glares at anyone making jokes about him being your “work husband” because it’s unprofessional and “two people can just get along without there being something to it.”

Hiromi Higuruma who knows there absolutely is something to it because he’s so, so bad at not thinking indecent things about you all day long. He doesn’t even know if you’re flirting with him or if it's all in his head. What he does know is he can't bring himself to show restraint over how much time he spends with you in the office.

NSFW/18+ ONLY UNDER THE CUT

Hiromi Higuruma who, when you eventually bring up adding him on social media, takes weeks to add you back because he knows he can’t be trusted with access to a collection of pictures of you. He was already battling guilt over jerking off to the picture of you on your LinkedIn. It was so posed and styled that it barely looked like your day to day self but it was all he had outside of his imagination for months.

Hiromi Higuruma who feels like a disgusting fucking pervert when he makes a whole folder of saved pics that make his dick twitch after clicking through every single picture. Innocuous things like a photo of you sitting down, looking up at whoever was taking it with a twinkle in your eye - ammo enough for him to picture you looking like that on your knees in front of him. God help him if he finds a picture of you in a swimsuit, or anything more revealing than your work attire. He knows it's scumbag behaviour, and he knows it's risky having them on his phone because he'd look like a crazy person if someone ever saw him with a hidden collection of seemingly innocent pictures of you, but after months and months of pining he sometimes finds he has to lock himself in the bathrooms at work to stroke his cock looking at them. Especially if you've shown up wearing those heels.

Hiromi Higuruma who so helpfully accepts your request to house sit for you when you’re going to be gone for a week. All he needs to do is pop in to water some plants, maybe feed a cat or some fish, just generally check everything was in order. He knows from the second you leave your key with him that he will be an absolute freak about it too. The first time he goes over he finds himself looking in your dirty clothes hamper, heartbroken to find it empty. He doesn’t even finish the actual job he’d come there to do because he feels that fucking guilty for being a creep.

Hiromi Higuruma who, a day later, comes back, waters your plants, and settles for stealing a pair of clean panties to spend the rest of the week jerking off into. He’ll return them washed, right back where he’d found them, the day before you come home. And he'll miss them just as much as he hates himself for doing any of it in the first place.

Hiromi Higuruma who makes you second guess if he really liked you as much as you thought when he starts asking when you’re going on vacation next. It’s not that he doesn’t miss you while you’re gone… it’s that he can’t stop kicking himself for not rifling through your drawers to see what sex toys you use on yourself.

Dating Co-Worker Hiromi Higuruma HCs

#my writing #hiromi x reader #higuruma x reader #higuruma hiromi x reader #hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk smut #higuruma #higuruma hiromi

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russellsppttemplates · 2 months

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Just say the word (Max Verstappen)

A secret relationship is hard enough to deal with when you don't have people constantly shipping your boyfriend with someone else

Note: english is not my first language. This is the first time I'm writing athlete!reader, so I thought about the sports I know better and swimming seemed fitting for what I wanted!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: secret relationship

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"You're alone today, Y/N?", one of the other girls, Ella, asked as you retrieved your waterproof workout plan sheet from the folder.

"I'm going away tomorrow and I won't be back until Monday morning, so I squeezed in my Saturday session now; Carol is coaching with the younger group today later", you explained the fact that you were at the pool without your coach.

At first, swimming was an after school activity since your parents worked long hours and they needed you to be occupied and somewhere with someone looking after you, but as you grew older, your passion for the activity became more serious. Combined with your natural skill and hard work - and, truth be told, a dust of luck from deep pocket sponsors - you were able to become a full time swimmer. Tokyo 2020 Olympics was the proudest moment of your career as you stepped on the podium next to two of the people you looked up to the most, wondering if you were ever going to stand in the top step and hear your national anthem play. Baby steps - Carol told you immediately - this is already a huge achievement, Y/N!

"Do you want to stretch together?", Ella wondered, throwing a foam roller for you to catch once you nodded and getting one for herself.

"Where are you off to this weekend?", she asked curiously. You were playing a risky game, you knew that much, going away only on weekends and travelling to countries where, coincidentally, the Formula One Grand Prix was being held.

Luckily for you, no one seemed to make the connection as the last two years you managed to keep your relationship a secret. You first met Max in a sponsor party at the beggining of your professional career when you needed to up your earnings as the costs of travelling to competitions was getting higher and heavier on your savings. It fell through, but other sponsors came your way and you and Max started hanging out after it. The Dutch driver was funny and charming and after winning your first Olympic medal, you felt unstoppable and confessed your feelings for him. When he admitted he felt the same for you, you went from there on. At first, the decision to keep it secret was both strategic, as Max didn't want you to miss out on any sponsorships or teams backing you because you were in a relationship with him, and personal as he didn't want the world's prying eyes on your relationship.

Two years later, you felt like there had never been a right time to do it so things stayed the way they were, and most of the time, you didn't mind it.

"Austria", you kept the city to yourself as you worked on your hips as they were still tight from yesterday.

"Didn't you go there last year?", she quirked an eyebrow.

"Last year, I had more of a city break weekend, this time around I'm going for a nature approach, you know? No phones, no Internet, digital detox and all of that", you offered, doubling up the excuse so she wouldn't expect to see and Instagram stories or posts from your weekend away.

"Sounds nice! It can really get in your head when you're too long on them - I have a timer on my phone because otherwise I won't even notice the amount of time I spend on social media", she smiled before silently asking if she could take the foam rollers back to their box.

Getting yourself on the water and used to the temperature, you started with your usual warm up routine before following the plan you stuck to the platform.

On some days, the session felt quick, before you knew, the other athletes were already stretching and getting prepped for their own session. Today, it seemed like it would never end, as you looked at the clock and only fifteen minutes had gone by since the last time you checked it. At least your times were improving, you thought, drinking some water before going back to practice your butterfly stroke as dictated by the workout sheet.

It was already evening time when you sat down on your bedroom floor, packing everything you had laid out to take on your trip with you when your phone rang.

"Hey, liefje", Max said as his face showed up on your screen, "how was your day?".

"Good. Had training in the morning, then a physio session because my hips kept hurting, and I found some time to buy a replacement for my moisturiser before I came home to have dinner and pack", you showed him the suitcase, "and you? The car seems good, a nice gap to the others as well", you mused.

"The same old Friday, really. Woke up, came to the track, a little debrief with Alice and then we headed to the track. Only tomorrow will tell, but I'm confident on the pole", he smiled, "can't wait to have you here with me and see your gorgeous face up close".

"You can see it now", you ridiculed as you rested your chin on your phone and looked into the camera so Max could have an interesting angle of your features, "beautiful, am I right?", you joked.

"The most beautiful", he complimented, "are you nearly done packing?", he wondered.

"Yes, just my charger and a few other last minute things left - I'll put them in my backpack tomorrow morning", you reasoned.

"You better get to sleep, your flight is early", your boyfriend encouraged, "I really need it - a proper shower first and then I'll go to bed", you assured, "I love you, Max, see you tomorrow", you blew him a kiss.

"I love you too, gorgeous! Text me updates from your flight, okay?", he smiled, smooching his lips for you to see before you ended the videocall.

The shower helped you unwind for the night, a little list on your kitchen counter to remember you of the last minute things as you turned off the lights and got back to your bedroom, your bed waiting for you so you could sleep a decent amount of hours.

Sitting on the waiting area of the airport, you placed your backpack on your legs and rested your elbows there, grabbing your phone to scroll through social media.

Ella was right, people did spend too much time on these. Everyone around you seemed to be on their phone or tablet devices.

A photo of your boyfriend showed up in your explore page, a fan page showing his walking back to the garage after FP1 and Alice was trailing right beside him.

Scrolling through the carrousel of pictures, you found a small video of them laughing together about something. The comments under it were the same as usual.

No one can convince me they're not together!😌 (to be read as I know I'm delulu)

If they're not, I'll volunteer to show them how good they would be for eachother! 🫣

Such a power couple 😮‍💨🥵

When they finally knock some sense into eachother's head and realise they're meant to be together, I'm claiming them as my parents! 🥹

No matter how many times you saw it, it never got easier. For all everyone knew, Max was single, so they weren't acting as a disregard of you. They didn't knew a regard of you to begin with. So they took interest in his love life and hoped he was in a relationship with some of the women he interacted with. Max usually didn't let many of them start to begin with, but Alice worked for the team, he could only get so far away and be distanced from her.

Max wouldn't cheat on you, you knew that. But the comments made you wonder. Would he be better off with someone else? Someone who could follow him anywhere?

The thoughts often plagued your mind, and they hadn't yet turned to the your other insecurities, so you had to be thankful for that.

Boarding on the plane, you played some music on your earbuds as you fished out your kindle to continue reading the book you started at the beggining of the week.

The buzz was installed on track as you found your spot in the stands just in time to see the marshalls tidying up whatever was left on the concrete so qualifying could start without a hitch.

This was usually how you did it. On Saturday, you would watch qualifying from the stands, waiting a little in the fan zone before Max whisked you into the hospitality with Gianpiero's help. On Sunday, you either stayed on the stands and repeated the same procedure or you arrived early to the track and stayed in his driver's room so to not lift any suspicions. You had been invited to watch a few races with the Paddock Club pass with some of the other Olympic athletes, but it hadn't happened in a while.

To anyone, you were a regular fan. You had your RedBull cap on and sunglasses, and you had never been recognised in one of the races, so you felt calm. The tricky bit of keeping your relationship hidden from the public eye was going to be later, for now, you could just wait and appreciate the fast laps.

"I'm sorry, you're Y/N Y/L/N, right?", a girl in a Ferrari cap called your name. Crap.

"Hi, I am", you smiled, "I'm sorry to ambush you like this - I am a big fan and you're a big inspiration to me. I also swim", she reasoned as she fumbled with her phone, "do you mind if my father takes a picture of us?", she politely asked.

"That's okay, yes", you smiled, taking off your sunglasses briefly as the older man snapped a picture before he shook your hand, "she won't shut up about your achievements! Did you tell Ms. Y/L/N that you're going to be in the qualifiers for Paris?".

"It's Y/N, please", you requested, "That's fantastic, congratulations! I hope it all works out for you and I'll see you around there!", you hugged her quickly before she thanked you and found their seats.

She seemed nice enough and it wasn't like you were a public figure, at least to the general public anyway really, so between all of the people who could've spotted you, she was fine.

"C'mon Max!", you yelled as he and Charles seemed to be separated by a few tenths of a second, cheering loudly when the times were set and your boyfriend got the pole position.

The timing was perfect as Max took a little longer than expected on his interviews, fans scattering to the fanzone and track experiences while you spotted Max's engineer, walking with him when no one seemed to be paying attention to it.

"I'll tell Max you're already here", he smiled before he closed the door of the driver's room.

It always felt a little odd. Like you were doing something forbidden and illegal by being there.

"Yes, we'll meet in a bit", Max told whoever was in the corridor after he opened the door, closing it back when you jumped on him, legs wrapping around his waist, "hey, pole sitter", you smirked, nuzzling your face on his neck and kissing the soft skin.

"Hello, liefje", he mumbled against your skin before you pulled away, "kiss?", you asked for his lips to settle on yours for a bit, filling up on eachother's presence.

"No one saw you come here?", he asked. You shook your head, "everybody was paying attention to other things, the only people I encountered already know so we're safe", you stated.

Max noticed the change of tone, but you wouldn't have time to properly discuss it so he let it slide for now, telling you instead about the session and how the car felt, as well as the dinner plans her had for you since the room service menu was "so varied we could make our own little buffet".

You stayed in the room while he had the debrief, leaving together when you made sure no one would see you two.

"Room service called back, they said they'll bring the food in ten minutes", Max said as you got out of the bathroom, dressed in pyjamas and fresh out of the shower, "That's good, I'm starving", you smiled as you sat down.

Max always received the food at the door to ensure no prying eyes would see something he didn't want, along with other precautions like packing up all your things in case someone from housekeeping enjoyed the gossip and took the rumours somewhere else.

"I know something is bothering you", Max began you had taken a piece of chicken to your much, "I noticed it when we were in my room, and even now there's something", he nudged your arm.

Chewing and swallowing afterwards, you moved the broccoli around your plate, gathering your thoughts before speaking up, "do you know people ship you and Alice?", you spoke up.

"Don't change the subject, darl - is that it?", Max tried to understand.

"People seem to think you'd make a great couple, like, they have your whole relationship panned out. Everyone thinks she's very pretty - and I agree with them -, and that you two have chemistry and that it would be nice for you to be with her - looks exchanged and all sorts of ideas", you mumbled.

"Liefje, I'd never do that to you, I don't interact with her that way", Max replied instantly.

"I know you don't, but it hurts to see", you admitted, "comments people make about my boyfriend and how he really should start dating someone - and they know who that person is, so really it's just a matter of putting two and two together!", you let a tear fall down your cheek.

"Y/N, I didn't know it was bothering you so much and bringing you such sadness", Max cupped your cheek, thumb wiping the tears that followed suit and looking into your eyes.

"I can ask the team to issue or statement - or we can go public. I don't care what we do as long as you feel better about it", he comforted.

"Do you want to go public?", you asked, afraid of the answer.

"Y/N, my love, being secret was just to protect you, for your good. If going public is the solution for this, I'm the first one to walk into the paddock tomorrow with you, holding hands and everything", he moved his hands to cradle your own.

"You mean that? It's just, I don't want people to assume you're single and throw themselves at you - or throw someone at you! I know Alice won't do it, but other people might and I'm tired of having to lie to people about where I'm going and saying no to dates they try to set up and why I gave a RedBull rain jacket on my car", you chuckled at the last one, remembering your coach's reaction when she saw it, "Since when do you follow F1?", Carol questioned.

"We'll do it tomorrow if you want, or whenever you feel ready, Y/N. I'll be by your side, always", he smiled kissing your lips lovingly.

"I don't have any paddock wag outfits with me", you giggled, "have to make a good impression".

"Please, you could go in these pyjamas and you'd still be the prettiest woman there", he pulled you to sit on his lap as you finished your dinner.

The next morning, people couldn't believe their eyes as Max walked hand in hand with a young woman, the pair of them talking about something between them as they giggled.

A few were unsure of it was really you while others asked their colleagues to please repeat your name, googling you quickly and finding out your achievements.

Soon enough, pictures flowed social media with the paddock's new power couple, gossip Instagram pages having a field day and it wasn't even lunch time.

"This is news", Daniel said as he spotted Max. He had been one of the few people outside of the team who knew about you two, you having made him swear that he would never tell anyone, and if by chance he did let something slip, you trusted him to make a joke out of it and for people to assume he was just teasing Max indeed.

"You won't have to keep it to yourself anymore, Danny", you said as you hugged his side quickly.

"That's good, actually, I think that's what has been keeping me from being focused in racing, it's a real relief, Y/N", he stated and for two seconds, you felt bad for putting such pressure on him, "I'm just kidding! C'mon, you know what I'm like", he gave you a big smile, "now, I have to go, will pop by to see you though!", Daniel said as he waved while he carried on to his team's garage.

Your interactions with Daniel and the team spurred curiosity as the media started thinking and hypothesizing that maybe your relationship was as new as they thought it was. As it turns out, once again, Max Verstappen knew how to keep private aspects away from the media.

For now, they would try to dig more and find out how the Olympic medalist swimmer stole the heart of the Formula One driver.

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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star-anise · 1 month

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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justlemmeadoreyou · 8 days

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1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience.

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs.

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!"

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow.

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service.

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?"

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage.

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed.

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

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thedensworld · 11 days

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I Can Fight | J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Wearing a revealing clothes was never uncomfortable for you. However since you married Jeon Wonwoo, you always considered to not wear one. Honestly, Wonwoo doesn't care.

Maestro is definitely Wonwoo's era. My love from him escalates from hundred to limited🤍 god, i need him in my life. However, enjoy this fluffy fluffy wonuuuu🥰

It hasn't even been a year since you tied the knot with Jeon Wonwoo, the heir to a vast conglomerate. He possesses everything one could desire: a top-tier education, a lucrative career, and a prominent place in society. Yet, despite his wealth and status, he insists that you are the center of his universe. You, a mere lecturer at a university owned by his father, never imagined you'd capture the heart of someone like Wonwoo.

Your paths crossed at an event where you represented the university as its youngest dean. Wonwoo's attention was drawn to you instantly, captivated by the calm grace you exuded. The following morning, you were taken aback to find him at the university, seeking you out.

"I have something to discuss with you," he said, his eyes filled with a mixture of determination and something else, something softer.

As he proposed an internship program to benefit the students, the conversation effortlessly shifted from professional to personal. It became evident that his true motive was to get closer to you, to unravel the layers of your being.

You couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in your heart as Wonwoo confessed his ulterior motive. How could you resist someone who pursued you with such sincerity and charm?

Wonwoo's pride in you knew no bounds. He loved to showcase you to his friends and colleagues, boasting about your intelligence and beauty at every opportunity. Being by his side at elite events was both an honor and a responsibility, one that required the perfect attire to match his prestigious status.

As you surveyed the two gowns laid out before you in the bedroom, the weight of the upcoming event pressed upon you. Your current formal attire had already made its rounds, and you couldn't bear the thought of causing Wonwoo any embarrassment by appearing in the same outfit again.

With a heavy sigh, you reached for your phone, dialing Seungkwan's number without hesitation. He was your trusted friend, the one whose fashion sense you relied on for such occasions. But as you questioned his choices, your finger instinctively pointed towards the more daring of the two gowns—a black off-shoulder number with a thigh-high slit.

"What were you thinking with these options?" you inquired, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and concern. The other gown, a deep red wine hue, was equally alluring, with its backless design and knee-high slit, presenting a different kind of challenge.

"I thought that's what rich people wear to events like that! It's straight out of the pages of those fancy books!" Seungkwan's voice came through the phone, his defense ringing with a hint of sheepishness.

You took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling deeply before responding. "Do you honestly think I usually wear something like these?" You couldn't help but chuckle, the absurdity of the situation washing over you.

Seungkwan's laughter echoed through the phone. "Of course not. Last time you wore something revealing was when you danced to '10 Minute' at Jeonghan's birthday party in college."

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you recalled the carefree days of youth. "And I was so drunk that I slit my skirt and cut my sleeves," you added, shaking your head at the memory.

Seungkwan's tone turned more serious. "Just wear it. You won't embarrass your husband by wearing it. Trust me."

You nervously bit your lip, the weight of Seungkwan's words sinking in. "He's a respected person, Seungkwan. And I'm an academic. Last time I wore something tight, someone actually talked about him."

"No way! What did they say?" Seungkwan's curiosity piqued through the phone.

You let out a weary sigh, memories of the unpleasant encounter resurfacing. "Just that I looked too hot for a professor, and my look didn't match Wonwoo. It was awful, really. I wish I could have stood up to them at the time."

Seungkwan's voice came through with conviction, urging you not to let others dictate your choices. "Darling! Don't let them stop you. What if you are actually too hot? It's their fault they couldn't handle your fire! Stand up to them if someone talks to you like that."

A soft laugh escaped your lips at Seungkwan's fierce encouragement. "You know I can't fight," you admitted, resigned to your non-confrontational nature.

Before you could dwell further on the conversation, the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open interrupted your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to see your husband standing there, his presence filling the room with warmth and reassurance.

"Wonwoo just got back from work, I'll let you know my choice. Thanks for getting me these dresses, though," you informed Seungkwan.

Seungkwan hummed in acknowledgment. "Say hi to Wonwoo. I believe he'll choose the black one."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his teasing remark. "Shut up," you retorted playfully before ending the call.

As Wonwoo entered the room, his presence instantly filled the space with comfort and affection. His tie was discarded, and he loosened his blazer before casting a glance at the dresses laid out on the bed.

"Seungkwan got me these for tonight," you explained, gesturing towards the gowns. Wonwoo nodded in understanding as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"He has great taste," he murmured softly, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

A tender smile graced your lips as he pulled you closer, his embrace providing solace and reassurance. "You'll look good in everything," he added, his words washing over you like a comforting embrace.

You gently touched his arms, leaning into his embrace. "But don't you think they'll be too revealing? I could just wear the one I've already used."

Wonwoo shook his head, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "If you want to wear these, then wear them. I think you'll look absolutely gorgeous, whether in revealing clothes or not."

A surge of warmth flooded your chest at his words, his unwavering support comforting you. "However, I would love to see you in them," he added, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, turning your head to meet his gaze. "Really?"

Wonwoo nodded, his expression earnest. "Let's show them that you're hot, just like what Seungkwan said."

Your astonishment grew as you realized he had overheard your conversation with Seungkwan. "From which part did you hear us?" you asked curiously.

"From the start. I actually wanted to surprise you, but you were talking to him," Wonwoo confessed with a sheepish smile.

A moment of silence passed between you before he spoke again. "Actually, I want to thank him for getting you these dresses. I can't wait to see you wear it," he added, his excitement evident in his voice.

He gently withdrew his arms from your waist, turning your body to face him. His hands tenderly moved from your hair to your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking them softly. "I'd love to see you in the black one tonight," he murmured, his voice filled with affection as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

A warmth spread through you at his touch and words, reassurance flooding your senses. "Your friend knows me so well," he remarked, planting another kiss on your forehead before trailing down to your shoulder.

His gestures of love and appreciation enveloped you, melting away any lingering doubts or insecurities.

***

You approached Wonwoo where he sat on the couch in the living room, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "Isn't it too revealing?" you asked, your voice tinged with self-doubt.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in your breathtaking appearance. The black dress hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating your beauty in a way that left him speechless. The subtle yet alluring makeup only enhanced your features, drawing his eyes irresistibly to you. And the scent of your perfume, a familiar fragrance that never failed to captivate him, enveloped him in a heady mix of calm and desire.

As your hand moved to cover the revealed thigh, a part of you that he found utterly captivating, Wonwoo couldn't tear his gaze away from you. His heart raced with a jealous fervor, envying his own eyes for having the privilege of beholding your radiance.

"Is it not working?" you questioned, disappointment evident in your tone as he remained silent.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Wonwoo reached out to gently grasp your hand, pulling it away from your thigh. "No, it's not that," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with reverence and admiration. "You look absolutely stunning, beyond words."

Wonwoo sensed your apprehension and immediately shook his head, stepping forward to take your hand and press a tender kiss to it. "I can't believe I'm married to you. You look amazing, love," he murmured, lifting your hand and encouraging you to spin to showcase your dress.

As you twirled, a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind, but Wonwoo's gasp of awe and promise to buy you countless dresses like the one you wore washed away your worries.

"You can wear anything you want, love. I can fight.," he declared, his words echoing your own inner resolve.

A smile graced your lips as you leaned in to peck his cheek, feeling reassured by his unwavering support. "I'll fight them with my whole life. But kiss me again, here and now," he requested, tapping his lips playfully.

You obliged, landing another gentle kiss, but before you could pull away, Wonwoo's grip on your head tightened, deepening the kiss into a passionate embrace. Lost in the moment, your hands instinctively found their way to his neck, reveling in the intimacy of the kiss that ignited a fiery passion between you.

"Should we skip the event?" he suggested with a mischievous smirk, tempting you with the idea of spending the evening wrapped up in each other's arms.

You playfully slapped his chest, chuckling at his suggestion. "Let's wipe your lips and let me fix my makeup. Seungcheol is going to kill you if we skip his birthday party," you reminded him, handing him a wet wipe.

Wonwoo chuckled as he wiped his mouth clean of your lipstick. "He loves me, he won't kill me," he mumbled before turning his gaze back to you. "So, what do you think?" he asked, anticipation dancing in his eyes as he awaited your response.

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loveemagicpeace · 2 months

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🤍10th house Energy🤍

House of Career & Public Standing. 10th House rules all matters outside the home—your profession, your status in the community, and your public reputation. It has been called the House of ambition, aspiration, and attainment. This House also reveals in what esteem you are held by others. The 10th house reflects your image, as shown in the power, position, and honors that you may achieve. It is an outward expression of your talents, the way you accept responsibility, the place you arrive at through your own efforts. This House has a great influence on your material success in life. But it is also the house of karma( which means there's a lot to learn here). 10th house also represents masculine energy, father, grandfather, authority figures, people you meet in public.

☀️Sun in 10th house- the sun represents the father, playfulness, inspiration, light, childhood memories. Your inspiration can often be your father, you can also have a good relationship with him. It can also play an important role in your life and career. You want to shine in the world and leave a mark, so many times you become something more and are visible to the audience. You tend to do something that brings you excitement. You have a strong sense of self and a drive to succeed. Even your early life can be full of good memories. Usually these people have a good childhood memory.

🥨Moon in 10th house- the relationship with the father may be more emotionally distant. It can contain a lot of emotional energy. Your mother can have a great influence on your career and you can also look up to her or help you. Your home can become your work environment. Many times your career is connected to your parents and something that can be passed down in the family. You are involved with the public in career, professional, or social activities, and perhaps will not have much private life. The surroundings and people's rumors can quickly hurt you. A career involves a lot of emotions - it means that you are doing something that is emotionally very close to your heart.

🌱Mercury in 10th house- your career can be related to your expression through words (you can be a speaker, a teacher). Your words can have a huge impact on an audience. Many times you can discuss more serious topics and can be interested in life around the world or you can travel to countries just to see how they live there. You can also be very distant with people and the things you talk about. You can also stubbornly stick to your point of view. You have very respectful way of how you talk with people and almost never say things that are disrespectful. Your early childhood can be mixed - lots of events and changing surroundings. Your surroundings can have a big impact on you. There are many rumors about you, your family or your father. Rumors about you can spread quickly, but they are not necessarily true.

🍒Venus in 10th house- Venus show love language, how you love, how you attract love and the way you express love to people. Your love is shown through actions, although you can have a distant relationship with people, even those you love. Maybe many times you feel that you don't know how to express love or you are afraid to show it. You can also find love in your career. You have an ability to use charm and diplomacy to further your interests. Your career also includes your relationship. This means that you can succeed with your partner. Many people can interfere in your relationship. You can also attract karmic relationships (so you can learn a lot from them). Your early life is beautiful, surrounded by love and gifts. You can have very loving father.

🧃Mars in 10th house- you have a very intense way of expressing anger in front of others. Many times you can do drama in front of an audience or a large group of people. You are usually chill when it comes to people you love and you don't express your anger very impulsively or something, but In public when something it's not going Into your way. You can express your anger and very aggressive way. You are a person who fights for your success. You will always have a plan in your head to defeat others. Your career is successful and strong (many times it can contain sports, activity, energy). Your early life can be full of ups and downs. Maybe you had to fight to get what you want, learn to stand up for yourself. It can also mean that you have an aggressive father or that he is more intense.

🍭Jupiter in 10th house- you are very lucky when it comes to your career. You can achieve a lot in your life and also meet the right people who lead you to it. Your career may involve a lot of travel and other countries. You can also be a teacher to others. You are a person who has a great will to live and you don't let bad things get you down. You always find your way to your destination. You can go through a lot of growth that gets you to where you are now. You are confident, sociable, able to deal successfully with people. The father is an optimist, funny and maybe someone who travels a lot.

🫧Saturn in 10th house- saturn is at home here, it depends on the aspects, but usually you have less karma. It can indicate a stricter attitude of the father and that the father is the one who plays the main role. It can also be a father who follows the rules and does not like to do things that are not socially acceptable. Your early life may have been surrounded by too many rules and maybe distanced from your parents. Maybe you had to take care of yourself and be independent early on. Your career can only show when you have a saturn return and it can shine the most. You are self-reliant, ambitious, and likely to achieve success. There is the possibility that you will reach high position toward the end of your life, but that it will be a lonely place.

🧁Neptune in 10th house- Your career includes a lot of art, creativity, dreams. You are a person who has big dreams and you want to achieve specific dreams. But you have to be careful that people don't steal your reputation and success. You can appear to people in many different personalities. You have a more mystical and mysterious approach. You have high aspirations and are likely to be talented in a creative way. Your imagination and intuition are helpful tools in your career. Your father may not have been as much of a presence in your life. It can represent a father who is dreamy, alienated, or has addiction problems. You early home life may have been messy.

🏄🏻‍♂️Uranus in 10th house- your career is unique, different, innovative. It can mean that you get a reputation based on your intelligence and cleverness. Fame can come unexpectedly. But you can also lose fame unannounced. This position is also known for people who are in politics. You are an independent type who looks for freedom from interference. Your career tends to be marked by sudden or unusual turns and changes. Your father may be different and more independent - someone who doesn't follow the rules. Maybe your early life contained a lot of freedom but at the same time not the usual family life.

♟️Pluto in 10th house- your career involves power. You can seem like a strong opponent to many people. When you set your mind to something, you do it. You can also attract people's fear. You are secretive and almost never reveal your privacy to the public. Your father could have been someone who had power over you so this position can also represent power struggles. Your early life may have been too intense, too many secrets. You don't want anyone to have an influence on you and who you are. Your intense personality makes its mark in career matters.

🏹Chrion in 10th house- your career involves healing others or something you can do to help other people. It can also mean that you have a lot of pain caused by your father. Childhood experiences with authoritative figures or parents might have influenced a narrative where you consistently perceive yourself as u are not good enough. Chiron was a revered mentor in mythology, your wounds can pave the way for your greatest wisdom and teaching. You aspire to transform your own painful experiences into sources of enlightenment and inspiration for others. These individuals often find themselves drawn to forge their own unique professional pathways.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🧃🧚🏼‍♀️🦋

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #astrological houses #my notes #birth chart #astrology observations #10th house #career

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awfcspencer · 3 months

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You're Gonna Go Far || awfc x reader

awfc x teen!reader

prompt: requested!

warnings: none!

“Foord… will you please… tell your girlfriend to…. unhook her arm from… around my neck?” You struggled to breathe out because of the unworldly size of Katie’s bicep bulging straight into your windpipe. Katie had you stationed in a headlock in the middle of the changing room. You had jokingly called her ‘McCard’ after the Irishwoman had stolen the last piece of licorice out of your package before training. You felt the nickname was warranted but Katie playfully took offense and began to play wrestling with you.

“Babe, let the kid go.” Caitlin hummed out, not even looking up from her phone as she sat in her designated cubby. She was used to the antics the two of you would get up to, when the two of you were together, you both always seemed to find trouble. So today was no surprise.

Katie thankfully let go of your head as you stumble back and dramatically take several loud breaths out, even hurling over with your hands on your knees, acting as if you had just run 100 sprints to really up the show.

“Oh if football doesn’t work out, you have a career in acting.” Katie chuckled as she gently shoved your shoulder.

You mustered up your best Irish accent and said, “Of course missus, anything for you missus” pretending to be Katie, implying that she was an absolute simp for the Australian. Which was so incredibly true, but she wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it.

“GET BACK HERE” Katie screamed as she began chasing you around the room in circles. Running out the door as you ran straight into Leah. You quickly turn around and use her body to shield you away from an angry Katie McCabe, shifting her side to side as she tries to latch onto you from around Leah.

“Hey hey hey, leave me out of your battles!” Leah told you as she escaped from your grasp. A now more serious look on the defender’s face, “Also kid, the staff wants to speak with you before training.”

“Ooo you’re in trouble.” Kyra joked as she stood behind Leah, trying to get back into the changing room because she forgot her water bottle. You shot her a glare, “I’m bringing you down with me if so” you told her and stuck your tongue out as you left the changing room and headed towards the main office.

The Arsenal staff broke the news that you would be going out on loan to the London City Lionesses at the end of the week. They had made a massive bid for you and were excited about your arrival. You tried your best to contain your rocky emotions as you bid them farewell and headed out towards the pitch for training, wanting to escape the room as fast as you could.

Signing a professional contract was what every little kid dreamed of growing up and playing football. You were incredibly lucky to be able to have achieved your dreams, especially at a club with such a history like Arsenal. Growing up in the Arsenal youth academy, it was really all you knew. The Arsenal girls were at first mentors and role models and now you considered them family. You put in the work on and off the pitch and it had paid off. You signed your first contract at age 19 and each day in training you grew as a player.

When the ACL squad had gone out, you were able to get some professional experience on the pitch, but with many of the players returning and Arsenal leveling up during the transfer windows, you had been sidelined for the most part. But Arsenal was your home. The red and gold badge meant so much more to you.

North London is your home. Meadow Park is your home. The Emirates is your home.

Temporary.

It was the only thing running through your mind. The loan was temporary. You will eventually return back to Arsenal, return back home. You would prove to your parent club that you deserved to be here. That you deserved to play here.

“How come the kid can be late but when I’m late I have to run extra laps.” Katie joked and many of your teammates laughed as you ran onto the pitch a few minutes late after your meeting. You tried to fake a laugh, it was inherently funny, but you were focused on something much bigger. No one caught onto your act, or at least that is what you thought, trying to be extra convincing as you didn’t need the extra pestering at the moment. But Leah immediately saw through you. You had given her the same laugh when she would show you a TikTok that you saw 3 weeks ago, or when she would try and use ‘gen-z slang’ but fail terribly. It would then lead you to repeatedly call her an old woman although she was only a few years older than you. She decided to let it pass. She didn’t want to bring it up in the middle of training, but she made a mental note to ask you about it later.

At training, your mind was completely somewhere else. Your shots on goal were subpar and your passes were extremely inaccurate. All you could focus on was the impending loan and leaving your home.

“Watch out!” Beth yelled out as her ball narrowly missed your head by mere inches as you weren’t paying attention. You were physically present on the pitch, but mentally and emotionally you were so far gone.

Being on loan was never a good feeling, but it gave you the opportunity to grow your game and get solid minutes on the pitch. It was going to be beneficial to get match experience under your belt instead of warming the end of the bench, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

It was ripping you away from where you belonged, where your teammates, who were now family, were.

“Kid, are you with us?” Viv's question takes you out of your trance. She can tell by the way your eyes were glazed over, or perhaps by the ball that almost sent your head clear off your shoulders. She saw your eyes the same way when you would watch Love Island on the coach to away games and she would try to talk to you, and you wouldn’t even realize.

“Yeah yeah, all good.” You lied, hoping the way your voice dropped would be unnoticed by the Dutch woman.

You belonged in Arsenal red. The Arsenal women are your family. You couldn’t even begin to fathom leaving or playing for another club.

Your answer seemed to suffice her as you ran off to get the ball Beth had sent way off the right side of the pitch. As you walked back, you surveyed the scene.

First, you saw Leah. You lived with Leah when she graciously opened her home to you when you first signed, not wanting you to be alone at such a young age yet. She told you that she ‘saw herself in you’ after she had come and watched one of the academy games that you had scored at and gave the small crowd a badge tap. She bled Arsenal through and through, and that mindset was passed down to you. You were a true Gooner deep down to your core.

Then you saw Kim. Kim was like a mother figure for you on and off the pitch. She captained you hard, but it was only because she knew you could measure up to her strict standards. She was the first one to congratulate you on a good training session or a solid game, but also the first to give you advice on how to improve your game.

Then it was Viv. Viv was always who you turned to for advice. She knew what it was like to sign a professional contract at a young age and knew how tough it could be. You had made a good name for yourself and there were several expectations put on you, both from the public but also yourself. She always managed to say the right thing and help you calm down from the stressful nature of the sport.

When you wanted to escape the serious part of professional football, you always found yourself goofing off with Kyra or Vic. Kyra, Vic, and you were designated the “annoying younger sisters” and the three of you gladly accepted the role. Hiding matchday kits, spraying teammates with water, or playing little pranks on the girls, it was always one of you three behind the action, or sometimes all three of you worked together to terrorize the girls.

You had made several strong connections with every single girl. They were your sisters/mothers/best friends. You couldn’t even begin to imagine leaving them. They were your family.

A new location, a new team, and new teammates, it was terrifying.

You had decided to keep the loan a secret for now, it was too much to think about right now, and you were both nervous and scared. The secret was kept for roughly 2 hours because at lunch, sat across from Alessia, she had asked you to go with her to a new restaurant next week that she had been dying to try.

“I’m uh going on loan” was merely breathed out in a hushed whisper. It was the first time you had said it out loud, suddenly becoming real. You were leaving.

“Sorry didn’t catch that, what?” Alessia asked, assuming she had simply just heard you wrong and you didn’t just say that you were going on loan.

“London City Lionesses, loan, next week.” You told her as you stared down at your food. You no longer felt like eating anymore. Bidding her goodbye before she could ask any more questions. Questions that you were not ready to answer. You didn’t want to think about the loan anymore. Walking back out to the pitch to work on a few shots on goal. Wanting to do something to clear your mind.

Your sudden exit did not go unnoticed by your teammates as they now hurled questions at Alessia. She was sure you hadn’t told the other girls yet by the mere way you could barely say the word ‘loan’. She now connected the dots that that was the reason for your meeting before training, the reason you had been late. She was at a crossroads, does she tell her teammates or wait for you to say something, I mean it was your secret to begin with.

“You guys will just have to ask her,” Alessia said as she shoved more food in her mouth to avoid spilling the secret, she was never good with keeping secrets.

Several head nods targeted toward the blonde striker as they finished their meals and made moves to begin going home for the day. Something stuck with Leah though.

The fake laugh at Katie’s joke, your lack of awareness at training, and the way you left during the middle of lunch, Leah was concerned for you.

Leah drove you every day to training and she was ready to finally go home, but she could not find you anywhere. She searched the changing room, the lunchroom, and the showers. She even interrogated Kyra and Vic thoroughly to see if they had something to do with your absence. You were nowhere to be found.

“Leah she’s on the training pitch. She has been out there since lunch. I think that is where she escaped off too.” Viv told Leah as she entered the changing room again when she started to recheck each location to see if you had suddenly appeared. Viv had caught sight of you out there as she finished up her cooldown exercises in the gym.

Back on the training pitch, you practiced over and over. Running through different dribbling drills and hitting specific targets on goals, you were dead tired. But your mind was incredibly active. What if you never returned back to Arsenal? What if Arsenal didn’t want you anymore? Maybe the loan was a way of sending you off to be someone else’s problem? Tears began to fall from your eyes, but you continued practicing. You needed to prove you belonged on this team. All of your shots were messy and ill-timed, but you continued to practice.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Let’s go home, the car is already started.” Leah yelled out to you as she walked towards you. She was clearly unaware of what emotions you were currently going through, and the way tears fell freely down to your cheeks. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She asked as she took in your state, pulling you away from the goalpost and bringing you in for a hug, rubbing circles on your upper back as you sobbed into her chest.

For the next couple of minutes, you stood on the pitch in Leah’s arms, embracing her warm nature and comforting essence as you calmed down a bit. Breaking the silence after your breathing had returned to a normal pace and the tears had stopped, “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Now shifting the two of you to sit on the pitch next to each other, but she never let go of your hand, intertwining them as she sat.

“The staff meeting was about me going on loan to London City Lionesses at the end of the week. I’m just really scared Lee. I don’t want to leave Arsenal.” You wanted to sob again thinking about leaving, even the mention of it made your heart break even more.

Leah’s more serious face turned now soft as she brushed her thumb along the top of your hand, understanding now your odd character at training all day. “I know going on loan can be scary, but you are going to grow as a player, and you will return back to us kid. You are too vital for us to lose forever. The staff just wants you to get some more professional experience and then come back to us ready to score goals and dominate.” She spoke as if she meant every single sentence, and it was because she did, and you knew that.

“So you’re not mad?” Leah was Arsenal’s number one fan, you weren’t sure how she would take you leaving and playing for another club.

“Of course, I am not mad. You’re gonna go far kid, show London City your talents, and then eventually bring them back to Arsenal kid.” Bringing you upwards as she hugged you tightly.

“Let’s go home now yeah?” she asked as you simply nodded into her chest. Pulling you by your hand as she led you to the car.

Maybe going on loan would be a good thing. You would excel in a new environment, no matter how scary it was, and then return home. You would prove all the doubt in your head about not being a good enough player for Arsenal and show you could play for this team. Play in the Arsenal red.

On the way home, Leah sent a text message to a couple of the Arsenal girls about the situation and Leah requested a team movie night at her place. All of the girls were immediately on board and would be in attendance.

When you arrived home, you wanted to be alone. It was a long day and you needed to decompress a bit from the loan news and ultimately a bad day at training. You told Leah you would be up in your room if she needed anything and that you would be back down for dinner later.

A few hours later there was a soft knock at your door and assuming it was Leah, you told her to come in. Sat on your bed with your eyes closed, thinking about everything.

"Hey kid, Leah told me about the loan." Opening your eyes to find the Irishwoman standing in the middle of your bedroom. She made her way over to your bed and sat down horizontally next to you.

"I remember when I went on loan. It was scary, yes, but it made me really appreciate what I had here at Arsenal. I worked so hard and I was able to return. I have no doubt in my mind that you will come back to us, kid." She explained to you. You didn't feel the need to respond, instead pulling her in for a hug. "There are some people here downstairs for you too." She whispered in your ear.

Together you walked downstairs to the living room and were met with several of your teammate's family. A majority of them were dressed in comfy clothes, passing around snacks on the large couch that Leah had.

"Movie night," Leah told you as she came behind you and wrapped you in a hug.

You settled in between Alessia and Leah as everyone decided on a movie to watch. Beth advocated for a movie that really nobody wanted to watch as Viv tried to negotiate with her and chose a different film.

Finally settling on a Disney classic that Leah had suggested, knowing it was your favorite of all time, Tangled, and everyone agreed.

The movie night was relaxing and chill until about halfway through when Katie began to get bored and started throwing popcorn at you from her location opposite of you on the couch. Of course that gave you the right to start throwing small gummy bears back at the Irish. A couple of them were a bit misplaced as they now hit Kyra who immediately joined in throwing her own small chocolates.

A now full small food fight happening in the living room as teammates were getting hit with snacks and throwing back whatever was thrown. Katie had left her spot on the couch and hurdled towards you, jumping on you as she battled away your swinging arms.

"Let me go Mccabe!" you screamed laughing as she placed you in a similar headlock from the morning.

Leah just let everything happen, not caring how her once perfectly clean living room was now a mess with pieces of candy thrown everywhere, or how you and Katie fought on her couch. For the first time today, Leah saw and heard you laugh and after finding the sad news, it was all she wanted when she planned the movie night, to see you have some fun and laugh.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso blurbs #womens soccer #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #awfc x reader #awfc imagine #leah williamson #alessia russo #vivianne miedema #beth mead #katie mccabe #woso couples

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dreamingonclds · 3 months

Text

Unintentional | FA14

Summary: Y/n and Fernando Alonso were both professionals, both only seemingly having time for their careers. They both have had their fair share of relationships but they’ve never become serious for either of them. Y/n is an A-list celebrity, a highly respected actress and Fernando a champion athlete, a Formula One driver. Nobody could’ve ever imagined both of their paths to cross but, they do. It was said that their relationship was destined to fail, their 16 year age gap being too large to be sustained. But, to everyone's surprise, a blessing they created without intention was just enough to fill that gap, like fate.

Pairing: Fernando Alonso x Reader

Word Count: 2,722

Warnings: None

Chapter 1

Note: If you would like to be added to the taglist, please @ yourself in the comments!

As you meticulously applied your lipstick, your mind couldn’t help but wander to the thought of who you would meet tonight. Your stomach bubbled with nerves, a sensation you always got with meeting new people; despite how long you had been in the industry for. You met new people almost weekly, nothing new in the entertainment industry. You were used to meeting wealthy business people and pretending to care about anything that came out of their mouths. But you were genuine about meeting new directors, writers, and filmmakers; you genuinely cared about what they had to say.

Tonight was no different, you had been invited to a dinner by some friends. It just so happened that those friends were in the industry too and it just so happened that the dinner would be in Beverly Hills. So, you knew that tonight would be a night of pretending to care because the people who actually cared for the artistry of entertainment would never choose to dine in Beverly Hills. And you were a professional, so you sucked it up, put a smile on your face, and decided to have a good night.

So, you decided that to have a good night you had to have a good outfit. You were a public figure, a very popular one at that, so you did have to dress to impress. And you didn’t mind, you loved fashion and you loved to shop so it all worked out. You also cared about your appearance and wanted people to like you, but not for how you looked. You wanted people to like you for the person you were and what you brought to the table. And unfortunately, that goes hand in hand with physicality in this world. So you slip on a back silk dress because those always do the job.

Arriving at the restaurant, you thank your chauffeur as he helps you out of the car and guides you to the entrance. Stepping into the restaurant you’re immediately greeted by your friends and introduced to all the unfamiliar faces. Soon enough you're all making your way through the restaurant, several diners turning their heads to you all, some trying to sneakily snap pictures which you notice every time. Once you're seated at the ridiculously large table, you notice the empty seat beside you and around the table.

“People missing?” you ask your friend sitting right across from you.

“Yeah, they’re running a little late but they should be here very soon.” she answers, giving you a small smile.

After a little conversation, you all turn your heads to the chatter that is seemingly making its way towards you all. Sure enough, it’s the missing half of your party and as you scan your eyes through all of them, one catches your eye.

“Here they are!” your friend announces, standing up to greet them and everyone follows.

In the midst of the commotion, bodies moving left to right you hear your friend declare seating arrangements.

“Fernando, why don’t you sit next to Y/N, she speaks Spanish too.” she says pointing you out so he knows who you are.

You see a man nod and begin to approach, you notice the brunette with semi-shaggy hair and a short beard. Sure enough, it’s the one who caught your eye earlier on. He greets you with a kiss on both cheeks that you reciprocate and helps you into your seat.

“What a gentleman, thanks. Fernando, right?” you look towards him, wanting to start a conversation like the rest of the table is doing

“Of course, Y/n?” he nods in response and you do the same, noticing his accent. As you make eye contact, you begin to note the faint lines around his eyes and the maturity of his face. Your mind begins to wonder, whether he’ll take you seriously noticing the lack of physical maturity on your 26-year-old face. Usually, men over 5 years older than you never took you seriously, their conversations always started professional but quickly turned to comments about your body and sexual experience.

Before either of you could get another word in, the waiter begins to ask for your drinks of choice. Usually, you would go for a beverage that would liven you up but, you had a rule that you only drank at dinner when everybody at the table were your friends. So, you asked for the next best thing.

“I’ll take a coke please.” you tell the waiter, who quickly jots it down and looks to Fernando next

“Uh, I’ll take the same please” Fernando turns to look at you with a confused look

“Oh, I don’t know everybody at this table so, I’d like to get to know you with a sober mind.” you tell him matter of factly, hoping that was the explanation he was looking for. Although it was the truth, you did want to get to know the rest of the table; but specifically him. In what seemed like record time, the waiter comes back setting down all of your drinks.

“Igualmente” Likewise he nods towards the brown beverage in front of him.

“I thought maybe you were still too young to drink, you look young, why do you want to get to know me?” he asks, bringing his glass to his lips.

“I’m 26, not that young. And you're sitting right beside me, we have a long night ahead. Why not get to know you; your friends.” you add the last part in, trying to deflect and hide your interest in him; hoping he doesn’t catch on.

“Why’d you copy me, I mean no offense but, you don’t look like you just turned 21?” he brought up your age first, two can play at that game.

He chuckles, still looking at you.

“I’m 42, not that young either.” he says in truth. And before you can respond he speaks again.

“Pretty girl, pretty dress.” he brings his glass to his lips, looking away nonchalantly.

“And you’re sitting right beside me.” he states matter of factly, using your own words against you.

Your jaw drops the slightest and your eyebrows scrunch in surprise. His confidence, so abrupt it takes you a few seconds to bring your face back to its natural resting place. Despite your efforts to look cool and unaffected, you can see the pride your reaction gives him. With a teaseful look in his eye, he offers you a smirky smile that makes your stomach erupt in butterflies. Your cheeks and ears go hot, and you now find it hard to sit still or contain the smile pulling at your lips.

The rest of the night goes exactly as expected, the two of you deep in conversation and completely ignoring the rest of the table. There’s a tension that's rising that even the others can feel. Neither of you even realize how many times they’ve teased you two or tried to get you to join their conversation. You’ve also failed to notice the pointed phones from other diners and sneaky restaurant workers.

As you all are ending your dinner, restaurant patrons and workers start making their way to your table. Asking for pictures and autographs from you and your party alike, both separately and together. Little did you know that those images would lead to a whirlwind of speculation, the world seemed to spiral at the thought of you together.

Your group converses outside the restaurant for a few minutes, a back and forth of what the plans for the rest of the night were. You stood there to yourself contemplating whether you wanted to continue your night. You had a fitting in the morning and a couple of online meetings you had to prepare for. Considering it was nearing 1 am, you decided to head home with a professional attitude to your day ahead.

Before you can interrupt the group to bid your goodbye, Fernando makes his way to your side.

“Are you going out for more drinks too?” he turns to you.

“I have meetings in the morning, I think I’m just gonna head home.” you nod your head.

“Me too actually, I drove here by myself. Let me take you home.” he points at himself.

“Yeah, that’d be nice actually; thank you.”

You both take a few steps forward towards the group, ready to bid your farewells together. But before either of you can mutter a word, your friend's chatter amplifies into a passionate discussion about who knows what. Fernando turns to look at you, an amused smile on his lips that turns into a chuckle after noticing your surprised expression.

“Mejor nos esperamos.” We better wait, he jokes, and you giggle looking towards him, only to realize his eyes were already set on you.

“Buena idea” Good idea, you say with a smile, continuing the playful vibe of the setting. You two carry on with your light-hearted conversation. Unconsciously backing away from the group until your back hits the restaurant's ornate rail. Fernando holding on to the rail on your right side, halfway caging you in, seemingly protecting you from passersby giving you questioning glances; realizing who you were.

Your conversation continues and you two get lost in getting to know each other. You learn that he’s a champion F1 driver and he learns the movies he’s seen you in, not knowing it was you. Before he can finish saying where his next race will be, you're drawn out of your heart to heart by shouts from your group.

“Hey lovebirds, you guys coming?” your friend shouts pointing down the street, implying a prolonged night out.

A sheepish smile forms on your lips and you shake your head, “We both have busy mornings tomorrow. We’re gonna skip this one!”

“Alright then, don’t have too much fun!” someone teases, causing the rest of the group to laugh.

Fernando smiles and shakes his head at the joke, “I’m just going to take her home!”

You all exchange thank you’s and appreciation for dinner before saying your goodbyes. Then begin to make your way down your respective sides of the street. He leads you to his car, not in front of you but by walking closely behind you, guiding you with a light touch to your back. He helps you in, chivalrously, taking your bag from you, opening the door, and taking your hand to help you in. You take notice of what car he drove, a luxurious sports car, that to you matched the reputation of an F1 champion. You questioned yourself on if you wanted him to live up to the reputation of a man like him.

Before he can drive off, he makes sure you’re both buckled in and asks for your address. You give it to him and then you're off to your luxurious hotel, which the movie you were in Beverly Hills for set you up with. You two continue your conversation the whole time, only stopping when Fernando gets out of the car first to open your door. He walks you to your room, as he insists on “dropping you off”. But really, you’re more than happy to oblige to his request as you didn’t want the night to end.

“No paps.” Fernando blurts randomly, as you both make your way through the lobby.

You scan the room and realize he was right, you only saw the employees and the occasional normal guest.

“Oh yeah” you acknowledge, normally every hotel in Beverly Hills was swamped with paparazzi no matter the time. So you worked it up to luck, you two got lucky tonight. Little did you know that this would foreshadow the rest of your relationship.

You make it to your room and unlock the door, stepping into the doorframe and turning to face Fernando. You two stand there for a few seconds, just staring at each other, Fernando's hands in his pants pockets and your hand on the door, an undeniable tension lingers between you two.

“Do you want to come in?” you suggest hesitantly, pointing inside, ready to face rejection.

“Uh yeah, can I?” he answers quickly, surprising you and catching you off guard.

“Come on in.” you say, widening the door and stepping back, letting him inside. He makes his way towards the living room area of your massive hotel room and you follow him. Before you can sit down on the couch beside him, you notice the complimentary bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, now sitting in water that was ice a few hours ago. You go to the table and pull out the bottle from the bucket, wrapping it in a towel to prevent it from dripping.

“Quieres?” Do you want some? You offer him, showing him the bottle.

“Por favor” Please He stands up and heads towards you, taking the bottle from your hands to open it himself. You hold up the two glasses, also on the table, for him to pour into. After pouring, he sets the bottle down and you hand him his glass.

“Gracias” Thank you You both say at the same time, which causes you both to giggle.

“Let's go to the balcony” you suggest and head outside, he follows you but, not before grabbing the bottle to take with.

You lean on the rail, one forearm resting on it while your other arm brings the glass to your lips. Fernando places the bottle on the small table conveniently outside and then he goes to stand in front of you. He halfway cages you in again, one arm holding the rail close to your side, and you notice this protective pattern of his. Both of you stand there, not saying anything with words but instead through the looks you’re giving each other.

“You are very beautiful.” he blurts out, scanning your face with a pensive expression on his face.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion for a quick second before smiling and meeting his eyes.

“Thank you, you are very beautiful too.” you respond in honesty and nod your head when he looks at you confused. A shy smile breaks onto his face and he looks at the ground stepping away from you.

He looks back up, licking his lips ever so slightly and takes the glass from your hand. He goes to place yours and his glass on the table while you stand there confused. He comes back to his original spot in front of you but this time way closer than before. His hand comes up to cup the side of your face and your eyes look deep into his as his thumb caresses your cheek. You go to say something but are cut off by his lips pressed against yours. You quickly catch on and move your lips with his. His hand comes off of your face and moves to your waist, you step away from the rail to try and get closer to him. He wraps both of his arms low around your waist and his fingers dance right above your bum. You instinctively bring your arms up to wrap around his neck and your fingers go to dance in his hair at the nape of his neck.

He smoothly turns you both around so now he is against the railing. Your makeout continues for a short minute until you realize something and your eyes open.

“I don’t kiss on the first date.” you say exasperated, pulling away and trying to catch your breath. He leans back trying to get a look at you, breathing heavily, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“But I’ll make an exception tonight.” you say quickly, he smiles before you lean in and desperately attack his lips again. He grabs your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist and walks inside towards the bed. He gently lays you down and stands back up separating your lips, he swiftly removes his shirt before hungrily coming back down on top of you.

The rest of the night goes as expected and contrary to your usual experience with men, he stays the night. You both sleep comfortably in each other's arms, not even wondering how it all led to this moment. Although you were both trying to figure out why this all felt so natural, you both knew one thing, this was the start of something special.

Taglist:

@minkyungseokie

@ursforever129

@thatchickwiththecamera

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pucksandpower · 9 months

Note

hi love!! i’m not sure if you’re talking requests so completely ignore this if you’re not but, i’m in love with your grid kids series and i was wondering if you could do something with the grid kids that goes more into readers line of work?🫶🏼

Grid Kids: She Means Business

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your career as a renowned sports psychologist means you often work with your husband and grid kids

Series Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel: Meet Cute

Red Bull Racing’s pit wall is a hive of activity during the practice session for the Monaco Grand Prix. Engineers, strategists, and everyone in between are glued to their screens, analyzing data and communicating with the drivers.

You’re there in an official capacity, hired by Red Bull Racing to conduct a series of workshops to help the team, particularly the drivers, cope with the mental pressures of racing. With a headset on, you’re mostly observing, making notes on communication dynamics, when suddenly a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

You look up, slightly startled, to see none other than Sebastian Vettel, the team’s star driver, smiling down at you. His mop of hair sweaty and slightly tousled from the helmet he just took off after finishing up with FP2, the impish twinkle in his eyes making you feel … something.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ...” you stammer, suddenly feeling a bit out of your element.

Sebastian sits down next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m here to see what the mysterious new hire is up to.”

You chuckle, “Well, if you must know, I’m observing team dynamics, communication patterns ... very thrilling stuff.”

He feigns a gasp, “So you’re spying on us?”

“In the most professional way possible,” you reply with a smirk.

Sebastian laughs, the sound genuine and contagious. “Well, I hope we’re giving you some good material.”

You lean in this time, matching his playful tone, “You? Always.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment of charged silence, before Sebastian grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You smile back, “You should.”

The two of you chat easily, talking about the intricacies of the sport and the importance of mental preparedness.

As the session winds down and Mark Webber also makes his way back into the garage, Sebastian looks over at you, “You know, for someone who’s here to observe, you’re quite the distraction.”

Your cheeks warm, “Is that so?”

He nods, mock serious, “Absolutely. It’s a problem. I think we might need a one-on-one session to discuss it further.”

You laugh, “I’ll have to check my schedule but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Sebastian winks, “Looking forward to it,” and with that he’s off to debrief with his engineers.

As you remove your headset, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This job assignment just got a lot more interesting.

Max Verstappen: Unloading the Past

Ten years later, the Red Bull Racing hospitality suite is buzzing with activity: the clink of glasses, murmurs of conversation, and the distant roar of engines echoing from the track. But in a quiet corner, there’s a space that feels a world apart.

Soft, ambient lighting casts a serene glow, a few comfortable chairs are arranged in a circle, and on the coffee table lies an assortment of fidget tools, from stress balls to sensory mats. This is your corner, specially designed for individual sessions.

Max Verstappen hesitates at the entrance. His eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. It’s clear that beneath that façade of unshakable confidence lies vulnerability.

You rise, offering a comforting smile. “Hey, Max. Ready?”

He gives a tentative nod, following you in. “I’m not ... I’m not sure how to do this,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, guiding him to a chair. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just start wherever you feel comfortable.”

Taking a deep breath, Max begins, his words tumbling out, “It’s just ... sometimes, when I’m out there on the track, I feel like that kid again.” His voice cracks and he pauses, searching for the right words. “The kid who always felt he wasn’t good enough no matter how hard I tried.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue, “Tell me about that kid.”

As Max delves into memories of his childhood, stories of relentless training sessions, the weight of expectations, and the struggle to fit in, you listen. Every word, every pause, every shift in his tone paints a picture of a boy who was thrust into the world of racing at a young age, grappling with the colossal pressure to prove himself.

You gently prod, asking him to revisit specific incidents, encouraging him to express his feelings, and offering insights when necessary.

As the session progresses, Max’s demeanor changes. His initial hesitation gives way to openness, vulnerability transforms into strength, and slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

“You know,” you say softly, “It’s natural to carry the scars of our past with us but it’s important to remember they don’t define us.”

Max looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “But how do I move past it?”

You want so badly to reach out and hug him — this young man who you consider a son in all but blood — but hold yourself back. You’re both here for work and, right now, Max needs you as a professional and not a mom.

“By acknowledging it, understanding it, and then channeling it. Every time you get in the car, it’s an opportunity to rewrite that narrative. Not for anyone else but for yourself.”

Max takes a moment, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a weight visibly lifted off his shoulders.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Anytime, Max. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. Oh, and remember, we’re all meeting at that little Italian place Charles recommended for dinner.”

There’s a lightness in Max’s voice that wasn’t there before, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles Leclerc: Bittersweet Memories

The setting sun casts a somber glow across the paddock at Suzuka Circuit. It’s a track rich with history, triumphs, and heartbreaks. For Charles Leclerc, it’s where he lost Jules Bianchi, his godfather, mentor, and friend.

You find Charles seated alone in a quiet part of the Ferrari motorhome, gazing out the window. The overflowing sadness in his eyes nearly makes you stop in your tracks.

“Hey,” you greet gently, not wanting to startle him. “Mind if I join you?”

He offers a small nod, his gaze still distant.

Sitting down next to him, you allow a comfortable silence to settle, giving him the space to open up when he’s ready. Moments pass before Charles finally speaks, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“Every time I come here,” he starts, “it feels like I’m reliving that day. The memories, the pain, it all just floods back.”

You nod, understandingly, “Grief has a way of doing that, especially when tied to such a tangible reminder.”

Charles looks down, fiddling with his bracelet. “It’s hard, you know? Racing on the same track where I lost him. Every corner, every turn, it’s like he’s there with me.”

Taking a deep breath, you offer, “Maybe that’s a way for you to connect with Jules. To honor his memory, to carry his spirit with you every lap you drive.”

Charles’ eyes shimmer with tears. “I want to make him proud, to show that everything he taught me wasn’t in vain. But sometimes, the weight of it all just becomes too much.”

You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Grief isn’t linear. There will be days when it hits harder, especially in places like this. You just have to remember it’s not about racing against the pain but learning that it’s okay to race with it.”

He meets your gaze, searching for strength, “How do I do that?”

“By allowing yourself to feel, by acknowledging the pain, and by channeling it into your drive. Jules might not be here physically but he’s with you in spirit. And every time you get behind that wheel is another opportunity to show that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a glimmer of determination returning to his eyes.

You give him a comforting smile. “I’m glad I could help, even if it’s just a little. We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

Lance Stroll: Nepo Babies Have Feelings Too

Inside the Aston Martin team lounge, screens show replays of the latest race, commentators discussing various drivers’ performance. One topic that often comes up is Lance Stroll. The chatter revolves around his father’s ownership of the team and whether Lance truly earned his seat or if he’s just a product of nepotism.

You notice Lance sitting a bit apart from the rest, headphones on but his face is a giveaway. The furrowed brows, the downward curve of his lips —he’s clearly overheard the unsubtle whispers.

You make your way over, gesturing to ask if he’d like some company. He nods, removing his headphones.

“Those comments,” you begin gently, “they don’t define you.”

Lance sighs, his frustration palpable. “It’s just ... no matter what I do, how hard I work, how much I improve, it always comes back to the same thing. That I’m only here because of my father.”

You nod, understanding the weight of such judgments. “It’s tough, Lance. But remember, others’ opinions of you are just that — opinions. They aren’t the truth and they most definitely are not your truth.”

He looks up, eyes searching. “But how do I prove them wrong? How do I show that I deserve to be here?”

“It starts with belief,” you say, leaning forward for emphasis, “belief in yourself. You’ve trained, you’ve raced, you’ve faced challenges head-on, and you’ve earned your spot. Your journey in F1 isn’t just about your last name. It’s about every late-night on the simulator, every risk taken on the track, every lap you’ve driven.”

Lance nods slowly, taking in your words. “But the chatter, it’s just so deafening sometimes.”

You offer a comforting smile. “You can’t control what others say but you can control how you react. Every time you’re on that track, you have the power to redefine the narrative, to let your skills speak louder than any spiteful words.”

Motivation straightens his hunched shoulders, the weight of doubt lifting slightly. “So focus on the drive, not the noise?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “Your talent, your dedication, that’s what matters. Let the world see Lance Stroll, the driver, not just Lance Stroll, the son.”

He chuckles, “Easier said than done.”

You wink, “That’s why you have a stellar support system. Lean on us whenever the noise gets too loud.”

George Russell: Comparing Comparisons

It’s a cool afternoon at the Silverstone Circuit and the entire paddock is buzzing with excitement. There’s an added layer of intrigue to the British Grand Prix this season. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, will be racing alongside his much younger compatriot, George Russell, as teammates for the first time.

In the Mercedes team garage, George is meticulously going over his race data, replaying certain turns and maneuvers in his head. But an undertone of tension cuts through his concentration.

You walk over, picking up on his restlessness. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

He glances up, forcing a smile. “That obvious, huh? It’s just racing alongside Lewis … it’s a dream come true but also incredibly daunting.”

You nod, understanding the pressure of standing next to a giant in the sport. “It’s natural to feel that way. Lewis has carved a legacy in F1 and now you’re right beside him, sharing the same tracks in the same car.”

George sighs, “That’s the thing. Everywhere I turn, there’s a comparison. It’s not just about my performance anymore, it’s about how I measure up to him.”

You lean against the worktable, choosing your words carefully. “Here’s the thing, George. You can’t control comparisons or expectations but you can control your race. Every driver brings something unique to the track. Lewis has his legacy, yes, but you have your own journey and story still to build.”

George nods slowly, pondering over your words. “I want to be able to block all of that out. I’ve tried every single weekend so far. But it’s hard. How do I focus on my race and not the looming shadow beside me?”

“There’s no one right answer,” you sympathize. “Look, Lewis is an icon and racing alongside him is an opportunity to learn, to grow. But remember, you’ve earned your spot here. This is as much your race as it is his.”

He chuckles, “You always know exactly what to say.”

You smile, “Just a little wisdom from the sidelines. Trust your training, trust your instincts, and let George Russell shine.”

Lando Norris: Never Grow Up

It’s a warm and bright morning but the mood inside the McLaren motorhome doesn’t quite reflect the sunny atmosphere outside. Lando Norris sits in a corner, earbuds in, lost deep in thought. The usual playful energy that surrounds him is missing today.

You approach, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Room for one more?”

He looks up, offering a half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

You settle beside him, waiting for him to speak. After a brief pause, Lando finally breaks the silence. “Do you think I’m too childish?”

You’re slightly taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Lando sighs, “I overheard some comments from a few crew members from another team. They said that no one takes me seriously because I’m always joking around, always laughing. They think that I’m not mature enough for this sport.”

You consider his words, understanding where he’s coming from. "Formula 1 is intense. It’s demanding and requires immense focus and dedication. But it’s also about personality, about bringing your unique touch to the grid.”

He nods but still seems unsure. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m not taken seriously because of how I act?”

You lean in, ensuring he listens to every word. “Lando, your driving speaks volumes. Every time you get behind the wheel, you showcase your skill and your tenacity. The playful side of you, the side that loves to laugh and bring joy, that’s a part of who you are. It doesn’t diminish your talent or your dedication.”

Lando seems to ponder your words, “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself. Like there’s something wrong with being myself.”

You take his hand into both of yours, “Every driver feels that way at some point. But remember, the beauty of this sport is that it’s as much about character as it is about speed. Your playful nature, your genuine laughter, it brings a freshness to the paddock. Embrace it.”

He chuckles, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “So be me and let my racing do the talking?”

“Without a doubt,” you confirm. “Stay true to yourself. The world needs more genuine smiles and more authentic laughter. Then, on the track, just keep doing what you do best.”

Lando grins, “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

Mick Schumacher: What’s In a Name?

The aftermath of a race is evident inside the Haas garage. Engineers are engaged in post-race analysis, the car undergoing routine checks. A desolate Mick Schumacher sits among the organized chaos, his helmet still on, concealing his face.

Walking over, you notice the subtle tremors in his frame, the weight of something heavy weighing on his young shoulders. Gently, you tap on his helmet, signaling for him to lift it. When he does, the anguish in his eyes is palpable.

“You okay, Mick?” you ask softly.

He tries to answer but his voice breaks. Swallowing hard, he confesses, “I just ... I can’t do it. I can’t ever live up to the name.”

You know the gravity of his sentiment. Being Michael Schumacher’s son in Formula 1 is no easy feat. The legacy, the expectations, the constant comparisons that follow Mick everywhere — it’s overwhelming.

You sit down beside him, “I won’t pretend to understand the pressure you feel but remember this: You are not just your last name. You are Mick Schumacher, your own person with your own journey, your own challenges, and your own victories.”

“But everywhere I go, it’s always about him,” Mick interjects, frustration evident. “The great Michael Schumacher’s son. Can he do it? Will he be even a fraction as good? It’s suffocating.”

You nod, acknowledging his feelings. “Your father is a legend and it’s natural for people to draw parallels. But racing isn’t just about legacy, it's about passion, determination, and personal growth. The shape your path takes in this sport is yours alone.”

Mick wipes away a tear, his gaze distant. “But what if I never truly make it? What if I never even score a point much less a podium or a win? What if I’m always just the son of the legend, never a making a name for myself in my own right?”

You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Then you make peace with that and find joy in what you managed to achieve regardless. You are among twenty of the best drivers on the planet right now. Getting here is no easy feat. Not every path has to lead to the same destination. Maybe you’ll carve a different legacy, one that is uniquely yours.”

Mick seems to ponder over your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just ... I want to make him proud.”

You smile gently, “By being yourself, by giving every race your best shot, you already are. It’s not the titles or the championships that define us. It’s our heart and the impact we make on those around us. And trust me, your heart is in the right place. Your father would only ever want you to be happy, whatever that entails.”

With a deep breath, Mick nods, a content smile crossing his lips. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You give him an encouraging pat, “I’m always in your corner. Remember that it’s not the shadow that defines us but how we emerge from it.”

Mick stands up, ready to face another day, another race. The legacy of his last name will always be there but he’s slowly learning that his own identity holds value and strength too.

Toto Wolff & Christian Horner: Couples Therapy

The sun filters through the sheer curtains of the sophisticated office, casting dancing patterns on the wooden floor. A blend of vanilla and sandalwood wafts through the air, lending to an ambiance of calm. But this illusion is quickly shattered by two animated voices engaged in heated debate, echoing from the hallway. The door flings open to reveal Toto Wolff and Christian Horner, each determined to prove their point even before the session officially starts, and the cameras and sound equipment stationed around the room quickly zero in on them.

You sit in your chair, a hint of amusement in your eyes, as you address them. “Gentlemen, welcome! How about we start by taking our seats?”

Toto and Christian hesitantly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible.

“So,” you begin, trying to contain your laughter, “Drive to Survive mentioned you two might need some ... couples therapy?” You add air quotes for emphasis.

Christian immediately rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous! We’re competitors, not some bickering married couple.”

Toto chimes in, “Although he does nag like my grandmother.”

Christian retorts, “Oh please, Toto! The way you carry on, anyone would think you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

You hold up a hand, “Alright, let’s take a deep breath. We’re here to find common ground.”

The two team principals continue their banter, airing their grievances, from stolen engineers to wind tunnels to secret agreements. You listen, scribbling notes, occasionally nodding or offering a “hmm” of understanding.

After what seems like an eternity, you interrupt their tirade. “Okay, I’ve come to a conclusion. You both are quite the pair. But instead of directing this ... energy at each other, how about a united front? Surely there’s something, or someone, you both dislike equally?”

Christian and Toto exchange glances, a mischievous glint appearing simultaneously. “The producers,” they chorus.

You swear that you can hear the men standing out of camera range behind you — the producers in question — audibly swallow.

You lean in, intrigued. “Go on.”

Toto grins, “They’ve been poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction out of us. It’s why they set this whole thing up in the first place. And while we do love the drama,” he eyes Christian, “maybe it’s time they get a taste of their own medicine.”

Christian nods in agreement, “A united front to give the producers a season they won’t forget.”

You clap your hands together, “Perfect! So what’s the plan?”

As the session concludes, Toto and Christian leave, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughter echoing down the hall.

You lean back in your chair, chuckling. “Well, that was certainly one for the books.”

You turn around to face the Drive to Survive crew already packing their equipment and producers looking shell shocked . You’ve never seen grown men look quite so pale. But they only have themselves to blame — the session was their idea in the first place.

Sometimes you really love your job.

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 28 days

Text

Five More Games

Batter Up Chapter 3

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: You haven't seen your boyfriend in over two weeks, your longing for Joel interrupts a FaceTime session. Warnings: smut, baseball talk, FaceTime mutual masturbation, pining, softness, Joel cum's all over his stomach Words: 3,000 A/N: These two have previously appeared together in 18 Seasons and Golden Corral. I wanted to write something super self indulgent to celebrate the month anniversary of posting my first fic Golden Walkway on here. I also want to shout out two people who helped me in this whole writing process. @ohheypedrito for being my steadfast fellow obsessor and idea bouncer offer and @justagalwhowrites for her very sweet response when I asked for words of advice that ultimately made me take the big step to hitting post.

Masterlist Playlist

⚾️⚾️⚾️

Joel has internally struggled this season: unhappy with his new team, unhappy with his new city, unhappy with the game he loved. Unfamiliar fans, unfamiliar apartment, unfamiliar restaurants, unfamiliar grocery store. The only familiar thing for Joel is you, taking the train down to the city whenever you can, staying in his aforementioned unfamiliar apartment making it seem more like home. You of course knew you couldn’t go to any of his games and openly root for him, but you were happy to watch the game on his couch in his new home, welcoming him back with a hug, smelling the sweat of the game still on him… Joel always far too impatient to shower at the stadium, too excited to get back to you.

The two of you stuck together living a secret nobody knew about, the two of you never admitting the love you had for each other was growing into something loud enough that soon everybody would hear. What would your dad think? What would Joel’s old teammates think? What would his agent think? What would your coworkers think? What would Sarah think?

For eight months you and Joel have done this alone, the only people privy to your relationship is whomever might look over at him placing his hand on your thigh at a restaurant, a couple of close friends of yours, and maybe the doorman of Joel’s apartment building delivering packages addressed to you. No, you didn’t want to live in this lie, but to stay with Joel and know him like you do, all of the struggles were worth it.

When he got off the call letting him know that the Philadelphia Liberties signed him to a one year deal, Joel didn’t call his daughter, he didn’t call his brother… he called you. Playing in Philly meant he would only be an hour and a half train ride away. How many more times could you make empty excuses as to why you needed to fly back home to Texas? He knew the toll it was taking on you personally and professionally, he couldn’t give you up, but he also couldn’t live with himself always seeing how tired you were as you stepped out of the airport and into his car.

The worst part of all of this… Joel was having one of the best seasons of his career. Articles and reporters all repeating over and over how at his age he was having a banner year. Joel loved a challenge and he loved to take his frustrations to the field, playing harder and more focused than ever.

He wanted to share his accomplishments with you, publicly. He wanted to see you as a part of the wives and girlfriends group, knowing how much you’d stick out against all of the preened and fancy clothed wives, never understanding why they dressed up the way they did to watch a ball game in the Summer heat. He wanted to see you cheering louder than anyone else as he rounded the bases after hitting a home run. He wanted his teammates to tease him for having a picture of you taped up in his locker. He wanted to see you waiting for him in the tunnel after the game wearing his jersey. He wanted to be able to call you his to anyone who’d listen.

He hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in almost twenty years. Once Sarah’s mom left, he gave up dating and significant others to focus on the game and being a dad. Maybe there was just never anybody worth it, but you? You were worth it, and he hated that he couldn’t show everyone how much he loved you.

——

“Next week’s the All Star Game, you still able to head home?” Joel asks as he watches you change into one of his old Capitals shirts you took as a sleep shirt.

He loves FaceTime. For years he rolled his eyes at the idea of having to look at who’s he’s talking to… until he learned he can watch you go through your nightly routine in your bedroom. Now he gets to watch you apply your face lotion, feeling a bit like a voyeur looking in on your world from your MacBook screen. He especially likes FaceTime when you angle the laptop on the bed to show him your body as you make yourself cum while chanting his name and how much you miss him.

“Yeah, so far so good. Can’t believe we’re doing this, especially seeing as you’re in the actual game and we’re letting everybody know the night before. What happens if it’s not good and it affects your g—”

“I’ll be fine no matter what. It has to be done, I don’t know how many times I can tell Sarah my agent is texting. I think she knows something’s up, she’s too smart, she knows I don’t have friends,” he sighs. “How do you think your parents are gonna take it?”

“I think my mom will be cool with it, she always liked you, especially because of Sarah. My dad? I don’t know, I think he’ll be fine but I also think he’ll have a lot of reservations about us and how it’ll look once everyone finds out. He’s going to drop some business words and worry how it might end up as tabloid fodder amongst baseball people, and I fully understand his issues.” You get into your bed, moving the computer to lay next to you, Joel’s face and broad shoulders taking up most of the screen, it’s such a pitiful replacement to having his warm body next to you. “I don’t know, I wish we could just not do this but be able to do everything like normal people.”

“There’s nothing normal about this, I’m in a hotel room in Seattle and I just got done eating $45 grilled chicken and brown rice from room service. You just closed your blinds with a remote in your apartment with a view of Central Park. We’re not a normal couple sweetheart,” Joel gives you his reassuring smile, his dimple pressing into his skin, you wish you could touch it. God, you miss him.

“I know, I just wish things could be more simple.”

“I know baby, me too,” his smile faltering as he hears the longing in your voice.

“I think I just really miss you… it’s been almost two weeks.”

“It has, we’ll be together soon. Just have to wait six more days.”

“Five more games,” you whisper.

The two of you always finding it easier to break it down in games. Only 45 innings. Only five trips for Joel to step on the team bus and head to the ballpark. Only five games worth of you checking your phone for updates.

“Five more games,” Joel’s voice dropping. “You able to watch tomorrow?”

“Don’t think so,” you try not to let the disappointment in your voice show as much as it does. “I have that dinner with the group in from Toronto. I’m hoping I’ll be home around 9, and the game starts at 4 there… I guess I might be able to see maybe the last couple of innings.”

“Mm, pretty sure I’m just DHing tomorrow, so should be in for the whole game.”

“Save your home run for the last inning please.”

“‘Course,” he smirks. “I’ll swing for the fences.”

“Joel—“ you whisper out.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“I wish you were here right now.”

“Me too, your bed’s always so comfortable. Sick of these hotel beds.”

You bring the neck of Joel’s shirt up to your nose and inhale. “Your shirt no longer smells like you, I need a new one.”

“I’ll have one for you next time baby. I won’t take this one off.”

“You can take it off now.”

“Yeah? Why do you want me to take it off?” Joel’s eyes get darker.

“I want to look at you while I touch myself, so take it off.”

“Love how bossy you get.”

“Preaching to the choir.”

“Very funny,” he leans forward, pushing his laptop farther down the desk to give you a better view and removes his shirt.

The two of you are well versed in the proper set up to have this type of experience over FaceTime. No bright lamp behind you because your body will be blown out by the light. Make sure you angle the screen the right way at the right distance so you can still see each other’s faces and bodies. Joel usually chooses to stay on the couch or in an office chair when he’s in a hotel room, allowing him to sit up and jerk himself off while he can still watch you. You always place your laptop on his side of your bed, laying diagonally across it so he can watch you touch your pussy while staring at the screen.

You love seeing him shirtless, the way his body fills out in all of the most broad and right places. His shoulders are so wide and muscular, connecting to his toned and strong arms, his muscles never being overbearing and huge, just the perfect size and super capable of hitting a ball over 250 feet. The smattering of hair across his chest trailing down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. His stomach, you’re obsessed with his stomach, it’s so soft, your favorite feeling on earth is laying your head against it. The perfect amount of softness filling out his athletic midsection. Joel’s body perfectly encompasses him, soft and rugged, broad and safe.

“You’re staring again sweetheart,” Joel’s voice blinks you out of your daze as you ogle the square of him on your screen.

“Sorry, I just really like looking at you.”

“I know, and I like looking at you.” Joel leans back, placing one of his arms behind the couch, his other hand resting against his thigh. “Now, let me really see you. Take m’shirt off.”

You nod and move your laptop to its customary location so Joel can see all of you. You take his shirt off leaving you bare for his eyes to roam across your body from over two thousand miles away.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, wish I could rub my hands all over your soft skin. Wish I could smell your hair, wish I could taste your skin. Miss you so fucking much.”

“What would you do to me if you were here?” Your voice barely above a whisper, your body aching for his touch.

“I’d rub my tongue up and down your neck,” you move your fingers to your neck and begin to trail them across it copying Joel’s words. You close your eyes and pretend instead of hearing Joel’s voice coming from a tinny set of computer speakers you’re hearing him from across the bed before he touches you.

“I’d move my mouth down to take one of your nipples into my mouth.” Your hand grazes down your body to one of your breasts, grabbing your nipple and pulling at it.

“Fuck baby, yes, grab your other tit, play with ‘em,” you open your eyes at the gruffness of Joel’s voice. His hand is still behind the couch, the other has moved from his thigh to cup his half hard cock through his shorts.

You begin to push and pull your tits apart and together, rubbing your nipples as you stare back at Joel holding eye contact through the computer.

“Looks like your pussy is drooling all over your sheets, lemme see how wet you are.”

Your hand goes down in between your legs, you pet yourself making sure to bite your lip, something you know Joel likes as you touch yourself. A groan spills out of Joel’s mouth as he watches you bring your soaked hand up, spreading your fingers to show him how your wetness stretches across your digits. He angles himself up to pull his shorts down, his cock standing hard and solid, you can’t take your eyes off of it as his hand wraps around his length. He begins to stroke himself, as you put your hand back to play with yourself.

“Wish you could smear yourself all over me and watch me jerk off, wish you would spit in my hand—,” Joel spits in his hand, “so I could fuck my hand until I cum all over your pretty face.”

Your back arches as you watch Joel lick a bit of spit up from his bottom lip, his eyebrows wrinkled in concentration as he smears the spit all over his shaft and begins pumping.

“You’re so pretty, god I miss you. I miss feeling your body pressed against me, I miss sucking your tits, I miss fucking you.” You can’t stop staring at the screen, your fingers paused and resting on your clit. He’s beautiful, the way his muscles in his arms tense as he strokes himself, the way he snarls as he twists his fist around the head, the way he can’t stop staring at you through his laptop screen. “You miss me babygirl?”

He knows what his words do to you, he knows that if he can’t touch you he can at least talk you through it. He’s so thoughtful, not stopping at anything to make you happy, to think about you, to care for you. You hate that you aren’t even close enough to be in the same time zone.

“Yes,” you whisper, if you were any louder you might just start to cry. “So much.”

“I know, I know, fuck,” Joel stops jerking himself off, “I know,” blinking the lust out of his eyes, his big brown concerned eyes planted on his screen. “You okay?”

You didn’t want to do this, you wanted to get off with your boyfriend, shut your laptop lid, and go to sleep. Now? Now you miss him so much you’re naked with your hand still in between your legs and sniffling away tears alone in your bed.

“I am, yeah, I will be. I’m sorry, it just really hit me how long it’s been and I guess I’m just nervous about everything we have to do. I don’t want to lose you…” and at those words and the fear that gets planted inside your heart, you pull your fingers away from your cunt.

“We’re going to figure it out sweetheart. M’not losing you.” Joel follows you and unwraps his hand from around himself. “It has been long, but we’ll have almost a week together next week.”

“Five games?”

“Five games.” The softness of his voice and the reassuring smile he gives makes your stomach twist.

“I’m sorry.” An apology, you’re almost embarrassed by your juvenility, missing your boyfriend so much you almost started to cry.

“Baby, you don’t have to apologize, believe me, I understand.”

“Did you still want to…”

“I’m only happy doing what you want to, sweetheart.”

“I want to show you how much I miss you.” Your hand snakes up your body to start petting the area between your breasts, the place where Joel always like to nuzzle his face in and smell your skin.

“Fuck, okay sweetheart.”

“Five more games until I can feel you inside me.”

“Jesus, getting right back to the point, aren’t we?” He smirks, his eyes follow as you snake your hand down to back in between your legs.

“I’m efficient,” you bend your knee to give Joel a better look as you begin to rub circles along your clit.

“Fuck sweetheart, you look so fucking good,” he groans, wrapping his hand back around his cock. “Fuck yourself with your fingers baby, pretend it’s me.”

You moan as you stick two fingers in, slowly pushing them in and out, ignoring how poor of a substitute they are for Joel’s cock.

“Good girl, look at you. My pretty baby, I love you so much.”

His eyes soften as he watches you get lost in fucking yourself. You love how you can tell just how much he loves you by his big, brown eyes, even on your small laptop screen they shine bright.

“I love you,” you whimper as you reach your other hand down to begin rubbing your clit. Your fingers working overtime inside you and on your clit causing your orgasm to build.

“Love you baby, so much. Love watching you do this for me,” he grunts as he fucks his fist faster.

“Baaaby,” you breathe out, your heart beginning to rapidly beat, the swirls around your clit quickening. You’re a quivering mess on your bed, staring into your computer screen as you feel your orgasm show.

“Oh, you’re close, can see it pretty girl, you gonna cum for me? M’gonna cum for you,” he grits out as you watch the hand against his thigh tighten its grip against his skin. He’s close, his jaw going slack, his tongue resting in between his lips, his brows furrowing deeper. It’s a sight you’ve seen so many times now, most of your FaceTime sessions ending like this.

“Cum for me,” you whisper as you orgasm, your pussy squeezes your fingers, your clit pulses against your finger, you fight the urge to shut your eyes because you need to watch Joel as he begins to spurt thick ropes of cum all over his stomach. You love how he looks, biting out swears totally blissed out, his cum pooling against the plush skin of his stomach.

He swears as he grabs his shirt and cleans himself up, you smile as you watch him, feeling like you’re spying on your own boyfriend. You love FaceTime.

“You’re smilin’ quite big,” he chuckles as he tosses his shirt next to him, and pulls his shorts back up.

“I like to watch you, that’s all, you’re so handsome.”

“Handsome, hm?”

“Yep, always thought it, and now I get to look at you whenever I want to.”

“Lucky you, huh?”

“Lucky me. Only five more games until I see my handsome boyfriend.”

“Five more games.”

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller/reader #baseball au #baseball fan fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou au #baseball #baseball joel #batter up

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goldsbitch · 24 days

Text

Right? p8

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

epilogue - Lando's POV

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

Challenge me. Make me question my past actions. Hold me on the edge, while we risk it all.

Watch me watch you walk around the paddock, as if there wasn't a bright red love bite underneath your turtleneck. One that only I know about and plan on refreshing. Knowing you have to cover those up makes me ecstatic, because I have seen you smile like a teenager while doing so.

We're our little secret, for now. It will come out eventually and we'll enter a new chapter. But for today, let me have our classified, not so modest photoshoots. Let me sneak around just to give you a little peck on the cheek. Walk just a little close to me so that our hands brush, ever so "accidentally".

The way how you're so good at passing me by, as if you hadn't woken up next to me. Like I have no idea about your birthmark little too low on your lower back. The one I'd touched in a way colleagues should not.

And I know you're having to fight smiling a little too obviously during our team meetings. Because I have to admit, sometimes I have to hide my smirk behind a coffee cup or a cough. I wonder if people noticed that you don't take official photos of me anymore.

I'm good at running around with a camera, but I think I was born to be your muse. To let you capture me in the way only lovers can. Energy and desire creeping through every frame. I trust you deeply that you won't sell my secrets - and I know you have to trust me too. Allow me to play an all-or-nothing game, while being ultimately raw with you.

I sometimes can't help my mouth from smiling at random times throughout the day, just knowing that we managed to play this game so effortlessly. Once I got you on board, it turned out you're quite good at this. I guess it's making you irresistible even more.

I think hiding it from everyone is working in our favor. Once the fan hurricane hits when the reveal day comes, we will have already spent many days of freedom. It won't be a va banque taken with a stranger. A companion, lover, muse and the capturer. I should not be looking forward to causing a scandal, right? But I do. Turns out I am bad at stopping myself when it comes to you.

I've already sunk so deep, so much at your mercy, I am unable to untangle myself. Please, promise you mean it when you said "I love you" so shyly the other night. It took me some time to admit that I do. But with you being so slick and smart, you must have already known. You're someone who does not like to be brave about this. You wouldn't have said it if deep down you were not sure about my response. And that's ok. You're the smart one, I'm the brave one. A perfect combination.

One day, you'll have to take a big risk with me. When you've finally moved on from McLaren photos and get yourself in fashion photography as you always wanted anyway. You'll have to get out of your shell and I am so here for it. But for now, we have our little secret life to enjoy.

There will come a day when we'll replace the thrill of a private affair with a strive for something serious. If it had been only my decision, I would have already shouted to the world that you are mine. Make your love bites visible and trackable to me. One day, we won't have to worry about hotel room walls being too thin. But I want you ready for the price that comes with my public company.

I'll drive us fast, maybe even recklessly, and you'll make sure we have something to remember it by.

_______________________

@i-wish-this-was-me @lqvesoph @ophcelia @noneofyourfbusinessworld @formulaal @chezmardybum @amberpanda99 @4-mula1

Short, but a proper goodbye to my first story. Thank you all for the support! Love you all.

#lando norris #lando norris x y/n #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ln4 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris angst #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #smut #ln4 smut #lando norris fluff

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bestedoesmeow · 11 months

Text

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

ＥＡＳＹＬＯＶＥＲ

⋆𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙤𝙨 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙯 𝙟𝙧. & 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙'𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧⋆

request: hello can you do a story about carlos being bffs with reader’s brother please?

PART 1

┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚┊ ┊

'' Mi querida would it be alright if Carlos used your room for the week?"Your brother asked as you lay on the couch, facing the TV across the room.

"Yeah, sure. Do mom and dad know?" you replied.

Your brother simply hummed in response. You recalled the days when Carlos used to come over and play video games with him when they were younger. However, as he began his professional career and started traveling frequently, such visits became rare. Nonetheless, you were accustomed to the sight of him around your house. When he left, it felt almost like losing a family member.

Carlos had always been a shy person, yet a sincere and classic Spaniard. Whenever you were around, and they were playing games, you couldn't help but feel unsure of where to put your hands, how to style your hair, or where to look. Honestly, though you never admitted it, you secretly liked his smile and the way he treated his friends, with his fist bumps and affectionate gestures. He would always greet you with, "Hello, little one, how's life going, huh?" while gently touching your hair to show his affection. You loved having him around, but you never dared to admit your feelings, not even to yourself. Was he just like a brother to you? Or perhaps more like a stranger? You weren't even sure.

Sometimes, Sainz would invite you to watch the races with them, and seeing Carlos dressed in all red, serious, and passionate about his racing, would bring back memories of how he made you feel. You knew he had a girlfriend for a long time, which was why you never wanted to acknowledge the fact that you might have had a little crush on him. His eyes would light up with love whenever he spoke about her, and that sight always brought a smile to your face. You found it adorable to see him talk about something or someone he loved. But you never wished it was you he loved. It was more like admiration, maybe even a bit of envy.

After nearly a year, Carlos made his last visit. Unfortunately, you weren't there to see him last year, so it was quite exciting to have the opportunity to see him again after all these years.

Around dinner time, the doorbell rang once, as if the person behind it was unsure about being there.

"I'll get it!" you yelled, rushing down the stairs to answer the door. Deep down, you were somehow certain it was Carlos, yet you also wished it wasn't, as you weren't ready to confront your thoughts and emotions.

And there he stood, in his white shirt and sweatpants, with his suitcase next to him on the doorway.

“Hola, bellisima. How much you have grown, come here."

The moment your brother descended the stairs and Carlos enveloped her in his arms was almost identical.

"You look lovely," you managed to say. You couldn't say more, not even his name. As you pulled away from his embrace, there was a beautiful smile on your lips.

"Welcome home, my friend." When your brother and Carlos decided to continue their embrace inside, you closed the door behind them. Seeing them side by side after such a long time was stranger and more emotional than you had imagined, yet it was also comforting. Carlos threw his backpack anywhere in the spacious living room, or rather, he tossed it. He was sweaty, tired, but his aura, the one he always carried with him, was still there. You found yourself watching as his soft words slipped through his slightly parted lips and his tongue quickly darted out to lick them, or as he ran his fingers through his sweaty, disheveled, and longer hair. Yes, he hadn't changed, or at least your feelings hadn't.

"If you don't mind, I'll take a shower and rest a bit so that we can have a wonderful evening, huh? I'm incredibly tired."

"Of course, mi amigo. Y/N will show you to your room and also provide you with towels. I was thinking of taking care of some errands outside and doing some shopping for the evening."

You had never been alone with Carlos in the house. Never. You imagined him lying on the bed where you slept the night before. Lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from heat and moisture, his bronze shoulders against the sheets.

"Alright then, bellisima, would you show me to my room?"

Bellisima. Unaware of how effortlessly he captivated you when he said the word, you could only smile and nod, unable to do anything else.

"Of course, Carlos," you replied, your voice slightly trembling. You led him up the stairs, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. As you walked down the hallway towards your room, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, his presence filling the space with a captivating aura.

Upon reaching your room, you hesitated for a moment before opening the door. The room was tidy, with soft, warm lighting creating a cozy ambiance. Carlos stepped inside, his eyes scanning the surroundings, taking in the familiar yet slightly altered space.

"You've done a great job with the room," he complimented, turning to face you. His gaze held a mixture of appreciation and something more, something that made your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, the air between you crackled with an undeniable tension. Time seemed to stand still as you both stood there, locked in a silent exchange.

Without breaking eye contact, Carlos slowly closed the distance between you, his movements deliberate and filled with anticipation. Your heart raced, your mind overwhelmed with a whirlwind of emotions. This was a moment you had dreamed of, but never believed would become a reality.

His eyes roamed over your face, his fingertips gently grazing your hair.

"Did you do something different with your hair? It looks different," he remarked.

You couldn't help but feel a wave of nerves wash over you as he got so close. His presence was intoxicating, his breath carrying a heavenly scent that left you feeling both helpless and frustrated. The reality of the situation hit you hard—anything between the two of you seemed impossible, forbidden even, without a shadow of a doubt.

"N-no, it's probably just the sunlight," you stuttered, struggling to find your words. You were worried that he could sense your nervousness, that he could hear your heart racing. Desperate to escape the overwhelming tension, you added, "Do you need anything else? I have to go. I'm meeting a friend."

His curious gaze met yours, his lips slightly parted, and his eyebrows furrowed. He took a step back, as if to break the undeniable tension that had formed between you. You sensed his own nervousness, his fear of having done something wrong that pushed you away.

"Ah, yes, go ahead. I'll see you at dinner. Thanks for letting me stay in your room," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

It was more than a pleasure to imagine him lying on your bed, lost in dreams, with his heavenly scent lingering in the air. You needed to leave immediately, to prevent him from sensing any vibes you were desperately trying to hide. The temptation was too great, and you couldn't bear the thought of letting your desires be known.

'' So you are saying Carlos is back for a while huh? How you really feeling about this?'' Y/FN said. You grabbed a coffeee on your way to the beach for a small talk. She hadn't been around for a while and the biggest part of it was due to college. You still wore your swimsuit even though you knew that your mind would be too busy to think about swimming or paddle boarding, you admitted though, to your friend. She directly understood you needed a company to work your thoughts out. You were sitting on the sand probably for like an hour or two, your empty coffee bottles beside you with the beautiful image of setting sun.

'' I really don't know Y/FN, I don't know if I want to think about it too either, to be honest. It's just feels different but I just can't come up with any words that can explain the situation you know. I want to be around him, I really do. But at the same time I don't, because it feels heavenly also so real, it makes me uncomfortable to think about him in such way.''

'' Isa and him? Are they still together? Or-

'' Y/Brother'sName, and him were talking on the phone last week, I heard him through the video call. I am not sure but I heard that they are over. But I don't know you know.''

''This whole Carlos thing is gonna be solved this week trust me, let me know if you need a company again Y/N, you know I love you.''

'' I love you too, thank you for being here.''

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"Bellísima, we are going to have dinner. Hurry up, bueno? Huh?"

As you arrived home, you found Carlos, freshly shaved, showered, and dressed on the stairs while you were holding your flip-flops on your hand. He scrolled through his phone while descending towards the yard, where the three of you were about to enjoy dinner.

"Bienvenida, joining us for dinner?" he greeted you, slipping his phone into his shorts pocket.

"Uh, yes, just a minute," you replied, taken aback by his stunning appearance. He seemed unreal, as if a god had come to life, with his white linen shirt, golden goose high tops, and half-wet, half-dry beautiful hair. You couldn't help but gulp at the sight of him, standing there in front of you, almost frozen in awe.

"¿Estás bien?" he asked, sensing your uneasiness, a feeling you wished he hadn't noticed.

"Oh yes, I'll be there in a minute," you assured him, trying to regain your composure.

He smiled in response and made his way towards the garden door again, leaving you there with flushed cheeks and racing heart. You wished he wasn't there to do all this to you and your body but also were so glad he was there to make you feel all of those things, it was more complicated than you thought it was.

You dressed up and joined your brother and his friend for dinner. There was this little sound of the old Spanish classics coming from your brother's speakers while you were enjoying the Carbonara. You mostly listened to their funny and entertaining conversation and joined their talk after sometime, leaving them glad.

After dinner, your brother excused himself to join a video call for work, leaving you and Carlos alone in the kitchen. As you washed the dishes together, you found yourselves sharing laughter over the most peculiar things, like Carlos's spot-on impression of SpongeBob or his comical struggles with loading the dishwasher, as if it were the most challenging task on Earth. The half-hour spent in his company was not only incredibly entertaining but also remarkably easygoing, allowing you to let go of any self-consciousness and simply enjoy the moment.

Once all the dishes were sparkling clean, Carlos leaned against the counter, savoring a bottle of beer. There was a comfortable silence that hung in the air, creating an atmosphere that was both comforting and electrifying. The way he stood there, relaxed and confident, made your heart skip a beat.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between you, you slowly approached Carlos. The tension between you was palpable, the air thick with anticipation. Your eyes locked, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never fully capture.

As you stood mere inches apart, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. Time stood still, and the only thing that mattered was the connection between you. Your heart raced, matching the rhythm of your shallow breaths.

Just as you were about to close the gap and feel the warmth of his lips against yours, a sudden noise jolted you both back to reality. It was your brother, returning to the kitchen unexpectedly. Startled, you and Carlos quickly separated, exchanging a fleeting glance filled with longing and unspoken desire.

"Sorry, guys. Forgot my phone," your brother mumbled, oblivious to the charged atmosphere in the room. He swiftly retrieved his phone from the counter and exited, leaving you and Carlos to wrestle with a mix of frustration and longing.

With a sigh, Carlos looked at you, his eyes reflecting the shared disappointment. "Timing just never seems to be on our side, does it?" he said, his voice tinged with regret.

You nodded, feeling a mixture of disappointment and anticipation. "No, it doesn't. But one day, our timing will align perfectly."

A bittersweet smile graced Carlos's lips as he reached out and gently brushed his fingers against your cheek. "I believe that too," he whispered.

In that fleeting moment, you knew that the connection between you was too strong to be ignored. The promise of a future filled with passionate embraces and stolen kisses hung in the air, leaving you both yearning for the day when the stars would align and grant you the perfect moment to finally let your desires take flight.

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2

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